Midnight Exposure (Midnight #1)(4)

He stepped back as she opened her door. “Big storm headed this way. Be careful.”

“I will. You have a Merry Christmas.” Jayne glanced over her shoulder. Those clear green eyes dropped to the ground. Was that a blush? Had he been checking her out? A quick flush of warmth spread through her belly, a surprise and a sharp contrast to her icy hands and feet. She reached for the camera in her pocket. Could she snap a quick, unobtrusive picture of him? His gaze was level again, sharp and clear and not missing a thing. Probably not. He stepped back into a shadow, and her chance was gone.

She cranked the heat to full blast before executing a tight U-turn. Jayne watched the gate close in her rearview mirror. Kimball stood behind the iron barrier, still as the forest around him. As he faded into the twilight, her fingertips traced the circular scar on her cheek.

She jerked her hand down and gripped the steering wheel hard.

Reed Kimball had nothing to do with the threat she’d left behind in Philadelphia. If she allowed herself to be afraid of every man she met, she was still a victim. Not acceptable. She didn’t drag her sorry butt to all those years of counseling for nothing. She was moving forward, becoming a productive member of society. Besides, her brothers had been there when she needed them. Now it was her turn to help her family. She had the opportunity to get them all out from under the debt Danny’s Iraq War injuries had rung up. Time to woman up and get the job done.

But whispered lies repeated in her head as if caught in an endless loop. Her throat tightened. The imaginary forearm pressed against her windpipe felt real as it had that summer night.

If you’re quiet, I won’t hurt you.



Standing behind the closed gate, Reed unzipped his parka and watched the woman drive away. The bitter wind was a welcome snap-out-of-it slap.

Now that was a woman. A warrior goddess. Tall and curvy, with legs up to her chin and curly red hair down to her butt. All she needed was a flowing emerald robe and a jeweled broadsword. Despite her urban fashionable clothing, he’d had the most ridiculous urge to kneel at her feet. The odd scar on her face didn’t detract from her beauty, but Reed couldn’t help speculating about its origin.

With a shake of his head he drove to the house and parked. A strange woman’s scar was none of his business. Their Siberian husky mix, Sheba, raced across the front yard and circled his legs with a happy bark. He leaned down to greet the dog. His son was at the open front door, all long and lean and seventeen. Green Day, cranked to maximum volume, pulsed from the doorway. “Who was that?”

“Just a lost motorist.” Reed stepped down to the frozen ground. The modern design of his house looked bare, just straight lines and glass. Normally he liked its minimalist design, but right now it looked colorless and, well, blah. He should’ve put some Christmas lights on the shrubs or something. “I could use some help with this wood.”

“Sure.” Scott ducked back into the house and emerged a minute later in boots and a jacket. He closed the door behind him, but the bass-drum vibrations seeped through. “What was she doing up here?”

“I didn’t ask.” Reed opened the rear of the Yukon. “I gave her directions and some gas, and she went on her way.”

“Where was she going?”

“She said Huntsville.” Reed grasped the long section of tree trunk and pulled it toward him.

“Really?” Scott grabbed the other end as soon as it was within reach. “Why?”

“I’ve no idea.” A dull ache gathered in Reed’s temple. He could’ve asked, but Miss Sullivan had had enough questions for both of them. Reed didn’t like personal conversations any more than he liked strangers.

“Odd, though, don’t you think?” Scott asked.

“No.” A little. “And none of our business.” Keeping to himself was a long-ingrained habit that kept Reed and his son firmly under anyone’s radar. Just where they needed to stay. He would never allow his son to suffer another media barrage.

“Has to be visiting someone. You can count the number of cars that drive down this road a day on one hand.”

“She just missed the turnoff for town, Scott. End of story.”

Scott had a point, though. Just what was Jayne Sullivan doing in the middle of nowhere? Huntsville didn’t attract winter tourists. Together, he and Scott carried the hunk of white birch into his workshop, through the front room and into the specially designed space in the rear half of the building. Large skylights and adjustable track lighting allowed him to keep the blinds tightly closed. They heaved the wood onto the worktable. Sheba followed at their heels.

Scott patted a dark bulge in the trunk. “Nice burl.”

“Yeah.” Reed stroked the large knot that protruded from one side. This spot would have a unique grain, intricate swirls, once stripped of its flaking bark.

“You need any more help?”

“No. I’m good. Thanks.”

“I’m going back to the house, then. Got some homework to finish up.” Scott headed for the doorway. “Oh, you got two calls. Mae needs something fixed, and Chief Bailey wants you to stop by the station tomorrow.”

Reed’s headache spiked. “Christ, I’ve turned him down a hundred times—”

Scott held out both hands in mock surrender. “He said to tell you it isn’t about the job. He just wants to pick your brain.”