Midnight Exposure (Midnight #1)(45)

She blinked. The door behind him came into focus and she latched onto a new train of thought. What was he hiding back there?

Following her gaze, he cleared his throat. “We should go back to the house. Check the Internet and phone service.”

She tugged on her coat and moved toward the exit. He grabbed his own jacket, then reached around her and opened the exterior door. As he ushered her over the threshold, his palm settled on the small of her back, hot as a brand. His hand remained on her hip as he walked closely behind her down the path to the house. Did he feel the electricity that flowed between them? She glanced over her shoulder, but Reed’s eyes were busy scanning the surrounding woods.

Oh.

He wasn’t getting familiar with her. He was looking for danger and shielding her with his body. The realization was a much-needed jolt of reality. Lack of sleep must be making her wonky.

Thank God one of them had some common sense. Someone had kidnapped her and held her prisoner. If she hadn’t escaped, she’d be dead. Psychos didn’t abduct women and set them free unharmed.

They left their coats in the mudroom. Reed left the kitchen dark until he’d closed all the blinds. Another reminder of the danger that lurked outside. Who knew where her captor was right now?

“Do you want something to eat or drink? Tea? Coffee?” Reed opened a laptop on the kitchen table. “Feel free to browse the fridge and cabinets.”

Jayne glanced at the clock on the microwave. Four thirty. Too late to return to bed. A dull lack-of-sleep headache thudded through her head. “I’ll make coffee.”

While the computer booted up, Reed picked up the cordless phone. Holding it to his ear, he shook his head. “Nothing yet.”

Jayne measured grounds, filled the pot, and pressed the On switch.

Reed clicked at the keyboard. “Aha. Internet. I’ll send the police chief an e-mail.”

Jayne rummaged for food, coming up with apples and cheese.

“We’re in luck. Hugh’s online. He’ll meet us at his office at eight.”

Jayne set the plate of food next to Reed’s elbow and turned toward the coffeepot, her appetite fading. In three hours, she’d be leaving this house.

And Reed.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


The heavy vehicle lurched and slid to a stop. Unfortunately, John kept moving. His face slid on the carpeted cargo mat. He tilted his head and drew in a quivering breath. At the edge of the blindfold, a slice of black night appeared through the vehicle’s tinted window.

“Don’t move. I’ll be back.” The whispered command came from the front of the SUV.

Like he could go anywhere. John lay still as possible. The black hood he was required to wear whenever his captor was present blocked all available light. His wrists and ankles were bound and connected to a rope looped round his neck. Any struggling simply tightened the noose. He should pull it tight and suffocate himself. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want to die, even though he knew his demise was inevitable.

After all, his captor had already killed Zack and beat John without mercy. The man’s moods were hard to predict. Fits of anger warred with equally terrifying cold-blooded calculation. Oh, yeah. John was going to die eventually if he stayed in this man’s control.

A door opened. Someone rummaged in the backseat. That door closed with a bang, and John was left alone. He could hear movement outside the vehicle. Footsteps. Scraping. An occasional grunt.

An indefinite period of time passed. John waited. Nothing horrible was happening at the moment. He’d learned to live with that. And the drug that chugged through his system kept him unnaturally calm.

The rear of the vehicle opened. Rough hands hauled John to a sitting position. His feet dropped off the tailgate. The rope bit into his neck, cutting off his air. The quick swish of a knife removed the pressure. John gulped cool air. His heart stuttered. Terror overrode the sedative.

Another slice and his feet were freed.

“Walk.”

As he stood, the drape of the hood allowed him to see his feet on the snowy ground. Icy crystals underfoot soaked through his socks in two steps. The hand stayed on his arm as he swayed on a narrow shoveled path. The trek from the car was short, and John was shoved through a doorway. Beneath the hood, he could see weathered wooden boards under his feet.

“I started the stove.”

John concentrated to hear the whispered instructions. Disobeying even a single one always turned out badly for him.

“Wood’s on the porch. There’s nothing around for miles. Scream away. Nobody will hear you. Burn the place down, you’ll burn with it.”

The handcuffs were removed. He rubbed at his wrists as a thick metal shackle was fastened around his ankle, the same one he’d been restrained with at the old house. John heard the clinking of chain links being dragged across the floor.

“Count to one hundred before you take the hood off, or I’ll slit your throat.”

The door slammed shut. The engine rumbled to life, then faded.

But John did exactly as he was told. One hundred seconds later, he lifted the blindfold.

He was standing in a one-room cabin. Heat poured from a cast-iron potbellied stove in the corner. The chain attached to his ankle was fastened around its feet, which were bolted to the floor. John did a quick sweep of the cabin. The chain was just long enough for him to reach the front porch to retrieve wood and take two steps out the rear door. The single cabinet was empty save for a metal bowl and a plastic cup. No knives. No can opener. There wasn’t even a cot, just a sleeping bag on the floor. Logs were piled waist-high by the door. His captor had left the usual supply of protein bars and bottled water.