Midnight Exposure (Midnight #1)(79)

“You never know until you ask.”

“True.” Scott turned for another bag, but the space behind them was empty. “Yo, was that the last one?”

“Seems like.”

“Cool. I should call my dad to come and get me.” Scott reached into his pocket and drew out his cell when a voice called from the kitchen entrance.

“Hello, boys. Could I ask a favor of you both?”



“Doug and Nathan are on their way to the house.” Reed set a cup of steaming tea in front of Jayne. She was still pale, but her spine was straight and her jaw set as she booted up his laptop on the kitchen island. She’d tough it out, but the memory would haunt her forever. An unpreserved head was a nasty sight for a jaded professional. Even in winter, a sunny day warmed things up enough for decomposition to occur, albeit at a slower rate than in warmer seasons. Then there were the animals. Hungry scavengers did not differentiate between a human head and a roadkill squirrel.

Although the fact that it had been a crow picking on that head was just plain bizarre.

Reed glanced over Jayne’s shoulder at the dark glass. Before he clicked on any lights, Reed toured the windows and closed all the blinds. Darkness had overtaken the yard. “I have to go pick up Scott.”

“OK.” Jayne opened the browser. “Ooh. E-mail. Here’s the picture back.”

She clicked Download. “Holy. Shit.”

“What is it?” Reed leaned in closer.

Mute, she turned the laptop around to face him. The screen displayed the image of the robe-clad man in the woods. Reed’s eyes were drawn to the grisly object held in the man’s huge hand like a bowling ball, now lightened to the point of recognition.

“Do you think that’s the same head?”

“I sure as hell hope so.” Reed also prayed it was the rest of Zack Miller’s remains. Otherwise there was another headless body out there somewhere. Another victim. Reed leaned in closer for a better look, but IDing the head on a visual wasn’t possible. Dental records or DNA would be required to identify the remains.

“Do you know the guy in the robe?”

Reed shifted his gaze to the face, formerly obscured by the robe’s shadow. Stunned silence hung over the kitchen. It couldn’t be.

He squinted at the picture again.

“Do you know him?” Jayne repeated her question impatiently. “Yeah. I know him.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE


John’s legs wobbled. The grating of tires on packed snow ceased. Cold sweat leaked into his filthy wool sweater as he crouched behind the door hinges. His arms trembled under the weight of the log in his hands. One day without drugs wasn’t enough to restore his balance or strength after more than a month of imprisonment and malnourishment, but it was all he was going to get.

On the other side of the closed door, boots crunched on ice, then rang on wooden steps.

Fear slipped through John’s bowels. He tensed, lifting the wood above his shoulder in a two-handed grip.

The door opened. Through the gap at the hinge, John waited for a masked face to appear. When a gray head moved into view, John hesitated. The white head was bare.

Could this be the wrong guy?

Who else would be here?

The head turned. Clouded blue eyes scanned the room. Recognition and fury flared simultaneously. In the precious seconds it took John to swing the log, the old man registered the threat and ducked.

John missed. Momentum carried him forward. He fell onto his hands and knees. Over his shoulder, he saw his captor clearly for the first time. A thin face topped with a shock of wild, white hair.

Fists rained down on his shoulders and back. John’s arms folded like a cheap TV tray. Fresh pain shot through his face as his chin hit the wood floor. A boot connected with his temple.

His last conscious thought was that he’d been right. He wasn’t getting out of this alive. This time his captor hadn’t bothered to cover his face. Obviously the old man was no longer concerned with concealing his identity.



Reed repeated his internal mantra as he rolled through a stop sign. Scott was safe. He was at the Youth Center with a whole bunch of other teens and responsible adults. There was no way Nathan’s Uncle Aaron could get to him. He couldn’t believe Aaron was the killer. Brain cancer must have eroded his sanity.

In the passenger seat, Jayne chewed on her thumbnail. “Maybe his cell didn’t have a signal.”

“Our cell phones always work in town.” Reed gunned the engine. The truck roared forward. Stark, bare trees whipped by in the darkness.

“Or he didn’t hear it ring.”

Reed didn’t respond. His parental radar was beeping away, telling him Scott was in danger. Reed shifted his weight and pressed the gas pedal harder. The Yukon responded with a surge of speed.

Jayne grabbed the chick strap as they sped into town. Three turns later, he pulled up at the curb in front of the old clapboard house that housed the Youth Center. Lights illuminated the bare windows.

Reed took the walk at a jog, his heart pumping with the sickening panic of helplessness. The front door was unlocked and he pushed it open with a quick rap on the door frame. He stepped into the foyer and held the door for Jayne as he called out, “Hello?”

The house was way too quiet to be filled with teenagers. Reed’s chest clenched tighter.