Midnight Exposure Read online

  But soon they would have no choice. The gods had ordained their fate.

  She moved across the window again. Tall and graceful. There was something special about her. Something that stirred his own blood. If only he could pinpoint her familiarity.

  The light went out in the window of the inn. He stayed in the shadowed alley that ran alongside the building a while longer. The photos she’d taken could be quite…damaging. She couldn’t be allowed to leave town.

  He’d be back tomorrow. She couldn’t stay in the inn forever.

  When she came out, he’d be waiting.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Fortified by a full country breakfast, Jayne stepped out onto the inn’s porch. The cold front preceding the approaching storm slapped her full in the face. But the shock was just what she needed to knock some sense into her. Her oldest brother, Pat, was keeping tabs on her paroled assailant. No news from Pat meant the scumbag was still accounted for. The danger was in Philadelphia, eight hundred miles away.

  She could breathe.

  With her camera bag slung over her shoulder, she tugged her knit hat over her ears and set out for the sidewalk. She would approach her search for R. S. Morgan the only way she knew how. She’d walk around, take pictures, talk to people, and hope her Irish luck played out one more time. Jayne’s fingers itched to capture the town’s Norman Rockwell charm anyway.

  She turned down a side street. Smoke curled from chimneys and snow coated the ground like vanilla frosting. Lopsided snowmen waved mitten-covered stick hands at passing motorists. Buildings were draped with swags of greenery and wreaths.

  This was what she was supposed to do. Real photography, not skulking around like a vulture waiting for celebrities to drop their guard. Knots slid from her neck muscles as she recorded images.

  Her camera beeped. The memory card was full. She tugged off her gloves and changed it, shoving the full one into her jeans pocket. Her frozen fingers and the painful numbing of her toes alerted her to the passing of time. She glanced at her cell. She’d been out there for hours. No wonder her nose was frozen. She shivered and tugged her gloves back on. Her winter gear wasn’t adequate for the kind of cold that Maine served up.

  She squatted down and took one last picture of the rusty sign that dangled from the front of the feed store, then turned back down the empty lane that would lead her back to the inn, just a few blocks away. She slid her equipment into its padded sheath.

  Her spine prickled. Jayne spun around. No one in sight. She eyed the buildings on either side. Crumbling brick facades sat close to the cracked sidewalk. Their shadows loomed near enough to conceal a person.

  Chill. There’s no one following you. Pat would let her know if she had reason to be afraid.

  Something scraped on concrete in a narrow alley to her right.

  Jayne picked up her pace, breaking into a jog as instincts overrode rational thought. Were those footsteps behind her? Her breath snagged in her dry throat. A shadow flickered in her peripheral vision and she lengthened her stride. Her feet went out from under her. She plunged ass-first into a slush puddle. Jayne scrambled to her feet.

  Almost there.

  Jayne glanced over her shoulder as she rounded the corner. Her boots hit a patch of ice. She scrambled for traction, but her feet slid. She slammed into a large, hard, male body.

  “Umph.” He absorbed the impact with barely a stagger. Hands under her elbows supported her weight easily as she righted herself.

  Heart rabbiting, Jayne flattened her hands against his chest and prepared to push away. She looked up into Reed Kimball’s piercing green eyes—and froze.

  “Are you all right?” His expression went from surprised to suspicious in one pulse.

  Jayne looked behind her. Nothing. She felt the blood rush to her chapped cheeks. Now that she was standing in front of the inn, her earlier panic felt silly. “I thought I heard someone following me, but it was probably just the wind.”

  His eyes narrowed on her face, then scanned the street behind her. “Really?”

  She nodded bobblehead style. Could she look like more of an idiot?

  The muscles of his jaw tightened as he looked her over. His parka was open, the wool of his sweater soft under her palms. Through it, his heart thumped in the solid plane of his chest. “You’re all wet.”

  “Slush puddle.” Jayne inhaled deeply in an attempt to control her racing heart. But the adrenaline flowing through her veins simply shifted gears, and she suddenly noticed that Reed smelled really, really good. A masculine mix of soap, pine needles, and wood. Just a few inches separated their bodies. If she took one step she could press her face to his neck and get a much better whiff of that scent. Her gaze followed the movement of his throat as he swallowed. Was the flush spreading up his face from the cold wind? She sure hoped not.

  “You sure you’re all right?” His eyes said he doubted she was, but he released her elbows, slowly, and took a step back.

  “Yeah.” Jayne’s arms dropped to her sides as cold air swirled between them. She pulled her gaze away from his face before she did something embarrassing like hurl herself back into his arms and sniff his neck again.

  His truck was parked at the curb. He retrieved a red metal toolbox from the open cargo area, closed the hatch, and followed her up the brick walk onto the porch. He reached around her to open the door. As his arm brushed hers, the heat in the lobby burned Jayne’s face. The heat, right.

  Mae wasn’t in sight. Bill was walking from the rear of the house, his arms stacked with wood, his face pink as if he’d been outside. He shrank as Jayne stepped through the door and hurriedly dumped the logs in their holder.

  “Reed!” Bill’s eyes lit up as he looked past her. Keeping a wary eye on Jayne—or rather on her boots—he rushed forward with the speed and size of a linebacker when Reed entered. Jayne moved out of the way.

  “Hey, Bill.” Reed accepted the hard hug with grace and what appeared to be genuine affection.

  “Excuse me,” Jayne said, “I have to change.” She ducked for the hall and hurried up the steps. Both men would likely be glad she left. Bill because she somehow made him uncomfortable, and Reed because he probably thought she was nuts.

  Behind her, Bill sounded as excited as a grade-schooler. “Mom wants you to fix the back door. Can I help, please?”

  “Sure you can.” Patience filled Reed’s easy drawl, and Jayne felt a smile pull at her face, despite the incident outside. Reed Kimball wasn’t just sexy, he was kind. Kind in a way that made him even sexier. As if his chiseled face and broad shoulders didn’t already make her toes curl.

  Her self-defense classes had taught her to trust her instincts, but they were way off base today. Reed Kimball must think she had a screw loose for her behavior outside. Hopefully he’d give her the benefit of the doubt. There was something about him that didn’t quite tally up. The Southern lilt didn’t match the local accent any more than his too-sharp gaze belonged on a handyman. And she couldn’t ignore the fact that physical contact with the man made her crave things she’d forgotten about.

  Hot, sweaty, naked things.

  Their voices faded. Jayne fished in her pocket for her key, but when she caught sight of her door, she stopped. Her hand rose and splayed at the base of her throat. The dark wood was covered with dozens of small white symbols. Jayne’s neck quivered as she touched one of the lines. Fine powder came away on her finger. Chalk.

  Graffiti? No, the weird symbols looked primitive, like hieroglyphics. Crude Trinity Knots. Spirals. Wagon wheels. A few other more complicated emblems she couldn’t make sense of. Some of the signs were repeated.

  “Is something wrong?” Mae hurried down the hall, a stack of towels in one arm. She frowned at the door. “What on earth?”

  Before Jayne could answer, Mae wiped the emblems from the wood with rapid-fire sweeps of a towel. “I’m sorry. Bill can be childish at times.” She left Jayne standing in the empty hall staring at the now-clean door like she was in an episode of
The Twilight Zone.

  What now? Go in like nothing happened?

  She checked the door and her breathing relaxed when she found it still locked. A quick sweep through the room assured her nothing had been taken. Weird. Had Bill really drawn on the door like a kid? Those marks hadn’t looked like aimless scribbling, but Mae was probably right. She should know. Had Jayne really been followed today? The odds were against it.

  Jayne peeled off her wet jeans and yanked a dry pair out of her bag. She had good reason to be paranoid. There’d been one warm summer night when she hadn’t listened to her base instincts. When the back of her neck had itched just as it had today. When she’d felt something was wrong but convinced herself otherwise.

  Being dressed, dry, and warm didn’t erase the goose bumps from her arms. A hand strayed to her cheek. Her scar stung as the words mouthed across a courtroom cut across her memory, sharp as a knife point in tender skin.

  You’ll be sorry. Someday I’ll finish what I started.

  Reed watched Miss Sullivan bolt for the stairs. Yesterday she’d acted nervous, but when he’d caught her in his arms outside, she’d been terrified. She’d covered it quickly, but he’d seen it.

  She is none of my business.

  Something inside him disagreed, a pang of desire that needed to be squashed. Reed had enough troubles of his own. He did not need to borrow problems from others—not even from a beautiful damsel in distress.

  He was no knight in shining armor.

  “Let’s go check out that door.” Reed glanced at Bill, who was standing a few feet away, staring at Jayne Sullivan’s legs as she disappeared up the stairs. “Bill?”

  “I-I-I’m sorry, Reed.” Bill’s hands curled into bowling ball—size fists.

  “Nothing to be sorry about. That’s a pretty lady.”

  Bill’s face went red as a ripe tomato and he darted for the interior door that led to the family’s private wing, nearly knocking Mae over as she came through. The door slammed behind him. Mae flinched as sepia photos of historical Huntsville rattled on the wall.

  “Aw, I didn’t mean to upset him, Mae.”

  “Not your fault, Reed. It’s hard to tell what’s going to set him off sometimes.” Mae patted him on the sleeve. “We appreciate that you’re so nice to him. Some folks aren’t so understanding.”

  Reed set his toolbox on the floor. “Let me go talk to him.”

  Mae shook her head. “Better to let him calm down first.” She ran the dust cloth in her hand over the scarred oak desktop. “He’s been acting strange since our guest arrived.”

  Did Bill think Jayne Sullivan was attractive? Who wouldn’t? Although Bill had the emotional and intellectual maturity of a young boy, he was fully equipped with the hormones of an adult man. What had Bill been doing before he’d brought the wood in? Had he followed Jayne? If so, it would’ve been innocent curiosity. Bill wouldn’t hurt a fly—not on purpose anyway, Reed qualified. Big Bill didn’t have the best coordination.

  “I’ll try later. If that doesn’t work, I’ll bring Scott by. If Bill’s still uncomfortable with your guest, he can stay with us for a couple of days.”

  “Bill would love to see Scott.” Mae came around the desk and enveloped him in a giant hug. “You’re a good man.”

  Reed’s conscience protested. He grabbed his toolbox. “Let me get that door fixed.”

  Would Mae still think he was a good man if she’d read the headlines?

  In his dedicated workspace, he approached his altar and donned his robe.

  On the narrow table, two tall candles flanked a silver disk engraved with a pentagram. Its five points represented the five elements: fire, water, earth, air, and spirit. He lit the wicks. Fire was reflected in the mirrored surface of the silver. The other elements were placed around the disk. Water filled a tall goblet. A bowl of salt stood for the earth. Incense burned in the air. And after he’d prayed for the gods’ presence, spirit would unite all.

  Concrete bit into his knees as he knelt. Meditating, he called the gods forth and asked them for guidance and strength. Peace settled over him as they granted his request, the only respite in an otherwise torturous life.

  His worship area was consecrated; he was ready to begin.

  With the gods’ blessing, he pulled a jug from the minifridge and filled a small pitcher. Pouring a fine line, he cast a circle to confine his energy. On the outside circumference, aligned with the corners of the room, four white candles marked the cardinal directions. The North candle lined up with his altar.

  All was in balance.

  He knelt within his sacred space and placed his materials on the floor: a small leather pouch, a piece of paper, a quill, his knife, a shallow bowl, and another candle, red to symbolize energy, life. Blood.

  When the red wick was aflame, he smoothed the paper out in front of him. Then he drew the sharp blade of the knife against his palm. Blood welled from the cut.

  Something from him.

  He wiped the quill across his bloody pad and wrote his name on the paper in bright red letters three times, rewetting the tip of the quill as necessary. There was no rush. The more energy he infused into the ceremony, the more he would gain from it. After folding the paper in half, he opened the leather pouch and withdrew the tangle of long red curls he’d taken from her hairbrush earlier.

  Something from her.

  The red strands were coiled on the crease. He folded the paper twice more, visualizing their joined souls, her strength and vitality flowing over him, into him. He extended his arm. The candle reached for his offering. The paper caught fire and was quickly consumed. A small plume of smoke and the odor of burnt hair wafted from the flames. He held the packet until the flames reached his fingertips, then dropped it into the bowl.

  There was something about this woman. Something familiar. But exhaustion had taken its toll on him. He had more gaps in his mind than memory these days. No matter. She would soon be his.

  Earlier, he’d marked his earthly claim on her with his symbols. Now she was bound to him in spirit as well.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Jayne stepped out onto the inn’s porch. She glanced down the street. Walk or drive? Drive. Definitely. The diner was only a half-dozen blocks away, but after this morning’s incidents, she felt safer in her vehicle with the doors locked. Irrational or not, she had no desire for a repeat panic attack. Plus, as she’d learned during her earlier walkabout, Maine was a lot colder than she’d anticipated. Numbers on a weather map just didn’t do the frigid air justice.

  She parked in the small lot behind the diner. Leaning against the cutting wind, she dashed across the asphalt square and around the side of the building to the glass door. The rush of heat from the lobby ceiling vent was pure bliss. She stood for a few seconds, flexing cold-reddened fingers. Utensils clattered over the murmur of voices, and the aroma of homemade soup filled her nose. A standing sign instructed patrons to Please Seat Yourself. Jayne scanned the half-empty dining room before slipping into a tattered booth. She angled her back to the wall. The position gave her a clear view of the frosted bank of windows.

  “Be right with you.” The gorgeous waitress hurried by with a tray of food, which she distributed with a smile to a hunter dressed completely in camouflage and trimmed in road-cone orange.

  A minute later, Jayne ordered a club sandwich from the dark-haired beauty queen. Her name tag read Mandy. While Mandy the waitress hurried off, Jayne pulled out last Sunday’s NYT Arts & Leisure section and put it next to her place setting, folding the paper so the column about R. S. Morgan was faceup. The most important questions were the ones she had never asked. She sensed that this close-knit community would be all talk to the hand if she openly investigated one of their own. Subtlety was key.

  Jayne mentally crossed her fingers and hoped one more time that R. S. Morgan didn’t even live here. She could hang here through the weekend and still be home for Christmas. Five days of unproductive snooping would convince Jason his informant was wrong. Given
her absurd anxiety attack this morning, she clearly needed a break from the situation back home. She hadn’t taken a vacation in years. Four to be exact.

  Jayne blinked out of her thoughts. The hunter across the aisle was looking at her scar. He dropped his eyes and flushed. Not for the first time Jayne lamented the fact that her scar was too deep for cover-up. Not that it was anything to be ashamed of. The mark was a symbol of survival—hers. Dedicated martial arts training had earned her a black belt and a new level of confidence. On the outside anyway. Inside, she still cringed when people stared.

  “Hey, Nathan.” Across the aisle, hunter-guy rose to greet a blond man in his midforties. Movie-star handsome with even white teeth and a light, suspiciously even tan, he had just enough of a beard shadow to keep him from looking feminine.

  “Jed.” Nathan nodded.

  “How’s your uncle? He up to having visitors?” Jed the hunter asked.

  “No. Uncle Aaron’s not supposed to be around any people right now.” Sadness crossed the blond man’s face. “His immune system’s depressed from the chemo.”

  “Oh. Right.” Jed deflated. “Damned shame. Aaron’s the best tracker around. He totally missed deer and moose season.”

  “I’ll let him know you were asking for him.” Nathan turned to Jayne. His bright blue eyes barely touched on her cheek. “Who do we have here?”

  “I’m Jayne.”

  “Hello, Jayne. And welcome. I’m Nathan Hall, owner of this modest establishment and mayor of Huntsville.” He enveloped her hand with both of his. His palms were rougher than she’d expected, but his demeanor was smoother than Ben and Jerry’s Dulce Delish. Though the mayor was polished enough to keep his gaze off her scar, it lingered on her boobs for a second too long. “What brings you to our little hamlet?”

  Jayne extracted her fingers and leaned back. “I’m a photographer.”

  “Really?” Nathan gestured toward the seat opposite Jayne. “May I?”