Midnight Exposure (12 page)

Taking advantage of the momentary diversion, Jayne grabbed the ankle next to her hip. She simultaneously shot both feet into his pelvis and yanked his leg out from under him. He fell backward onto his ass. Before he could recover, she dropped a heel onto his groin.

A wet gasp emanated from her captor. The flashlight dropped to the floor as he cupped his genitals with both hands and curled to the side.

She leaped to her feet and swung the chain in her hands in a wide arc. He levered his shoulders off the ground, raised one hand and blocked most of the blow with a beefy forearm, but the tail whipped around and slapped him on the back of the head. His body sagged onto the dirt floor. One hand still clutched his groin as Jayne backed away.

The flashlight on the ground flickered. In its beam, something small and silver lay in the dirt next to his prone body. She scooped up both the light and the object, shoving them into her pocket before sprinting for the steps. Her boots slipped on bare wood as she scrambled up the stairs. Her fingers were stiff from cold and slippery with her own blood. She fumbled with the knob.

She wiped her palms on her jeans, twisted the knob, and pushed. The door, swollen from dampness, stuck fast.

A scrape sounded at the foot of the steps. She risked a look back. Her captor was pushing to his feet. Jayne turned back to the door as his boot rang on a wood tread.

Fresh terror gave her strength, and she threw her shoulder against the door. Behind her, her captor scrambled on the steps. She slammed into the solid frame again. Bloated wood gave with a scrape. Jayne’s momentum carried her forward. She fell to her knees. Her palms slapped worn linoleum.

A hand grabbed her left ankle, dragging her back onto the steps. She snagged the door frame with her bound hands and glanced over her shoulder. Light poured onto the upper portion of the stairwell, illuminating her ski-masked captor four steps below her. He jerked on her foot. Jayne’s fingers dug in.

Instinct developed during long hours of intense training took over. She rolled to her left hip, drew her right knee to her chest and fired a sidekick. The sole of her boot plowed straight into his chest. The breath whooshed out of him. He fell backward and crashed down the stairs.

Jayne jumped to her feet and shot through the door with a burst of frantic energy. She yanked the chain clear, slammed the door behind her and braced her back on it. Her gaze raced around the room looking for a way to secure the door. If he got out, that was the end of her. She’d never be able to take him by surprise a second time, nor could she outrun him in her weakened condition. She’d only get so far on fear and its associated rush of adrenaline.

The basement door had opened into a run-down kitchen. A heavy table and several chairs stood in the center. She seized a chair and jammed it under the doorknob. Then she dragged the heavy table over and shoved it against the chair.

Only then did she take a few seconds to pull the tiny key from her pocket, and with shaking fingers, free her hands. The chain and cuffs clattered to the floor.

The door reverberated as her abductor rammed into the other side, but the solid old wood held. Muffled, infuriated swearing faded as Jayne ran along the main corridor. Despite her panic and disorientation, she found the front exit. She bolted through it into the snowstorm with no hesitation, greeting the killing cold with enthusiasm.

A door slammed downstairs. Despite the startling noise, John’s body sank farther into the mattress as the fresh tranquilizer,
courtesy of his captor’s daily visit just a short while ago, chugged through his bloodstream.

Furious banging erupted from below. The house trembled. Profanity echoed in the heat duct. Shock at the unexpected event—never good in John’s predicament—sent a minute charge of adrenaline through his sedated system.

His captor was pissed.

John belly-crawled to his window. Kneeling, he dragged his reluctant body into an upright position and peered through the slit. A blurry figure sprinted away from the house. John blinked hard. The image cleared. He caught a flash of long red hair against a backdrop of snowy white. The runner moved with feminine grace.

A woman. And she’d gotten away.

John slid to the cold floor. It was ridiculous to feel abandoned by someone who didn’t even know he was here. If he’d had the courage to shout out to her last night she might have rescued him. Or at the very least, let someone know he was here. But his courage had condemned him. He’d failed the ultimate test. Now he’d pay the ultimate price.

He hugged his knees to his chest. Pressure built behind his eyes, but his body didn’t contain enough moisture for tears.

When the man came back, John would pay for the prisoner’s escape.

Jayne leaped from the peeling porch. A sharp wind full of icy crystals pelted her face. She hunched against it and plowed through calf-deep powder to what she assumed was the driveway, a ribbon of white that neatly cleaved the thick forest. A glance backward at boarded-up windows and a sagging roofline told her she’d been kept in a run-down farmhouse. Three stories of neglect loomed over her, and she turned away from its menacing shadow.

Could she steal her captor’s vehicle? It would be ironic if the skill that had nearly put her into juvenile hall in high school saved her life.

A skinny set of strange tracks marked the path of her captor’s vehicle around the side of the building. Snowmobile? She followed, peering around the corner into the rear yard. The trail led to a ramshackle detached garage. Behind it, the carcass of a collapsed barn rested on the snow like the bleached bones of a beached whale. Jayne jogged across the open yard. A heavy-duty padlock and chain secured the overhead door. No windows. No luck.

She backed into the shadow of an evergreen, which cut the driving wind in half. A shiver raced from her feet to her nape and lodged in her bones. She needed to keep moving. Snow clung to her hair and clothes, and then melted from diffusing body heat. Water invaded her crewneck and slid down her spine. Her body
temperature had already dropped during her long day in the cellar. Wet clothing wasn’t going to help. She needed to find help or shelter—soon. Both would be even better.

Had Mae noticed Jayne never returned to the inn? Was anyone looking for her? Like Reed Kimball? Wishful thinking. He’d bolted from their impromptu “date” like a man with something else on his mind. But she’d had an appointment to meet with the mayor this morning. Maybe he’d get concerned when she missed it. Regardless, at the moment she was on her own.

How far from town was she?

She scanned the wilderness around her. Nothing but trees and white stuff as far as she could see. White obscured everything, including the air. She’d get lost out there in a heartbeat. On the drive up, her GPS had shown a lot of large green blotches all around Huntsville. Even with the risk her assailant would break free and follow her, it would be better to keep to the road than wander aimlessly into thousands of acres of frozen nothing. If she possessed one ounce of luck, the falling snow would fill in her footprints before he broke out of the cellar.

Jayne listened. No sound to indicate her captor had escaped. Yet.

She skirted the house and followed the vehicle tracks down the long driveway. Her boots swished through the fluffy layer of dry powder with little effort. Still, how long could she keep going? Four karate classes a week kept her strong. She’d gotten through a grueling black belt test last fall. Every Sunday she and her brother Conor ran an eight-mile loop along the Schuylkill River. But she’d never run without a jacket in the middle of a winter storm with zero food or water for at least twenty-four hours, maybe longer.

Eating snow would hydrate her, but would also lower her body temperature even more. At the moment, hypothermia was a bigger threat than dehydration.

She pulled the sleeves of her sweater down over her aching hands. Her feet, encased in fashionable but not waterproof boots, turned to blocks of painful ice in minutes. Her toes felt as if they’d break off with each step.

Jayne assessed her surroundings. The road did not appear to have been plowed recently. There were no mounds of snow on the roadsides. Jayne stopped and dug underneath the fresh powder with her boot, but all she found was more packed snow. Nope. This road hadn’t been plowed since the last storm two weeks ago. That would make it a secondary road or private drive with little or no traffic. Not good.

She faltered when the lane ended in a T with another, wider road, wide enough to be an actual public road. Jayne could see the partially filled depressions where multiple sets of tires had traveled not too long ago. Snow banks lined each side of the road. Hope squeezed her chest. She dug through the fresh snow.
Pavement!
This road must be on the plow route.

Her excitement at finding a more frequently traveled street was dimmed by the next question. Should she go left or right? Which way would take her toward civilization? The road looked completely identical in either direction: long, white, and empty. Tree limbs bowed overhead, forming a tunnel of white-coated lattice.

A gust of wind rocked her. She had to keep moving. Jayne flipped a mental coin and turned right. Her feet stumbled for the first few steps until she fell into an awkward rhythm. Soaked wool and denim weighted her limbs. Her steps felt slower than before, as if she were wading through mud instead of light, fresh powder.

How far did she have to go?

She pushed the question from her head and focused on each individual step.

Swish, swish, swish.
Jayne’s legs crumbled under her. Her knees sank into the snow. She wasn’t going to make it. Her chances of surviving this situation were minuscule. She had no idea how to survive in the forest. A groan from the trees startled her. Her head whipped around. Was that the wind moving ice-encased branches or could that have been an animal? Bears hibernated, didn’t they?

She pushed to her feet. A plow or salt truck was bound to come through eventually. If she didn’t get up, it would run right over her collapsed and frozen body. They wouldn’t find her until the spring thaw.

A faint, high-pitched sound drifted through the trees, and Jayne swallowed a whimper
. Wind or snowmobile
? Fear drove her forward.

Strangely enough, once she progressed beyond numb, the cold faded. Her body actually began to feel warmer. Hypothermia might not be such a bad way to go after all. Definitely preferable to whatever her kidnapper had in store for her.

Jayne thought of her three brothers and took another step. They needed her. She couldn’t abandon them.

The low purr of an engine cut through the storm’s furious howl. It came from in front of her, the opposite direction that her kidnapper would use if he were following her trail.

But was the sound real or an illusion conjured up by her desperate imagination like an oasis mirage to a desert wanderer?

She moved toward the sound and lost her footing. Unable to catch herself with sluggish reflexes, she fell face-first into the foot-deep powder, directly in the path of the oncoming vehicle. White
flakes bombarded her face like tiny needles as she lifted her head and squinted at the vision. A set of lights approached. She tried to belly-crawl off the road, but her arms gave out.

The headlights drew closer. From the woods, a buzzing sound, much too high-pitched to be an automobile, sent a fresh wave of panic into her frozen brain. She ordered her body to rise and run but it refused to respond.

Reed kept the Yukon to a crawl. His head throbbed from squinting at the road through the storm, and he was filled with a sense of failure.

They hadn’t found Jayne. Hugh had called off the search until the storm passed. The chief wouldn’t risk any more lives to find a woman who was probably dead. Jayne’s long odds were in the eyes of every volunteer.

The intensity of the sadness that welled up inside Reed stunned him. He’d barely known her, yet her death rocked him with a wave of crippling grief. He was drowning in sorrow and couldn’t draw a deep breath.

The wipers slapped back and forth, swiping melted flakes from the windshield. Packed slush accumulated on the blade, leaving a blurry arc in its wake. Equipped with chains and a plow mounted on the front, the big four-wheel drive chugged steadily.