Midnight Exposure (5 page)

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.

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?”

The mayor was a bit of a letch, but he probably knew everyone in town. Jayne couldn’t afford to pass up any possible source of information. She surveyed the dining room. A dozen other patrons were scattered among the booths and tables. Safe enough. “Sure.”

“Mandy, could I get some coffee, please?” Nathan motioned to the waitress. His gaze lingered a little too long on the pretty brunette, but he wasn’t leering. His eyes were filled with real warmth when he looked at Mandy. Clearly there was something going on between the diner owner and his employee. He turned the
Times
article so he could read it. “Interesting. I suppose you like art?”

“Oh, yes. Are you familiar with R. S. Morgan?”

“No. Can’t say that I am.” The mayor shook his head. “I’m afraid Huntsville is a very humble town. No exclusive art galleries. We do have some excellent local artisans, though, including
our own excellent wood-carver.” The mayor paused to sip his coffee.

Could it be that easy?

Jayne popped a French fry into her mouth and rearranged her poker face, but her pulse did a quick jig. Next to her, Jed stood in the aisle, leaning over to get a better view of the picture.

The mayor set his cup in the saucer. “Mark Stewart at the lumberyard carves the most lifelike ducks. And Martha at the Craft Depot sells handmade quilts.”

“Sounds lovely.” Jayne hid her disappointment by finishing off her club sandwich. Her editor wasn’t going to pay for pictures of a duck carver.

“I’d be happy to give you a personal tour of our town,” Mayor Hall offered. “Including introductions to all Huntsville’s artists.”

Jayne swallowed. Looking for an excuse to make a hasty exit, she checked the display on her phone. The mayor’s interest didn’t feel entirely professional, and even if it was, she did not get into cars with strange men. “I’d love to, but I have to run. Can I have a rain check?”

Nathan considered. “How about tomorrow? The snow shouldn’t be an issue until midday. You’re staying at the inn, right?”

“Yes.” This town wasn’t small; it was microscopic. She had no problem with a tiny white lie to avoid spending time alone with the mayor. “But I’ll have to let you know. I have a conference call.”

“I’ll stop by in the morning.” Ugh. The mayor had crossed into the too-pushy-for-comfort zone. She glanced at his left hand, casual-like. No wedding ring. Double ugh.

“OK.” Jayne’s face ached as she faked enthusiasm. “But no promises.”

“I understand. Tell Mae to save me a blueberry muffin.”

“You bet. I should get moving.” Jayne scooted out of the booth. The hunter was still standing in the aisle, staring at the article and blocking her exit.

He glanced up at her sheepishly, like he’d been caught doing something wrong, as he stepped out of her way. “Sorry.”

“No problem.”

Did the hunter know R. S. Morgan?

Jayne bit back the question and made a mental note to “run into” Jed in a more private location. She stopped to pay her tab at the tinsel-trimmed counter. A minute later, zipped and gloved, she pushed through the glass door. The cold wind was an eye-watering shock. Inhaling was like swallowing razor blades.

A second gust froze her right down to her cotton bikini, and she braced against its breath-robbing bite. She’d thought Philadelphia got cold in the winter, with the damp that drifted off the Delaware River, but Maine made Philly feel like Aruba.

Jayne huddled inside her down jacket, more fashionable than functional, as she race-walked around the corner of the building. In the overcast gloom of the rear parking lot, her Jeep listed oddly toward one side. She rounded the vehicle. Both tires were completely flat. Could she have run over nails or glass? Jayne bent closer. Both sidewalls bore six-inch slits. She raised her eyes. Shock pushed her back two steps. Her windshield was covered with the same symbols that had been on her door at the inn.

Reed flattened his palms on the reception desk of the tiny police station in the basement of the town hall. Huntsville only employed two cops, Chief Hugh Bailey and his lieutenant. Hugh’s
office was dark. The lieutenant’s office door was closed, but light glowed behind the glass.

The scrawny, goateed guy working the front desk looked up from his computer screen and gave Reed a tired sigh.

“Is Hugh around?” Reed asked. He was pretty sure the kid was the mayor’s son, Evan, home from college for winter break. Nepotism was alive and well in Huntsville.

“Nope.” The kid yawned and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “And the lieutenant’s on the phone. Whatcha need?”

“Don’t know. Hugh called me.” Reed was not going to get into it with Lieutenant Doug Lang, egomaniac extraordinaire. Three minutes in the same room as the lieutenant was enough to make Reed’s molars ache.

“The chief should be back in a few. You can wait or leave him a message. Whatever.” The
I don’t give a shit
was implied.

The phone rang. Reed helped himself to paper and a pen, more than happy to leave the chief a note and delay the inevitable confrontation. As he pushed through the doors onto the sidewalk, the outside air felt refreshing as opposed to blistering cold.

“Reed?” The voice was female—and distressed.

Reed turned. And every thought in his head leaked out of his slack-jawed mouth. It was her, his goddess. Again.

“Hi.” Relief flashed briefly in her eyes before her tone shifted to all business. “I need to talk to a policeman.”

“You need Chief Bailey.” Reed tore his eyes away. Sure, Lieutenant Doug Lang was inside, but goddesses should not have to consort with assholes. “But he’s not in his office now.”

Her pale skin was pink from the cold. The tinge emphasized the odd scar on her cheek, a shiny circular depression the size of a quarter. With better light than during yesterday’s dusk encounter,
Reed could see that the wound hadn’t been large, but it’d been deep. His chest went taut as he considered the various ways she could have been injured. Thanks to his former career, the list of possibilities was long, varied, and violent. His desire to press his lips against the mark, on the other hand, was totally inexplicable.

“Any idea when he’ll be back?”

“Should be soon.”
Don’t ask. Don’t get involved. Shit
. The desire to help her was a compulsion. He might as well try to stop breathing. “What’s wrong?”

Something flashed in eyes the soft, pale blue of an aquamarine. Relief? Or something more?

Reed stared into their clear depths, momentarily riveted. Was she attracted to him? The mere thought sent a wave of heat through Reed. He hadn’t considered dating since he’d moved up here. There were some pretty, single women in town. A few had made their interest clear, but Reed hadn’t felt the tiniest spark of chemistry.

Jayne Sullivan had ignited an explosion in two ridiculously brief meetings.

Danger Will Robinson.

Reed blinked, breaking the connection. He unzipped his parka, letting a wave of cold wrap itself around his chest to lower the heat wave that was building up underneath his wool sweater. He kept his eyes and his imagination off the wave of hair that curled over one shoulder and tumbled across her breast. Which he should
not
picture naked in his head. Too late. He knew it’d be as perfect as the rest of her.

The lady needed help
. Say something, moron
. But his vocal cords refused to cooperate. And his brain was occupied with mentally stripping off each piece of her clothing. Reed’s blood began to flow in a southerly direction.

She chewed a full pink lip and nervous fingers pulled a tiny tube from her pocket. Her purple gloves were knit, with little rubber dots on the insides of the palm and fingers. Reed swallowed. Watching someone apply Chapstick had never been so erotic. He shifted his weight. His jeans definitely hadn’t been this tight when he’d left the house. He took a moment to admire the concrete under his Timberlands. And to get a grip on reality. This woman was here to see Hugh. She needed a cop. Not a horny handyman.

“The chief should be back in a few minutes.” Reed nodded in the direction of the door behind him. In his peripheral vision, he caught Hugh’s squat figure hustling toward them. “And here he is.”

Reed gave Hugh’s extended hand a quick shake. “Hugh. This is Jayne Sullivan. She needs to speak with you.”

“Hey, Reed.” Hugh’s gaze passed over Reed with a flicker of acknowledgment, then settled on Jayne. Surprise and a rare smile spread across his bulldog face. “How can I help you?”

She stepped forward and extended a gloved hand toward the chief. “I need to report a crime. My tires were slashed right in the parking lot of the diner. And there’s this weird graffiti all over the windshield.”

“Why don’t you show me?” Hugh raised his chin to look over her shoulder and catch Reed’s eye. “Care to tag along, Reed?”

“Yeah. Sure, Hugh.”

Hugh turned back to Jayne. “Tell me more.”