Midnight Exposure Read Online Free PDF Page B

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 wasquickly 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