Midnight Exposure Read Free Page B

Chief Hugh Bailey, he perched on a stool and sipped his drink. He watched the wood, willing it to speak, but the trunk stared back at him in defiant silence. Usually he saw something in the raw material immediately. A shape, at least. Details could come later. But as he waited for the wood to tell himwhat it wanted to be, the only image that came to mind was a gorgeous redhead with eyes the color of the clear Caribbean Sea.
    How pathetic would it be if he drove into town to see what Mae, who happened to own the Black Bear Inn where a certain lost motorist was headed, needed him to fix?
    Too pathetic. Bordering on desperate. He’d wait until morning.
    Reed reached for a utility knife and began to score birch bark. Later he’d rough out the piece with a carving saw, but in the conception stage, he needed his hands on the wood to get the feel, the shape, the grain inside his head. Maybe he’d find what he was looking for when the log was stripped bare. His blade caught midstroke. Its razor-sharp edge slipped, slicing the pad of his finger painlessly. He moved to the sink and ran cold water over the wound. Blood swirled pink before eddying down the drain.
    As the soap stung the wound, a twinge in his gut warned him something had changed. Something out of his control and unavoidable. He glanced back at the wood. Life was full of hidden knots that deflected the sure stroke of his blade. And left him bleeding.

CHAPTER THREE
    Jayne steered through the turn for Huntsville. Insistent memories flashed. She could feel the arm at her throat, the burning knifepoint slicing through her cheek, hot breath against her temple, smelling of expensive scotch. The mental movie clip had to be stopped. Work. She needed to work.
    The display on her phone showed three bars. She hooked her Bluetooth earpiece over her ear and punched in her editor’s number.
    “Jason Preston’s office.” Tanya, Jason’s administrative assistant, picked up his line.
    “It’s Jayne Sullivan. Can I talk to Jason?”
    “I’m sorry, honey. He’s not here.”
    “I need to ask him something. The information he gave me isn’t playing out.” Jayne didn’t mention details. Jason guarded his office like the gates of Hell, assuming Cerberus was a three-headed mini pinscher. If she wanted to keep working for the skinny little bastard, she couldn’t risk letting anything slip, even to the seemingly honest Tanya.
    “He’s never wrong.”
    “There’s a first time for everything.” Jayne wanted him to be wrong. She wanted the real R. S. Morgan to live in Taos or maybe even a foreign county. Peru would be good. She didn’t want sexy, Southern Reed Kimball to be involved.
    Tanya
tsk-tsked
. “Well, something’s going on. You know Jason can sniff out a scandal like nobody’s business.”
    Wasn’t that the understatement of the decade? Jayne’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “I know.”
    “You better do some diggin’, girlfriend. He’s chomping at the bit to get whatever it is. He said to tell you the clock’s ticking.”
    “He’s evil.”
    “No kidding. But don’t worry, honey. The devil will come to collect his soul eventually.” The line clicked, signaling another call on Tayna’s end. “Gotta go. You take care.”
    Jayne tossed her cell onto the passenger seat and fished a roll of Tums out of her purse. Working with Jason made her feel like
she’d
made a deal at the crossroads. Whatever. As a bartender and accounting clerk for the family tavern, she didn’t have any other way of making the kind of money Jason paid her. Her efforts with legitimate photography were the professional equivalent of running on a giant hamster wheel.
    One thing was clear. She didn’t have time to wait for R. S. Morgan to find
her
.
    Five minutes later, the town appeared as Jayne rounded a gentle bend in the road. A rustic wooden sign announced Jayne was entering Huntsville, Maine, population 1,067.
    Hills rose on either side of the town, creating a small