Nightfall Read Free

from the city. You wouldn’t believe me without proof.”
    Believe what? She’d already seen half the world come to a screeching halt.
    Jenna stared at him in silence. How was she supposed to answer through the duct tape anyway? Not that there was any point. It was a stretch to call a burg like Culver a city. Not that crazy people needed to make sense. A frisson ran through her as the sun filtered out of the dense foliage entirely, drenching the world in shadow. Nightfall had never looked so sinister.
    â€œAnyway, we should get inside. We can talk in the cabin. It’s freezing out here, and I promised your dad I’d keep you safe.”
    That was pure bullshit. Mitch Barclay had been dead since she was twelve, and even before that, he’d never been particularly interested in her well-being—except when it suited him. He’d faded in and out of her life like a ghost, each time seeming a little less connected to reality. His final visit had been so strange that she hadn’t wanted to see him again. He’d come just to stare at her, it seemed, like he could x-ray the inside of her head.
    The man knelt and peeled the tape from around her ankles. She wanted to run, but taking off ill prepared in the cold might be stupider than staying put. Besides, her feet had gone completely numb. Blood rushed back in splinters of pain.
    Distracting herself, Jenna tried to memorize the dwelling’s exterior. Maybe she could put some detail in her text message. They stood in a clearing ringed by heavy trees. The split-log cabin looked like someone’s hunting retreat, rustic but not shabby or poorly maintained.
    When the man straightened, he was bigger than she’d realized, perhaps as much as a foot taller than her own five foot six. His swarthy skin bespoke some mixed ancestry, and he was built like a Mack truck. Solid muscle. Quite simply, she could hit him with a brick and he wouldn’t even notice.
    She’d have to outsmart him.
    With a gesture, he indicated she should precede him toward the cabin. It wasn’t good manners as much as him keeping an eye on her. She stumbled a little, her legs still stiff and tingling. He steadied her with a surprising hand on her back. She flinched and pulled away, but a small part of her was thankful that she hadn’t fallen. Keep it together. Stay calm.
    Jenna crossed the tidy porch, her shoes clunking against the plank wooden floor. Dread churned her nausea when she reached the door. He leaned past her and opened it—again, probably not a courtesy so much as recognizing the limitations of her bound hands. The inside of the cabin matched the exterior: woven rugs, hand-carved furniture with homey sewn cushions, and a big stone fireplace. Avocado appliances decked out an antiquated kitchenette, and a ladder led up to what might be a loft.
    â€œGo in,” he said. “I need to take care of some things. Then I’ll cut you loose, so you can ask all the questions I see burning in your eyes.”

TWO
    Mason watched from the doorway as Jenna settled onto the oversized wing-backed chair. Despite an expression stricken with fear, she did so with grace. The massive seat would better suit a lumberjack, all but dwarfing her. She kept her back straight, bound hands in her lap, and those cool green eyes aimed at the barren fireplace.
    He wanted to be surprised at finding Mitch’s daughter graceful and collected. Prophetic, canny, even capable—that would make sense. Mitch Barclay had definitely been resourceful. But graceful? Never. Yet Mason had felt it when he’d scooped Jenna into the trunk. Through the winter coat and her belated struggles, he’d held a dancer’s body. Long limbs and resilient muscles. His own muscles had responded, blood and bone finding a match in her strength.
    Strength they’d both need to survive the coming storm.
    Turning, Mason locked the door behind him and stalked through the dusk to check the