Free Midnight Sun by Rachel Grant Page A

supernatural object controlling and communicating with him seemed utterly nuts in the bright light of midday. He couldn’t begin to fathom why he’d believed her.
    The man he’d seen, the one who supposedly resembled the museum curator? His features had been generic. White male, tall, fifties, thinning gray hair. The description fit millions of men. And Rhys had been distracted by Sienna as she rubbed her body against his, doing everything she could to hinder him.
    He couldn’t explain everything, but the more he thought about it, the more it appeared that Sienna Aubrey had played him. The question was: why?

    B lack rage. Pain. Remorse. Regret. Self-loathing. Could she feel worse about herself? Worse about Rhys? Worse about her small existence in the cosmos?
    The answer was a decided no.
    She hadn’t stormed off hoping he’d follow her. That wasn’t a game she played. No, she’d stormed off because the awful feelings repelled her. Or Rhys did. Like magnets with the same polarity. She’d had to leave.
    Before the blackness of self-loathing consumed her.
    She’d marched a few hundred yards when the blackness faded to storm-cloud gray. By the time she reached the chain-link fence that enclosed the power plant, the cloud lightened to simply gloomy. She came to a dead stop.
    Oh crap.
    Every negative reaction, every thought, every hostility, every unpleasant emotion she’d felt toward herself and Rhys had come from the mask. Only now as its grip lightened could she sense the tendrils of the mask’s psychic signature.
    Why had the mask pushed her toward Rhys, then repelled her so completely? She’d been ready to hike all the way back to Chuck’s house, hop in her rental car, and drive to the airport. In the grip of the mask, she’d embraced the idea of never seeing Rhys again, but she’d been tricked. Driven away. Had the mask planted the seed of doubt in his mind to begin with?
    Why?
    The crack of a bullet broke the early afternoon silence.
    She turned and sprinted back toward the industrial park.

    T he shot echoed through the climate-controlled artifact storage room. Rhys dropped to the ground, heart pounding as he reached for his gun, holstered at the small of his back.  
    What the hell was going on? He’d spent a few minutes looking over the cedar box—checking for grooves or hooks, and finding none—then debated whether or not he should chase after Sienna, but had decided to enter the storage facility. He’d done little more than unlock the door, flip on the lights, and head for the office in the back, when there’d been a deafening bang and he’d felt a rush of air next to his shoulder that could only be a bullet traveling at a thousand feet per second.
    He heard footsteps, then a thud. A piercing high wail followed. The alarm system had been triggered. The shooter had opened the back door? The high-pitched squeal drowned out all other sounds. Red lights flashed over the front door and reflected off metal shelves near the back wall. The rear exit? He hoped to hell the shooter had bolted out the back, because he’d never hear someone sneaking up on him under the shrill wail of the alarm.  
    Jesus, he’d been inches from being shot.
    In his mind, a vision took over. The siren became muted background noise as he experienced a different moment. The mask wanted to show him something. He was with Sienna, inside the storage facility. She strolled next to him down the extra-wide aisle and tugged on his hand, leaning her head toward his shoulder as she pointed out an object on one of the tables. “That totem is sim—”
    The crack of the shot echoed. Next to him, the bullet that had sailed harmlessly past him in reality instead found Sienna, hitting her in the temple.
    She was dead before she hit the ground.  

Chapter Six

    T he alarm echoed across the flat landscape, spurring Sienna to run even faster. Rhys. He needed her. She reached the industrial park and tucked herself into the shadow of the CrossFit