Chapter 4
Chapter Four
The steady clatter of the train against the rails should have been soothing.
A lullaby of iron wheels carrying her further away from New Haven, away from the library, away from the man’s furious face the moment she’d pulled the trigger on the stun gun.
Instead, the train’s rhythm scraped against Jayda’s raw nerves, a relentless reminder that she was running and not safe.
She shifted in her narrow bunk, pressing the side of her face into the pillow that smelled faintly of starch. Beside her, on the opposite bunk, the twins breathed in sync. Little saws, soft snores—the sound of safety, of innocence. They had the kind of sleep only children could manage.
Jayda envied them.
Every time she closed her eyes, the day’s events moved in her memory.
The heavy boots slammed against the pavement when the men chased her.
The angry hiss of breath when they tried to reach for her but she’d escaped their grasp.
She half-expected them to burst into the cabin now, snatch her up, and drag her into the snowy night.
Who were they? The mob? They had to be. The man wanted the file of the woman who turned state’s evidence and disappeared right after. Was the man she tasered the released convict that Professor D mentioned? If so, she was a dead woman.
Jayda hugged her knees, tucking herself small in the bunk, a makeshift hiding place on a holiday train bound for California. Snow stacked against the windows as the train barreled into a storm in the dark.
Would she ever go back?
The question curled sharply in her chest. If this man had her name, would she even live long enough to walk across a stage at graduation?
Which wasn’t even an option anymore anyway.
She pressed the heel of her palm against her eyes.
The rumble of the train deepened as it pushed into a wall of wind.
Snow streaked the window in ribbons, catching her attention.
She sat up, pulling the blanket around her shoulders, and leaned toward the glass.
The outside world vanished with just a blur of white swallowing the view.
“Great,” she whispered. “Outrun the mob but die in a snowdrift.”
Her breath clouded faintly against the window. She traced a circle with her finger, her mind spinning back—not to the faceless men she feared but to two others.
Michael and Simon.
Her mouth tightened.
Michael, with his half-smirk, his reporter’s curiosity that always saw more than she wanted him to, and Simon with his slick smile, expensive watch, and a suave charm that always set her guard on high alert.
They’d both sidled up to her too quickly, offered help too easily.
Men like that tended to have a price tag tucked behind their words.
They both wanted something from her.
She couldn’t tell what yet.
But she knew this much: they weren’t getting it.
She had enough on her plate—classwork, survival, trying not to crumble under the weight of fear every time she heard footsteps in the corridor. She didn’t have time for them, or their interests, or whatever schemes they hid behind polite smiles.
She would tell them both to leave her alone. Tomorrow.
A soft knock startled her. She froze, blanket clutched to her chest, heart slamming.
Michael’s warning from earlier surfaced like a lighthouse beam in her memory. It’s dangerous to open the door to strangers.
She swallowed hard, leaned close. “Who is it?” she whispered.
The reply was quiet, feminine. “Jayda? It’s Ginny. How are the boys? They being good for you?”
Relief sagged Jayda’s shoulders, though the tension didn’t fully leave. She glanced at the bunk—two tousle-haired heads, still lost in sleep.
“They’re fine,” she said through the door, careful to keep her voice low.
There was a pause. Then Ginny’s voice, softer still. “Will you open the door? I just want to see for myself. And…” A beat of hesitation. “I want to know you’re all right.”
Jayda closed her eyes. Ginny meant well—she always had. She’d been the closest thing Jayda had had to a mother during those years in foster care. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Ginny always wanted to step into shoes that didn’t fit. No one could fill the void her actual mother had left.
Her throat tightened. “Maybe in the morning,” she said, forcing gentleness. “It’s late. Let’s…talk then.”
A pause. Then a small, sad, “Okay.”
The footsteps receded. Jayda exhaled, leaning back against the pillow.
She barely had time to settle before another knock rattled the door.
Her sigh came sharp, frustrated. Ginny again?
She pushed to her feet, shoving her arms into the sleeves of her sweatshirt. Her foster mom would never understand that this conversation couldn’t be forced. Jayda didn’t want her to play mother now, not after all these years.
But fine. Tonight, she’d let Ginny fuss and get it out of her system.
Jayda pulled the sweatshirt over her head, padded barefoot across the cabin floor, and tugged open the lock.
Her blood iced.
Not Ginny.
A man.
Dark jacket, sharp shoulders, eyes like black glass fixed on her, but his face was in the shadows of the dark corridor.
Jayda reacted on instinct—shoving the door, trying to slam it shut. His hand caught the edge, pushing back. The wood bit into her palms as she leaned her weight against it, desperate.
The twins woke with sharp cries, the high, frightened sound of children jarred awake.
“Jayda!” one of them screamed.
The man’s face was too close. His breath slid through the crack. She shoved harder, fear surging hot in her veins.
Then a violent bang. The door snapped inward, slammed shut, and he was gone.
The twins sobbed in their bunks, little fists clutching blankets. Jayda’s hands shook on the lock, her pulse pounding so loud it drowned the storm outside.
Another knock—this one harder, insistent.
“Jayda, open up!” Michael’s voice.
“Now!” Simon chimed in, urgent and sharp.
Her fingers fumbled with the lock. She yanked the door open to have Michael burst into the cabin just as the train screamed on its brakes. The grinding halt pitched Jayda sideways, and she flew straight into Michael’s arms.
Jayda trembled in his arms, her body soft against his, fragile even, and yet there was a current of defiance running through her that practically vibrated in his chest. She still held him back from knowing the truth.
Since spotting those men at the platform, he had this gut-deep certainty that Jayda wasn’t safe. And now, that idea had just materialized into reality. He’d been right. She was in trouble. And now, having her in his arms, the last thing he wanted was to release her.
But she stiffened, pushing at his chest. “Let me go, Michael,” she demanded, her voice low, sharp, as though she was trying to wrestle control back from whatever had just happened.
He hesitated. For a second too long.
“Jayda—”
“Now.”
The steel in her eyes made his hands unclasp reluctantly. He forced himself to step away as far as the cabin would allow.
Simon, ever the helpful boy scout, crouched near the twins, whispering something soothing that made the boys’ sobs taper down into little hiccups. Michael’s jaw clenched. He should be the one steadying the kids, not Simon playing hero.
Jayda adjusted her sweatshirt, her gaze flitting away from Michael’s. “It was just…someone who had the wrong room. That’s all.”
Michael’s brows drew together. “You didn’t know him?”
“No.” Her answer was swift, clipped. “I’ve never seen him before.”
But she wasn’t looking at him when she said it.
Michael studied her, seeing more in what she didn’t say than what she did. She was being careful with her words. This wasn’t one of the men who’d chased her to the train—whoever they were. This was someone else. A new threat. Which meant things were escalating.
“What about—”
“I said I’ve never seen him. I meant what I said.”
She wanted him to drop it. But how could he?
“Were you hurt?”
Jayda folded her arms. “No. Don’t worry about me. I don’t need your help. I’m fine.”
His teeth ground together. That wasn’t true. She was still shaking.
“At least give me a description,” he pressed, sliding into reporter mode because that was the only way he knew to disarm her defenses. “Height? Build? What was he wearing?”
She huffed out an impatient sigh. “It was dark. A hat, maybe? I don’t know. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“He tried to get in here. That’s not nothing.”
“Michael.” She cut him off, her tone sharp as a snapped icicle. “Let it go. Find out why the train stopped instead of interrogating me.”
As if on cue, a knock rattled the cabin door, followed by the sound of the conductor’s voice urging everyone to calm down.
The corridor buzzed with mutters and worried questions.
Michael opened the door, and the conductor explained, “The train hit something. An animal, most likely. With the snowstorm, we had to stop and check the tracks. We’ll be moving again shortly.
Everyone, please return to your cabins.”
Michael nodded but didn’t release the man immediately. “Be on the lookout. A man in a hat tried to barge into this cabin. Not drunk—deliberate.”
The conductor’s expression flickered uneasily. “We’ll keep an eye out.”
Jayda crossed her arms tighter, her glare practically scorching at Michael. “You’re exaggerating. He was probably under the influence and got confused about his room.”
She turned away from him to face Simon. “Thank you for helping with the boys. You were wonderful.” Her smile for Simon was soft, grateful, the smile Michael had never seen her aim at him. “You’re so kind, Simon. You’ll make a good father someday.”
Simon flushed, ducking his head modestly, eating it up.
Michael wanted to punch the wall.
“Could you help me bring the twins to Ginny?” Jayda asked, placing her trust squarely in Simon as if Michael wasn’t standing two feet away.
“Of course.” Simon gently herded the boys toward the door.
And just like that, Jayda, Simon, and the twins disappeared down the corridor, leaving Michael alone in her cabin, seething.
He raked a frustrated hand through his hair. How could she dismiss what just happened? How could she not see this wasn’t some random lost or drunk person but something calculated?
She had to know. She wasn’t being honest for a reason.
And Simon, playing the part of the noble protector, soaked up Jayda’s thanks while Michael stood painted as the nuisance. Simon was up to something too. The guy hovered too close, too eager. Michael meant to find out what was going on with both of them.
As he turned to leave the cabin, something on the floor in the corridor caught his eye. A folded piece of paper, almost camouflaged against the shadows on the floor.
He bent down and picked it up. The edges were creased from being handled. Curious, he unfolded it.
A list of names stared back at him, twenty in total, scrawled in a neat but hurried hand. Each name carried a checkmark beside it—except for the last two.
Veronica Carlisle and Jayda Simone.
Jayda’s name was written there, stark and undeniable. Unchecked.
His stomach dropped.
The air seemed to thin around him as his journalist instincts flared into overdrive. Michael sat down on the edge of the bunk and pulled out his phone, quickly typing the first name into a search bar.
An obituary popped up instantly. Dead. Car crash.
Second name—another obituary. Fire.
Third—accidental drowning.
His pulse pounded harder with each search. Every single person on the list was dead. Strange accidents. Convenient accidents.
It didn’t take long before the conclusion crystallized in his mind, cold and certain.
This was a hit list.
A hollow dread pooled in Michael’s chest. Whoever had barged into Jayda’s cabin wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t lost. He was a hitman.
And Jayda was on his list.