Chapter 5
Chapter Five
The dining car smelled like bacon, coffee, and cinnamon rolls—comforting scents that should have wrapped the morning in coziness, except Jayda’s nerves were still frayed from the night before.
She slid into her seat at the long table Ginny had claimed for the entire family, grateful for the steaming mug of coffee already waiting for her.
Ginny was in full hostess mode, her curls bouncing as she made sure everyone had plates. “Eat up, everyone,” she sang out. “Big day ahead! We’ll be rolling into Chicago tonight, and I have fantastic plans.”
Jayda forced a smile, though she wasn’t sure she could stomach much.
Sleep had come in fits and starts, taunted by the memory of the man in her cabin, his hands grasping, his breathing a hiss in her ear before Michael had appeared and scared him off.
The liquid in her mug jostled from her trembling hand, and she put it down. She couldn’t let her fear show.
The twins were chattering at a speed only they could understand, piling scrambled eggs onto their plates like they were in some kind of eating competition.
Uncle Henry sat beside them, already resigned to cleaning up spilled juice.
Across from Jayda, Aunt Caroline adjusted her scarf and cleared her throat.
“Simon will be down later,” she said with a prim smile. “You know he’s always been a late riser.”
Michael, sitting too close to Jayda on her left, gave a low scoff into his coffee.
Jayda’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “Knock it off,” she muttered under her breath.
Michael arched a brow at her, feigning innocence.
She raised her voice enough for everyone at the table to hear. “Simon was wonderful with the boys last night. When they were scared, he calmed them down, made them laugh. He deserves a little extra sleep.”
Caroline gave Jayda a grateful smile, though Michael’s eyes rolled so hard she thought they might stick in the back of his head.
Jayda ignored him and stabbed at her eggs, pretending her pulse wasn’t racing from the tension between them. Why did he care so much about what she said about Simon anyway?
Conversation rolled on about Chicago—shopping, sightseeing, and the layover they would have there. Jayda tried to focus on her plate, but then she felt Michael lean in, his voice pitched low just for her.
“Who is Veronica Carlisle?”
Her fork froze midair. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he said, his eyes fixed straight ahead, not even looking at her. His hand brushed under the table, sliding something small and folded into her lap.
Her fingers curled around it instinctively, hiding the paper in her palm.
“What is this?” she whispered.
“Something your visitor left behind last night,” Michael murmured. His jaw was tight, his expression calm for the family’s sake. “It’s a list. You’re on it. You and Veronica are the only two still breathing.” He finally glanced at her, his gaze sharp. “For now.”
Before Jayda could respond, Ginny clapped her hands.
“All right, everyone! Tonight, during our stop in Chicago, we’re going to the Santa’s Village Christmas Dinner!
They’re setting up an entire North Pole experience in the hotel ballroom.
Santa, reindeer, the works. And every single one of you must attend.
I’ve also booked a room for everyone to relax and freshen up. ”
The twins erupted into cheers, shouting, “Santa!” They bounced in their seats.
Caroline reached for her tea, saying, “Simon will be there, of course. He wouldn’t miss it.”
Jayda forced another smile, but her grip tightened on the folded paper in her lap.
Ginny beamed at the boys. “Christmas is only a week and a half away, and I want us to savor every moment together. Which brings me to my next surprise.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a stack of wrapped boxes, small and square, decorated in festive paper.
“Every morning, I’ll give each of you a gift.
But you mustn’t be late for breakfast—this is when I’ll hand out the holiday orders for the day’s festivities. ”
The twins nearly fell out of their chairs with excitement, clawing at their boxes.
Jayda mustered a laugh, even as dread curled low in her stomach.
“I need to study, Ginny,” she reminded gently. “My tests don’t go away just because it’s Christmas.”
“Then Michael will help you,” Ginny declared without hesitation. “That’s settled.”
Michael looked smug. “Happy to.”
Jayda opened her mouth to protest, but before she could, a smooth voice slipped in behind her.
“I’ll help her.”
Simon.
Jayda stiffened as his hands came down lightly on her shoulders, warm and casual, like he belonged there. He leaned down just close enough that his breath brushed her ear. “Wouldn’t want you falling behind, Jayda.”
Her heart thudded. She glanced sideways just in time to catch Michael’s glare, hot and unmistakable. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. Then his gaze dropped—to the note still clenched in her hand beneath the table.
Jayda’s throat tightened. She crumpled the paper in her fist, shoving it into her pocket for later.
“I don’t need anyone’s help,” she said sharply, pushing back from the table. Chairs scraped as she stood. “Excuse me. I’m…I’m tired after last night.”
Ginny frowned, but Jayda didn’t wait for permission. She turned and hurried out of the dining car, feeling Simon and Michael’s eyes burning between her shoulder blades.
When she finally reached the quiet of her cabin, she shut the door, leaned back against it, and let out a shaky breath.
Only then did she pull the paper from her pocket and smooth it open.
A list.
Names scrawled in hurried ink. Most crossed out. The two at the bottom were not.
Veronica Carlisle.
Jayda Simone.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for her bag. She dug through books and papers until she pulled out the old photograph and case file she’d hidden since that night in the law library. The file that man had tried to steal.
She flipped it open. The first name on the report glared at her, stark and undeniable.
Veronica Carlisle.
The same name written above her own on the list.
In the library, Jayda hadn’t just interrupted a man stealing a file. She’d interrupted a hit job.
And now, she was on the list.
Jayda stood and grabbed her bag, heading for the door.
Michael stalked down the narrow corridor of the sleeper car, his breath uneven. He’d checked Jayda’s cabin twice. Empty. Knocked on his parents’ and Caroline and Henry’s. No sign.
Where was she?
He moved quickly, each step vibrating faintly with the rhythm of the train as it cut through the wintry Midwest. His gut twisted.
Something was wrong. He knew it with the same certainty that he knew how many words he could squeeze into an article lede before an editor red-lined it.
Jayda was not the type to disappear quietly.
Michael pushed through the swaying door into the next car. He leaned against the frame for balance and scanned the seating section. Businessmen with laptops. A pair of teenage girls sharing earbuds. A woman rocking a toddler with flushed cheeks. No Jayda.
He checked the bathrooms one by one, ignoring the odd looks when he rattled a locked door and muttered, “Sorry.”
She was not on the train. But how was that possible?
His pulse hammered harder. Every second he didn’t find her was another second she could be checked off that list.
The dining car was next. He shoved open the door and stepped inside, his eyes sweeping across the room. A few passengers lingered over late coffee, the tang of syrup and toast still hanging in the air.
Michael walked the length of the car, scanning each booth. His voice came out rough, more desperate than he had intended. “Have any of you seen a woman? Black curls. Dark eyes. She’s…” His throat caught, but he forced the words out. “She’s really pretty.”
He froze at his own admission.
Really pretty.
He hadn’t planned to say that. He’d meant to say short, or maybe young, or possibly stubborn.
But the truth had slipped out before he could catch it, and it startled him enough that he actually faltered mid-stride.
Because it was true. Jayda had always been beautiful.
Not in the polished, curated way of New York socialites he sometimes brushed shoulders with at events, but in a way that felt natural and comforting.
And now, seeing her as an adult…her beauty was sharper. More stunning—smart. And somehow, she tugged at places in his chest he’d worked hard to keep barricaded.
But there was no time to think about that. She was missing with a killer on the train. And she was on his list.
A woman at one table tilted her head. “I think I saw someone who fits that description. She went into Room 19. Back in the cabins.”
Michael’s breath caught.
Room 19.
His room.
He hadn’t checked there. Because why would Jayda—?
He didn’t wait to finish the thought. He bolted.
The corridor felt narrower on the sprint back. He fumbled for his key card even before he reached the door, his hand slick with sweat despite the drafty chill of the train.
He shoved the key in, the lock beeped, and he threw the door open.
And stopped dead.
Jayda sat on the bench across from his unmade bunk, her curls framing her face like a storm cloud. She was holding a folded sheet of paper in her lap. Her posture was unnervingly still, except for her eyes—wide and carrying both defiance and fear.
Michael stepped in and shut the door behind him. The lock clicked, a small sound swallowed by the rumble of the tracks.
Jayda didn’t flinch. Didn’t look up right away. Then, with a voice flat but edged with fragility, she said, “I need your help.”
Michael froze at her words.