Chapter 5 #2
Jayda never asked anyone for help, not when they were kids, not when she was dropped into his mother’s house with nothing but a plastic grocery bag of clothes, not when she grew up and clawed her way through school.
She was stubborn and relentless, but most of all, independent.
And now she was sitting on his bench seat, framed by the dim train light, clutching papers like they might vanish in her hands, and asking him for help.
“What are those?” he asked, his voice sharper than intended.
Her eyes flicked up, dark and worried, before returning to the sheets of paper.
“It’s why they’re after me,” she whispered. “These papers are from a law file. This all started in the Yale library. A man was stealing it. I tried to stop him. He attacked me and dropped it.”
Michael sat in a slump on his bed across from her. “He attacked you?”
She nodded with a wave of her hand. “I tasered him and got away. But I grabbed these papers on my way out.”
Michael’s stomach dropped. He leaned closer, feeling the sway of the train under him. “You tasered him?”
She lifted her chin at him. “He had a gun. I did what I had to do. It doesn’t matter, Michael.
What matters is this name.” She tapped the page with her finger.
“Veronica Carlisle. She was listed as a witness. These documents show she testified and then disappeared. Possibly witness protection. These are pictures of her.”
Michael frowned, trying to chase the connection. He reached out, and after a hesitation, she handed him the pages. His journalist’s eye devoured them quickly—typed notes, a government seal, but on the top, Veronica’s name was listed as a witness…the same name on the hit-list.
“She’s next,” Michael muttered.
“Yes, and so am I,” Jayda finished. Her voice cracked just enough to betray the fear she held back. “But what if they need this file to figure out where she really went? Whoever wants her gone…they won’t stop until they have these.”
Michael stared at the name. His throat went dry. Veronica Carlisle. He’d never heard of her before, but he’d seen this sort of document before—in exposés about witness tampering, organized crime hits, leaks inside protective custody. A cold weight settled in his chest.
“And these pictures,” Jayda said, tugging another sheet from the folded mess in her lap.
She held it up. A grainy black-and-white photo, clearly an old surveillance image of a woman stepping off the platform of a train, her hair pulled tight and her head low.
“These were in the file too. They’re looking for her. ”
Michael caught himself rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous tic he hated. “And you’re sure this isn’t just some old, irrelevant—”
“No.” Her eyes locked on his, fierce and cutting. “I’ve been chased. Cornered. I almost didn’t make it to this train alive. Somebody wants these documents. And I can’t do this alone, Michael. I need—”
She stopped short, swallowed.
Michael let out a breath, dropped the paper onto the bunk. “You’re asking me for my journalistic help, then?”
“Yes.” Her tone was clipped, defensive. “You know how to dig. How to follow trails. If anyone can figure out who Veronica Carlisle really was and where she went, it’s you.”
For a long moment, heavy silence wrapped around them. Michael leaned against the wall, folding his arms, studying her. Jayda, always too composed, always refusing to let him or anyone see the cracks, now stared at him like he was her last lifeline.
But he couldn’t let it be that simple.
“Do you really want my help?” he asked quietly.
Her brow furrowed. “I just said—”
“No.” He cut her off, his voice lower now, steadier. “Do you really want it? Because if you do…I want something, too.”
Her mouth parted, then snapped shut. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Of course. There it is. The catch.”
“Jayda—”
She stood, folding the papers with quick, jerky hands, shoving them against her chest. Her curls bounced as she shook her head. “Forget it. I should’ve known. You’ve always wanted me gone. Out of your perfect family. Out of your mother’s house. Out of your life.”
“That’s not—”
“You’ll have to talk to Ginny about that,” she snapped. “She’s the one who kept me, who insisted I stay, who made me family whether you—or I—liked it. If you want me out, talk to her.”
She turned, heading for the door, but Michael’s hand shot out before he could stop himself. His fingers wrapped around hers, warm and trembling.
“Wait,” he said.
She froze, half-turned, her breath quick. He tugged her gently back, not enough to hurt, but enough to make her face him.
Their eyes collided. The train swayed. Time stretched between them.
“My mother loves you,” he said roughly. “You know that, right?”
Jayda blinked, startled.
“And Dad too. You are…you are family. To them. That’s all I’m asking for. That you recognize how much they love you.” His voice softened, betraying more than he intended. “And I—” He stopped, jaw tightening. He wasn’t ready to peel back that last layer, not with her life on the line.
Her lips parted, caught between disbelief and skepticism. “You what?”
Michael’s hand was still around hers. He could feel the pulse in her wrist, rapid against his fingers.
He should let go. He didn’t.
Michael swallowed hard, refusing to let the words that had almost escaped his mouth have air. She was important—far too important—but he’d never let himself admit that, not even in the privacy of his own mind. Instead, he forced the tightening in his chest down and reached for safer ground.
“Never mind.” He cleared his throat. “How did you even get in here without a key?” His voice was rougher than he meant, but he let his words anchor him to reason. Keep this meeting business.
Jayda’s lips tilted, not in a smile but in the barest acknowledgment of what she’d done. She shrugged. “I lifted it from your wallet.”
His brows rose. “You—what?” He reached for his wallet, finding his second key gone.
“A little trick I learned when I was young. You really shouldn’t leave your wallet on the table like that. You’re asking for trouble.”
Michael let out a disbelieving huff, trying to mask the worry clawing at his ribs. “I should’ve guessed. Learned it on the streets, I suppose?”
Her head snapped up, curls framing her face in defiance. “No. I learned it at a foster home. Before Ginny and Ed.” Her gaze didn’t waver, but her voice lowered, quieter. “When my foster father locked me in a closet. I figured out where he kept the key.”
The words hit him like a physical blow. Michael’s breath caught, and for a second, he couldn’t think, couldn’t move. All he saw was a younger Jayda—too small and scared, hidden behind a door.
“Jayda…” His throat tightened. “I’m—” His voice faltered, then steadied with raw sincerity. “I’m so sorry.”
Her eyes softened just a fraction, though she gave a small shake of her head, as though to dismiss his pity before it weakened her. She gripped the papers tighter, holding them like a shield. “Will you help me or not?”
Michael straightened, resolve pulling him forward. “Yes. Whatever you need.”
Her shoulders lowered, relief flickering across her face for the first time since he had found her here. “Then I need to know where the real Veronica Carlisle went.”
Before he could respond, the train jolted, brakes whining against metal as the conductor’s voice filled the overhead speakers. “Next stop, Chicago Union Station. Please gather your belongings…”
Michael leaned back, dragging in a deep breath. Perfect timing. They had work to do during the layover.
He glanced at Jayda, who still clutched the papers close.
“Looks like we’ll be late,” he said.
Her brows knit. “Late for what?”
“The Santa Village dinner.” His mouth curved faintly, but the weight in his voice kept it from being light. “I’ll let you be the one to break it to Mom.”
Jayda blinked, then a laugh escaped her, soft and unguarded. “Sure. Make me the bad guy.”
Michael didn’t laugh with her. He watched her instead, his chest tightening. Slowly, he stood and drew her close to him. “There are enough bad guys already.” His tone was low, steady, but charged with warning. He lowered his voice as the train slowed further. “Stay close to me, Jayda.”
Her laughter faded. She nodded once, the bravado slipping away.
“I’m trusting you,” she whispered. “Don’t make me regret it.”
Michael realized that, for Jayda to come to him took more strength in her than if she tried to do this alone. He was sure he was the last person in the world she would ever trust. And she wasn’t wrong. He didn’t deserve her trust.
But duty called.
He could practically hear his mother telling him to help Jayda. But what if protecting her was more than duty? What if he’d been waiting for her to trust him all along?
If so, then he had one shot. He doubted Jayda gave second chances to anyone.