Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Ginny shouted with glee. “I knew it,” she said, grinning like Christmas morning had arrived early. “The two of you—finally sitting down and talking things through. Do you know how long I’ve prayed for this? Our family needed healing, and here it is, right in front of me. It’s a Christmas miracle.”
Jayda kept her arms folded tight across her chest, more for armor than warmth, as Michael’s mother prattled on. Ginny’s face glowed with earnest excitement, her hands fluttering as she spoke.
Jayda forced a smile. A miracle? More like a nightmare she couldn’t wake from. If only Ginny knew that the only reason she and Michael stood together was because men with guns were hunting her down for whatever was buried in the documents she had stuffed in her bag.
Michael cleared his throat. “Mom, we’ve got a few things to sort out. Personal matters. It might take a little time.”
“Oh, don’t worry about dinner,” Ginny said, her eyes twinkling. “I’ll hold off until you’re back. Just don’t be too late. We’re all taking a family photo with Santa at the village, and you can’t miss it. Then the train leaves at nine sharp—through the Rockies! A winter wonderland.”
Jayda managed another smile, though the task they had weighed down on her. Three hours. That was all they had. Four hours to untangle the mystery of Veronica Carlisle before the train pulled out of the station.
Ginny hugged them both, whispering, “I’m so glad this reunion is happening.”
“Me too,” Jayda mumbled. If only Ginny knew the truth.
They slipped out of the station and onto the bustling street, holiday lights casting a festive glow over everything. Jayda tried to steady her breathing. Every step away from the family meant freedom—until a familiar voice called out.
“Wait up.”
Jayda stiffened. Simon. Michael’s cousin moved quickly through the crowd, his scarf trailing over his coat. He looked annoyed that they had left him behind.
“What’s really going on?” Simon asked, falling into step beside them. His sharp gaze flicked between Jayda and Michael. “You expect me to believe you two are suddenly patching up twelve years of vitriol over a slice of pie? Come on.”
Jayda exhaled slowly. “Simon, it would be safer if you didn’t know.”
“Safer? Safe from that man last night?” His eyes narrowed. “What about Michael’s safety? You’re dragging him into something, aren’t you?”
Jayda flinched at the truth in his words. She was dragging Michael deeper into danger. For a second, she wondered if she should do this alone. That way, only her neck was on the line.
But Michael’s jaw tightened as he spoke. “I’ve handled dangerous investigations before. I know what I’m doing.”
“So what? I can hold my own too. Don’t act like I’m fragile.”
Michael scoffed. “Please. You’ve spent more time at elite parties with a slew of bodyguards who fight off any danger.”
“And you with a press badge around your neck isn’t real danger either.”
Michael bristled, heat rising in his eyes. “You’d be surprised, Simon. Not every truth gets printed. Some of us dig deeper into things than the headlines state.”
Jayda stepped between them before fists could fly. “Enough. This isn’t about family squabbles. Simon, go back to your family. I don’t want to explain to them if something happens to you.”
“Thanks a lot, Jayda. I thought we had something going between us.” Simon’s mouth twisted in anger and offense. “But fine. Don’t say I didn’t offer my help.” He stormed off, disappearing into the crowd.
Jayda swallowed the guilt rising in her throat. She liked Simon but not romantically. She also knew she was using him to make Michael angry. Not her best moment. But now wasn’t the time to rectify her actions.
“Time’s ticking. We have less than four hours to figure out who Veronica Carlisle is and why men are willing to kill me over her pictures and papers.”
Michael placed a hand on her elbow, gentle but firm. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”
Their first stop was a squat, windowless building tucked off a quieter street. The brass plaque read United States Marshals Service. Michael had made a call earlier—one of his contacts had arranged a meeting. Now they were here to see if the marshal could shed light on Veronica Carlisle.
Inside, the receptionist led them down a hallway lined with faded flags and framed commendations. The air smelled faintly of coffee and paper, and finally, they were ushered into a private office where a man in his late fifties sat behind a desk, typing. His nameplate read Gerald Meeks.
He looked up, his expression guarded. “Mr. Blair? And Ms.—”
“Simone,” Jayda said quickly with her best lawyer voice.
Michael placed the documents on the desk. “This is what we came about. Can you tell us anything about this woman and why people are willing to kill for these papers?”
Meeks flipped through the documents, then tapped the photo of Veronica Carlisle. His brow furrowed as he typed on his computer keyboard. The silence stretched until finally he asked, “What’s this for?”
Jayda exchanged a glance with Michael. “Men are after this information. They’ve already tried to kill me for it. Whoever she is, they want her badly.”
Meeks leaned back, eyes unreadable. “She’s already dead.”
Jayda’s stomach lurched. “What do you mean?”
“I mean Veronica Carlisle no longer exists,” he said flatly. “Rest assured—there’s nothing in these documents that would lead them anywhere.”
His eyes said something different. He wasn’t being forthright—she studied him closely, looking for the signs. He was good, but not perfect.
Michael pressed, “Then why the hunt?”
“Because,” Meeks said, his tone sharpening, “they’ll kill you before they realize the information is worthless.”
The words chilled Jayda to the core. He was right. By the time those men learned the truth, she’d already be dead.
“Is there anything else you need?” Gerald asked.
“No, that’s all.” Jayda stood. She doubted he would share anyway.
They thanked him, though unease gnawed at Jayda’s insides. She gathered her bag and headed for the door, heart racing. Halfway down the hall, she froze.
Her phone. She’d left it on his desk.
“I’ll be right back,” she told Michael. She stepped up to the closed office door. Just as she was about to knock, Meeks’s voice filtered out.
His voice was low and curt, talking to someone, “Follow them.”
Jayda’s blood ran cold. She backed away, leaving her phone behind, then darted down the hall.
She grabbed Michael’s arm and whispered, “Run.”
Thankfully, he didn’t ask questions and led the way back through the building. They bolted out onto the street, the cold air hitting their lungs like knives. Jayda tugged Michael toward an alley. “We need to separate. It’ll buy us time. Meet back at dinner.”
Michael shook his head, breath puffing white in the air. “No, we stick together—”
But Jayda slipped free, heart hammering, sprinting down the narrow alley. Simon had been right. She led Michael right into danger. God, let nothing happen to him. I never wanted him to be harmed.
The prayer felt all wrong. Not because of her plea.
She meant every word. Michael had been a nuisance to her for as long as she’d known him, but she didn’t want him killed or even hurt.
The prayer felt all wrong because she had never bothered God before for anything.
She’d learned long ago that she was on her own. She didn’t need anybody.
But this prayer was for Michael. Lord, keep him safe. She would take care of herself.
Jayda reached inside her coat pocket and felt the pink jewels around her stun gun. The moment she knew she wasn’t alone in this alley, she held it at the ready.
She whirled around, and there—emerging from a doorway—was the man from the train. The same one who had tried to break into her cabin.
The one with the hit-list.
His eyes locked on hers with a smile that said, “Game over.”
She set off on a run straight at him, catching him by surprise. But she wasn’t fast enough for a hitman, and in the blink of an eye, her weapon was turned on her.
Michael’s heart slammed into his ribs with worry.
He ran block to block, alley to alley. One moment Jayda was running beside him, and the next she was gone.
The woman didn’t understand the definition of family.
She rejected every act of help his family offered and now this.
Why did she think she had to face every obstacle alone?
All questions he would demand answers for… after he found her.
But then had he ever offered her his help in any way? Did he ever treat her like family?
The answer to that question nearly caused him to stumble. She had no reason to trust him at all, and he had no right to ask her to. He wrote articles on peace deals but hadn’t made peace in his own home.
Why? What had been the point? Had he really been jealous of her? Or was there something else he never wanted to face?
Michael turned the corner of the next block and stopped cold.
The two men he’d seen chasing Jayda at the Penn Station platform stood dead ahead also looking down alleys.
Jayda had thought she was drawing the men away from them, but she had no idea they’d closed off her escape before she even started running.
“Over here!” he shouted, his voice cutting across the street. He raised his hand as if in surrender. “You’re looking for me, right?”
The men pivoted, eyes narrowing, and one of them barked something into a radio clipped beneath his coat. A sick weight dropped into Michael’s gut. Not just two of them. There were more.
And Jayda was alone to face them.
When the men sped his way, Michael forced his body to move, charging left down a side street lined with Christmas lights strung overhead, casting red hues in his path.
The men followed, boots slapping the pavement behind him.
A street performer dressed as an elf paused mid-bell jingle to gape as Michael tore past.