Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Jayda tugged her coat tighter around herself as she sat beside Michael on the old station’s cracked bench.
Her knee brushed his with every nervous shift, but he didn’t seem to mind, and neither did she.
A week ago, she wouldn’t have depended on him for anything, and now she was leaning against his shoulder as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
What was going on between them? How was she trusting him so easily?
Trust. That was the word echoing through her skull like a mocking refrain.
She had no business trusting him. Not after years of his torture, not after the way he had dismissed her when she’d been dropped off on his doorstep as if she chose this life.
And yet here they were, side by side, waiting for the train with his family to arrive, both content in each other’s presence.
Michael’s voice broke the silence. “The train should be here soon.”
“I can’t believe we beat them.”
“That we did.” He chuckled, his smooth timbre poured out like hot caramel, but she heard the edge of relief in it too.
She turned, catching the glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. Jayda offered a small smile. “Guess miracles happen.”
The words felt almost foreign. She hadn’t believed in miracles for a long time. But tonight, she let herself believe—just a little—that maybe the tide was turning. Maybe they weren’t doomed after all.
The clock above the ticket counter ticked to five a.m., and at last the distant hum of an engine rumbled through the dark. The station windows rattled as the train pulled in, metal screeching against the frozen tracks.
They rose together, Michael’s hand brushing against hers for just a second too long. The accidental touch made her pulse stumble. She glanced away quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed, and they made their way out onto the platform.
The doors hissed open. Silence. No chatter of early risers, no footsteps pounding down the corridor. They stepped inside and found the cars dimly lit for the overnight ride. Passengers were still tucked in their berths.
Michael released a quiet laugh. “Looks like nobody even realized we left.”
A giddy ripple moved through Jayda’s chest. “Do you think Simon told them?”
“Not likely. He would’ve let us handle it. And my mother would have called me relentlessly. He probably figured alerting everyone wasn’t worth the panic.”
“He was right,” Jayda murmured. “And not just about that. I put you in danger, and I’m sorry.”
“I wouldn’t have done anything differently. Thank you for trusting me enough to ask for help.”
They exchanged a look—half conspiratorial, half incredulous. A second chance. Somehow, impossibly, they’d been given one.
They drifted toward the dining car, which sat empty and still under the dim glow of the lamps. On one table lay the remnants of Ginny’s late-night project with the twins—scissors, scraps of ribbon, twigs bundled together with string.
Michael picked up a twig, holding it between his fingers. “Mistletoe,” he said, twisting it thoughtfully.
Jayda reached for a length of satin ribbon left behind, her fingers weaving through it absently. “She’s got the kids making decorations? Does she ever turn the joy off?”
“Never.” His tone carried amusement.
The quiet wrapped around them, but it wasn’t heavy anymore. For the first time in days, Jayda felt almost…safe. Her gaze drifted to Michael’s hands, steady and strong as he fiddled with the twig.
Then his words cut through the calm. “Chuck said something…while you were asleep. Could help us.”
She looked up. “Tell me.”
“We’ve been so worried about running, we haven’t considered who exactly we’re running from. If Veronica ran, who was she running from? It’s probably the same person making the orders. Tell me about the case.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know much about it. Professor Dandridge said the case was in the news because the convict was getting out of jail this month. Albert Langston was the man in the case.”
“Okay, so who was Veronica to Albert?” Michael withdrew his phone and searched for something.
“If she went into witness protection, we’ll never know who she is now.”
“What if she didn’t?” He scrolled, eyeing her above the phone.
Jayda’s grip on the ribbon tightened. “If she’s not in witness protection, then she’s on the run.”
Michael’s brows knit. “And that means?”
“It means she doesn’t know she’s being hunted—by them—and that we’re in the way. Whichever of us reaches her first decides her fate.”
He studied her face, his voice softening. “Why does this matter so much to you, Jayda? Besides your own safety?”
Her throat went dry. For a moment she considered brushing it off with a joke or a quick answer. But the weight of his striking eyes pressed against her defenses. But then hadn’t they always? Hadn’t those blues always read too much into her? She inhaled, steadying herself.
“Because I know what it feels like,” she whispered.
He didn’t speak. He waited.
Jayda set down the ribbon. Her voice trembled, but she forced herself forward.
“I know what it’s like to be forgotten. To be left out in the cold, trying to fend for yourself, wondering if anyone even remembers you exist. I lived on the streets.
I lived in fear, not knowing who to trust. And no one was there to speak for me. ”
Michael’s expression flickered with pain, but she pressed on.
“That’s why I chose family law. There are kids out there—people—just like me, waiting for someone to fight for them. To be a voice for them. Veronica…she used her voice to put a monster behind bars. And now? She’s on her own. And I can’t let her stand alone.”
The silence that followed was thick, charged with emotion. Michael reached for her hand, covering it with both of his. His touch was warm, grounding.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered with a frown and remorse in his eyes. “I’m sorry I made you feel forgotten. If it takes the rest of my life, I’ll make it up to you.”
Jayda’s chest ached, a mix of grief and longing colliding inside her. She pulled her hands back just slightly. “Michael…what are we doing? What’s going on between us?”
His eyes softened, but his voice was steady. “Does it bother you? Us being close instead of fighting each other?”
She hesitated, searching his face. “Does it bother you?”
For a moment, neither spoke. Then Michael raised the twig mistletoe above their heads, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“This,” he whispered, leaning closer, “feels right. Doesn’t it feel right to you?”
Jayda’s breath caught as his lips brushed against hers. The world tilted, her resistance crumbling with frightening ease.
“Yes,” she murmured against his mouth. And then she deepened the kiss, her arms sliding around his neck, her fingers tangling through his hair.
The warmth, the safety, the hunger—it was dizzying.
And then—
A sharp gasp split the air.
Jayda’s eyes flew open just as Michael pulled back, his expression stunned.
There, standing at the doorway of the dining car, was Ginny. Her hands clutched the twins close, the boys already giggling behind their palms, but Ginny’s face was thunderous, her fury blazing even in the dim light.
The sliding door at the other end of the car opened at the same moment, and in walked the two men who had chased Jayda back in New Haven.
Looking from one end of the car to the other, from an irate Ginny to deadly mobsters, Jayda didn’t know which was worse.
Michael stayed rooted to his spot, his body angled protectively toward Jayda. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t let her get hurt again, but the two thick-shouldered men who stepped into the car didn’t come for breakfast.
They were the men from Chicago. The fight in the alley. Most likely the men who shot out their tire and left them to freeze to death.
And now here to finish them, even with children in the car.
Jayda’s gaze darted from Ginny to the men and back again. Before he could tell her to stay put, she bolted. The burst of speed sent her hair flying behind her like a banner. She darted toward the far door and up to Ginny.
“Jayda! How could you?” Ginny’s voice cracked with anger and confusion.
“Not right now, Ginny. We have to get the kids out of here. Now!” Jayda picked up Timmy and took Tyler’s hand, pulling him toward the exit.
“I want to talk to both of you. Michael, you’re in big trouble, mister.”
Michael kept his gaze on the men. “You’re right about that, Mom. But we’ll talk after. Go with Jayda. Now.” His tone held authority, and thankfully his mother listened.
Michael squared his shoulders and readied for a fight. In no way was he letting the men past him. His blood thundered in his ears, adrenaline building.
“Well,” he said, his voice rough, “we meet again.”
The man on the left sneered, his jaw lined with old, pockmarked scars. “Get out of the way, Blair.”
“We don’t want you,” the other added. “We just want what the girl has.”
Michael flexed his jaw. “And what’s that?”
The scarred man’s eyes narrowed. “The pictures. After that, we’ll leave her alone.”
“I don’t believe you. Who is Veronica Carlisle?”
The second man grunted. “Veronica. She was mine. My wife. The broad turned on me. Called the cops on a job I was doing and got my boss sent to prison. She needs to pay. She thought she could run with our secrets.” His lips curled in a snarl.
“But wives don’t betray their husbands. She betrayed family.
Now she’ll pay for it. And anyone who protects her—” He leaned forward, menace dripping from every syllable. “—pays too.”
Michael clenched his fists. Every instinct screamed at him to lunge, to fight, but he forced his tone cool, almost mocking.
“So let me get this straight. You married a woman smarter than you, who turned you in, who escaped you, and you think the best revenge is chasing down a law student because she picked up the wrong envelope?”
The scarred man’s nostrils flared. “Move, Blair. Now.”
Instead, Michael stepped sideways—just enough to angle them closer to the vestibule doors. His eyes flicked toward the glass reflection, catching movement down the hall. Timing. He needed only timing.
“You know what’s funny?” Michael said, tilting his head like he wasn’t trembling inside. “You could have learned something from Veronica.”
“What’s that?”
“How to run.”
Before they could ask what he meant, Michael yanked the emergency brake handle by the wall. The train lurched hard. Both men stumbled, their balance thrown, and Michael shoved them back with a grunt, slamming one against the steel wall.
The far door slid open. Two more men entered, guns drawn. For a breathless second, Michael thought reinforcements for the mob had arrived—until the words rang out:
“U.S. Marshals! Hands where we can see ’em!”
Relief surged so hard it left Michael dizzy.
The two Chicago men froze. Michael shoved the scarred one again, tipping him toward the marshals, who moved swiftly, handcuffs snapping in seconds. The second man spat curses, thrashing, but Michael helped pin him until the cuffs bit home.
“Good work,” one marshal grunted to Michael, hauling the mobster upright.
Michael’s chest heaved as the men were dragged away. “Don’t thank me yet. Jayda ran. I have to find her.”
The marshals exchanged a look. “She’ll be safe now with these two off your tail. Go.”
Michael didn’t need more permission. He bolted down the aisle, shoving the next sliding door aside until he reached her cabin.
Inside, Jayda sat on the bunk, Ginny beside her, one hand wrapped tight around Jayda’s trembling fingers. The twins weren’t there.
Michael froze. “Where are the kids?”
“With Ed in the next car,” Ginny said quickly. Then she patted the bed. “Sit. We’re going to talk.”
Michael blinked. Talk? Now? He’d just fought mobsters, nearly lost Jayda, and Ginny wanted to chitchat?
But his mother’s eyes flashed with that familiar maternal command, and Michael obeyed, sinking to the bunk across from them.
Ginny folded her arms. “I don’t know what game you two are playing, but enough. Jayda, you’ve rejected us over and over, but I just found you kissing my son. So, which is it? What game are you playing here?”
Jayda’s face flushed crimson. Her lips parted to answer, but Michael cut in, leaning forward. “It was my fault. I pushed it. Don’t blame her.”
But Jayda shook her head. “No. Michael, stop. She’s right.” She turned to Ginny, voice breaking. “I owe you the truth. I’m sorry. For all the ways I turned my back on your love. I always felt guilty for letting myself forget my birth mother, like it was a betrayal to let you take her place.”
Ginny’s face softened instantly. She clasped Jayda’s hand tighter. “Oh, sweetheart. I never wanted to take her place. I wanted only to give you a home. A place where you were loved.”
Tears filled Jayda’s eyes, spilling down her flushed cheeks.
Ginny looked at Michael then, her eyes sharper than any knife. “But my son. He did everything he could to push you away. So tell me, Michael—what’s changed?”
Michael’s throat closed. He tried to look away, but Ginny’s stare demanded truth.
“Nothing,” he said finally, voice raw. “Nothing’s changed. I wanted Jayda to have a place she could be loved. Except…I think I always loved her in a different way. One that you wouldn’t have been happy about.”
Ginny and Jayda both went still.
Michael turned fully to Jayda, his heart racing, but before he could make sense of his words, a scream shattered the air.
“Help! Someone help me!”
They all bolted upright.
Caroline’s voice ripped down the hall, frantic and raw. “My baby—oh, God, Simon’s dead! He’s dead!”
Michael flew out of the cabin, Jayda and Ginny on his heels. They shoved into Simon’s room to find Caroline crouched over the bed, her hands shaking over his still body.
Simon lay sprawled with a single bullet hole in his forehead.
Michael staggered back. “No…”
“Someone shot him!” Caroline shrieked.
Michael whirled. “Stay here—I’ll get the marshals!”
He sprinted down the train cars, noticing the snow still coming down in the middle of nowhere, the sun rising from the east. The train had stopped, but a conductor could not be found. When he reached the end, it was also empty but a few passengers roaming about wondering why the train had stopped.
No marshals were there to help. If they left with their two prisoners, they left them with a killer on board.