Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Simon hadn’t been her friend, not really.
But he had been an ally. He was a man who carried a burden of secrets he never explained, a man who piqued their curiosities with intriguing, brilliant stories that could have been as fake as his smiles, but now she would never know.
Now he was nothing but a body cooling fast in the isolated mountains—and all for a silly train ride reunion.
All because of her.
Jayda’s throat tightened, standing over his bunk, wanting to cover him up. He deserved more than this.
She whispered, “I’m sorry. I tried to keep you out of this mess.” She didn’t understand why he had been killed. He knew nothing. Had the assassin made a terrible mistake?
Or was there something she had missed?
She wanted off this train. Outside, snow blurred the window, but they were stopped in the mountains in the middle of nowhere. Inside, silence pressed like another death. No one was safe, on or off.
The door rattled. Jayda jumped to her feet, wiping her hands on her coat just as the knob turned. The conductor filled the doorway, his cap dusted white, showing he had been outside. His face paled as he took in Simon sprawled across the bunk.
“My God. So it’s true,” he whispered. “What happened here?”
Jayda fought to keep her voice calm. “He was shot. There’s a killer on board.” She swallowed hard, praying the conductor couldn’t hear the quiver in her words. “You need to call the police.”
He stared at Simon and then warily at Jayda. “We’ll have to radio ahead. You should go back to your cabin, Miss. Everyone will need to be accounted for…the police will need to speak to you.”
Jayda nodded, gripping her coat closed. “His parents are in the next car, in Ginny’s cabin, number 25, I think, if you need them. That’s where they are.”
Her heart hammered so hard she thought he must hear it echoing off the walls. She must look and sound guilty, and maybe she was, even if she didn’t pull the trigger.
As the conductor ushered her from the room, she spotted Simon’s phone behind the open door. Her pulse jumped. If Simon had been sending messages, if he had been playing some dangerous game, then the answers might be right there.
She followed the conductor out and returned to her room.
“Go on,” he said firmly. “The authorities will take it from here.”
Jayda nodded but waited until she heard him rush out of the car and into the next before she stepped back into the corridor.
In her wallet was Simon’s extra keycard from the day he had slipped it to her, though she never planned to use it.
He had just been suave Simon being Simon, having no idea she was in trouble.
Or had he?
Jayda needed to find out. She removed the card from her wallet, never thinking she’d need it to break into his room because he was dead.
His door lock clicked over, and she rushed into the room. Quickly, she bent and reached behind the door, slipping the phone into her pocket with one smooth movement and backed out in seconds.
Her breath caught when she heard the train car door slide open.
She leaned against the wall, her fingers clutching the stolen phone as if it were a live grenade.
Two men talked about the police being called and about checking every room while Jayda slunk back to her cabin and slipped inside.
The train began to move again, almost knocking her over.
“The Denver police will take it from there,” one man said as they passed her room.
With the door locked and the shades drawn, her hands shook as she swiped the screen, remembering when Simon had input his code at breakfast one morning. She opened his texts—one thread caught her eye—short, sharp exchanges with someone saved only as “A.”
A: Don’t lose them.
Simon: They trust me.
A: Trust is temporary. Deliver the girl. Now.
Her stomach dropped.
Deliver the girl?
Simon: I want out.
A: Too late. You’ve already been paid.
Jayda pressed her palm over her mouth to keep from crying out.
That girl was her. Simon hadn’t been protecting her—he’d been playing a dangerous and traitorous game.
Maybe he regretted it in the end, and that’s why they killed him?
Or maybe he didn’t know who he was messing with, but the truth stared right at her.
All his ploys and flirtations had been calculated.
His reason for being on this train had nothing to do with family.
Her hands trembled as she scrolled down, sinking her heart further, cutting her deeper.
S: Train stop in Chicago. Second payment ready IF you deliver her to me. Otherwise…
The betrayal was complete, the weight of it crushing. Simon’s kindness, his cryptic help—it had all been part of a bargain. Maybe he’d turned at the last second. Maybe that’s why he was dead. But it didn’t matter now.
She shoved the phone into her coat pocket and sat heavily on the bunk.
For a moment, fear suffocated her. If Simon had been ready to hand her over, then who was waiting to collect?
The hitman? Was he on this train now? How many men were on this train, hunting her down, waiting for the moment she showed herself?
All for the documents they thought would lead them to Veronica but wouldn’t.
Unless…maybe they would, and she was missing the clues.
She huffed at taking the marshal’s word for it. He’d let her think they wouldn’t lead anywhere, possibly for his own gain.
The storm outside grew louder while the one within her reared up in anger. Snow slashed against the windows as she wasted no time, slipping the envelope of documents into her coat and out into the corridor.
The train swayed, a beast roaring through the storm, racing to the authorities.
Jayda moved quickly down the narrow passage, then pushed out onto the metal grating between cars.
The cold hit like a hammer. Wind screamed in her ears, icy needles slicing her cheeks. She gripped the railing, leaning forward, her breath torn away before she could exhale. The snow blurred everything into a blinding white void.
She pulled the envelope from her coat, fingers stiff. The papers inside—names, dates, numbers—felt like poison. If she tossed them now, let the storm swallow them, maybe this nightmare would die with Simon.
But then she saw it—the backside of one photograph. On the back, scrawled in faint pen was Lombard Street.
Her breath caught. Lombard Street. San Francisco. Was that where she went?
Jayda held the photo tight, clutching it close. Not ready to let it go. There might be more she missed.
Turning to the next car, movement behind her spun her back around just as a figure lunged from the adjoining car.
A man—broad-shouldered, face half-hidden under a hood.
His hand shot out, gripping her arm, slamming her into the metal wall.
Pain burst in her shoulder. The envelope tumbled, and before she could stop it, the papers scattered into the storm.
“No!” she screamed, scrambling after them. But the man yanked her back, his fist raised.
She ducked, the punch banging off her temple. Stars exploded in her vision. She kicked hard, her boot connecting with his shin. He snarled, shoving her against the railing. The metal bit into her spine, cold and painful. Icy snow whipped at her face, stinging like tiny knives all over.
Fear surged. She was seconds from being thrown, from vanishing into the white abyss, over jagged rocks and sprawling gorges. The sound of the train roared in her ears, louder than her own scream.
But beneath the terror, something fierce burned.
She wasn’t just a girl from the New Haven streets, fighting to survive.
She was fighting to live. She had a purpose and things to do.
She had…Michael. Whatever was happening between them, she needed to explore it.
He’d told his mother he’d always loved her.
Was that what this was between them, always lying beneath their quarrels?
Was it love?
The man lunged again, grabbing for her throat.
She twisted, using his momentum to slam his arm against the rail.
He grunted, stumbling, but he was still stronger, heavier.
He shoved back, forcing her onto the narrow edge of the platform.
Her boots slipped on ice. Nothing between her and the drop but a few inches of frozen steel.
I’m going to die. I’ll never tell Michael I—
“Jayda!”
The shout ripped through the wind. Michael burst from the adjoining car, eyes wild. He grabbed the man from behind, wrenching him away from her. The force sent them both crashing into the wall.
Jayda collapsed to her knees, clutching the rail, breath ragged.
The fight blurred—fists slamming, grunts, the squeak of boots on metal. Michael fought like a man possessed, every strike carrying a desperation she’d never seen before. He wasn’t just protecting her. He was fighting to finish this chase once and for all.
“No, Michael,” Jayda shouted to get his attention. She couldn’t let him kill the man. He was better than that.
The attacker pulled back and hit Michael, sending him flying back, landing half off the train.
Jayda dropped to the grate to hold on to him, but the man straddled Michael, choking him.
Jayda had to let go, praying he wouldn’t fall off the edge.
If only she had her stun gun. But she didn’t, and all she could rely on was her own strength.
Lifting her leg, she kicked the man in the back of the head, using the heel of her boot repeatedly to get him to let go.
When the man turned to face her, reaching for leg, Michael grabbed the man and lifted him over his head and out into the swirling snow.
But the momentum sent Michael slipping further over the edge.
Jayda screamed and reached for his shirt before she lost him forever. She landed on him, locking her boot on the railing, holding him with all her might, stopping him from following the man over.