Chapter 12 #2
Jayda stepped back from the Blair family, needing to separate. “I’m going to go on to find Veronica. I know where she is. She needs to be warned. But I’ll handle this from here on my own. I’m so sorry to you all.”
“No,” Ginny said firmly, pulling back. “We’ve decided something. All of us.”
Jayda frowned. “What?”
“We’re not going home.”
Jayda blinked. “What do you mean? The train’s going west. You can get a flight from Denver and be back in Connecticut tomorrow.”
Ginny shook her head, her chin lifted with stubborn resolve. “Michael told us about protecting Veronica. If you need to keep going, then we’re going too. You’re not doing this alone.”
Jayda’s throat tightened. “No. This isn’t your fight. It’s unnecessary.”
Ed crossed his arms, his broad frame blocking any chance of argument. “Family doesn’t walk away from each other. Ever.”
“Exactly,” Ginny said, her voice thick with emotion. “We’ve been fighting for you since the day you stepped into our home. And we will never stop. Do you understand? Never.”
Jayda swallowed hard. She wanted to argue, to tell them they didn’t understand what they were walking into, but the lump in her throat choked off the words.
Michael’s voice cut through, quiet but firm. “Now I see four stories. And this one—this one’s the winner.”
Jayda’s eyes flicked to him, startled. He wasn’t talking about journalism anymore. She could hear it in his voice. He was talking about her. About them. About family, about belonging, about love.
And she didn’t know whether to run or to stay.
The Denver train station buzzed with life, but Michael sat still and quiet on the long benches with his family, their group huddled together waiting to be questioned further. The whistle of their train to the west rang out as it pulled away from the station without them.
Michael’s notebook weighed heavy in his jacket pocket.
His journalist brain throbbed with unwritten sentences, paragraphs that clawed to get out.
A mob entanglement on a train. A foster daughter running from danger.
A murder in the snowbound Rockies. He’d never stumbled across a story this wild but also painfully personal.
He had enough material for at least three exposés, maybe even a book.
But the thought of putting Jayda’s face in print—her name, her life—made his gut twist. For once, Michael Blair wasn’t sure he wanted the story at all.
Harold would surely fire him if he didn’t produce by Christmas Eve in five days’ time.
Aunt Caroline and Uncle Henry sat across from him, their grief unspoken but blatant.
Caroline’s hands were folded tight in her lap, white-knuckled, holding herself together by sheer will.
Henry, normally a man of steady calm, seemed hollowed out, his gaze on the floor but full of disappointment.
His arms draped around the twins, who seemed to sense the heaviness around them and sat still.
Henry and Caroline had lost Simon, their son, their flesh and blood.
But it wasn’t just grief that filled their eyes—it was fury.
They wanted the men who had used Simon, bought his loyalty, pushed him into betrayal.
They wanted justice for their son. Michael could see it in every tense line of Henry’s jaw.
Beside him, Ginny and Ed flanked Jayda like guards.
Ginny had an arm wrapped over Jayda’s shoulder, as though holding onto her made her part of the family she’d longed for since Jayda was fourteen.
Ed sat quietly, a reliable presence, his eyes flicking toward every uniform that passed by, ready to protect.
Michael leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes on Jayda. She hadn’t spoken since Ginny announced they would continue to help her. Her chin rested in her palm, her dark eyes far away, locked on something only she could see.
She was thinking of San Francisco. He knew it. She’d tried to convince the detectives that she had to get there, that it was imperative, life or death. But they’d told her in clipped voices not to leave Denver. “You’re material witnesses,” they’d said. “Stay put.”
Now they were stranded, watching their ride vanish down the rails.
Michael needed to talk to Jayda alone. To break through the wall that she’d erected between them after he’d admitted his feelings for her.
Michael swallowed hard, made up his mind, then rose and touched Jayda’s elbow. “Walk with me a second?”
She glanced at him, then reluctantly nodded. They stepped away from the cluster, the station noise filling in the silence between them. He led her near the wall, beneath a flickering departure board.
“Why are you pushing me away?” he asked low. “What have I done to cause this? I know I hurt you for years, but I really want to spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Please let me try.”
She crossed her arms, defensive. “I’m running for my life. I’m running to protect Veronica’s. That’s all I can focus on right now, Michael.”
Michael stopped short of trying to convince her to let him in. “Fine,” he muttered. “But don’t expect me to stop worrying. Or following you into whatever mess is next. You focus on running, and I’ll just keep up with you. Deal?”
Her expression softened, just slightly. Then, a smile twitched on her lips. She looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Fine. For now. But only because you’re kind of growing on me.”
Michael flashed a grin. “Like a boil or a smile?”
“Strangely, both.” She turned away. “I need some water.”
“I’ll go with you.”
She waved him off. “You’re being ridiculous. There are police everywhere. I’ll be fine. Stay here.”
Michael ground his teeth but did as she asked. With law enforcement swarming the place, he wasn’t too worried, as long as she was within view.
She walked toward the drinking fountain against the far wall and pressed the lever. Nothing. She frowned, glanced over her shoulder at him. Their eyes locked.
Then, she stepped around the corner and disappeared down the hall.
Michael took a step but paused, not wanting to upset her with even more smothering. But the seconds stretched too long. His heart lurched, and he crossed the floor of the station.
When he reached the corner, she was gone.