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“Mr. Davis should search me,” she says.
Reggie drops the suitcase, dumbfounded. “Me? Searchyou?”
“In order to prove that I’m not the culprit, someone needs to pat me down,” Anna says. “And I trust you more than I trust any of them.”
“But I’m a stranger.”
“Which is exactly why I trust you over them. I know what they’re capable of. You’re an unknown quantity.”
“But—”
“No more buts,” Anna says, her arms raised at her sides. “Let’s just get on with it, please.”
Reggie approaches, and Anna braces herself to be frisked by a stranger. Because she knows the others are watching, including Dante, she looks only at Reggie. That’s another reason she requested he pat her down. She wants to again get him in close proximity, where she can study his features, searching for signs he’s been telling the truth. So far, all she sees is an apologetic look on his face as his hands roam her body, starting with the shoulders. When he slides them past her breasts, his face reddens.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.
Anna nods for him to continue. He does, quickly patting down her stomach and hips. The moment he touches her upper thigh, Anna realizes she has more than modesty to worry about. During all the shock and suspicion surrounding Judd’s death and Reggie’s arrival, she’d completely forgotten about the knife strapped to her leg. No one else knows about it. Not even Seamus. Anna intended to tell him, days earlier when she decided the knife would be a good idea, but it slipped her mind amid all the last-minute preparations for the trip.
Now Reggie’s hand is a millimeter away from it.
Anna goes rigid, waiting for him to discover it. There’s no way he won’t. While flat enough to remain unnoticed to those merelylookingat her dress, the knife is all but certain to be felt beneath it.
Sure enough, Reggie’s hand stills at the spot where the knife is sheathed. Anna sucks in a breath, knowing he can feel it beneath the fabric and dreading a second from now when he tells the others she has a weapon.
She waits for it.
Frozen.
Fearful.
The second she was dreading never arrives, stretching into two, three, four. Then Reggie’s hand moves past the knife, joining his other hand in a quick skim of her knees and ankles. Anna watches, buzzing with anxiety.
But then Reggie stands and says, “She’s not concealing anything.”
Anna’s dread tilts into confusion, which smooths into relief. She exhales, confident that Reggie isn’t going to tell the others about the knife. She doesn’t understand why or how long it will last. All she knows is that, for now, her secret is safe.
“Thank you, Mr. Davis,” she says, outwardly displaying the composure missing from her internal thoughts. With a nod toward Seamus, she adds, “Now him, if you don’t mind.”
“I mind it,” Seamus says. Still, knowing the alternative, he removes his conductor’s coat and turns out the pockets, showing they’re empty save for a gold watch attached to a chain and, of course, his revolver.
“I’ll hold that for you,” Anna offers.
Reggie stares at the gun, wide-eyed and horrified. “Why does he have that?”
“Protection,” Seamus says as he shrugs the jacket back on and returns the revolver to an inside pocket.
“Considering the purpose of this trip, I thought it necessary,” Anna adds.
“And considering what happened tohim,” Reggie says with a nod toward the corpse of Judd Dodge, “maybe having a gun on this train is a very bad idea.”
“I agree,” Jack Lapsford pipes up from the other side of the lounge.
Anna glares at him. “That’s not for you to decide.”
“What about me?” Reggie says. “I’m not one of them. I didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t I get a say in this?”
“I’m afraid not.” Fully aware that his very public objection to Seamus’s gun could also extend to her knife, Anna softens her tone. “This plan—and its rules—were set long before we knew you were on the train. Now that you’re here, they still apply to everyone.”