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Anna knows that would be the wise thing to do. Let Seamus check on the others. Put her feet up. Allow herself a rare moment of relaxation. But she’s too restless for that. She needs to keep moving.
“No, I’ll do it,” she says. “You can get the next round.”
She returns to the corridor, closing the door to Seamus’s room behind her. She’s in the process of turning away from it when she catches movement on the edge of her vision.
Someone is leaving the car.
Anna faces the door to the lounge, which is just starting to creak shut. All she can see of the person who passed through it is a bit of their shadow slipping along the floor.
“Tommy?” she says.
Anna follows the shadow, knowing it’s not her brother and wanting it to be her brother and feeling foolish for even entertaining the idea that it could be him. The lounge is still dark, which only adds to her sense of foolishness.
She shouldn’t be here.
Not alone.
Not with a killer on the train.
But, as far as Anna can tell, the lounge is empty. She moves through the car, sensing no one through the darkness. The lack of light sharpens her hearing, making the rattle-clack of the train sound even louder. When she passes the piano, the motion of the Phoenix jostles the keys just enough for a single note to ring out in the otherwise silent car. And when she nears the bar, Anna can hear the shivery tinkle of shuddering bottles.
Anna gives them a glance, wondering if that always happens and she’s just never noticed it until now or if the train is moving more frantically than usual. She’s about to turn and look out the window to gauge their speed when she spots something in the darkness behind the bar.
A shadow.
Slowly peeling itself away from the unyielding black.
No, not a shadow.
A man.
Anna tries to bolt back through the car but the man latches onto her shoulder and, with a single rough yank, pulls her against him. When she attempts a scream, a hand clamps over her mouth, stifling the sound. Still, she tries again, her lips barely moving against the meaty flesh of her attacker’s palm.
Instantly, Anna starts to flail, all her limbs in motion. Arms swat. Legs kick. The man locks an arm around her, pinning Anna’s own arms to her sides. She attempts another kick but misses as the man drags her into the dining car.
Unlike the lounge, it remains brightly lit, the tablecloths gleaming white, the silverware glinting. Anna twists her neck to get a good look at the man continuing to drag her down through the car. All she can manage is a glimpse of hairy knuckles as the man snatches something off one of the tables.
A steak knife, which immediately goes to her neck.
Anna gives a single, terrified swallow, during which she can feel the cold blade scrape against her throat. A horrible sensation. One that would make her cry out if she could. But the hand remains over her mouth while the serrated edge of the knife digs farther into her flesh. She feels breath against her ear, hot and foul-smelling. Words ride the air. A desperate whisper.
“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”
Anna knows the voice.
Herb Pulaski.
She tries to shout for help beneath his palm, even though that’s impossible. Not when she’s basically muzzled. Not when the knife stays against her neck, feeling like thorns jabbing her throat and sinking so deep that Anna assumes they’ve pierced the skin.
The thought sets off a fresh round of terror. Her body stills, searching for the sensation of blood being spilled, the telltale trickle. All Anna can feel is fear sweat spreading along her collarbone as Herb says, “I need to get out of here. There’s no way I’m staying on this train. So you’re gonna find some way to stop it and let me off—or else I’m going to slit yourthroat.”
2 a.m.
Six Hours toChicago
Twenty-Seven
“If we’re goingto do this, you need to learn how to fight like a man.”