Page 9 of Noel Secrets

Michael let her go, turning to retreat inside, pretending the heat in his chest was just from the effort he exerted.

But something made him glance back.

Jayda stood on the landing, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, eyes fixed on the platform. Not on him. Not on Ginny, who waved furiously from behind the door’s window.

But on two men dressed head to toe in black, sprinting across the platform where Jayda had just jumped aboard. But they weren’t just sprinting.

They were armed.

Each carried a gun, glinting beneath the harsh station lights.

Michael’s stomach dropped. He instantly stepped in front of Jayda, his arm up to push her back out of their view.

“Who are they?” he demanded.

Jayda’s head whipped toward him, her eyes wide. “Just…people who missed the train.”

The words tumbled too fast, too easily. Relief flooded her face as if she’d convinced herself more than him.

“You never could lie with a straight face. You’ll make a terrible attorney.”

She huffed and slipped past him into the car, not looking back. She let Ginny wrap her up in a welcoming hug as though she were the sweet, innocent daughter they never had.

Michael didn’t believe her for a second. What kind of trouble was Jayda in? Obviously, something illegal. As the train pulled away from the platform, leaving the men in black shrinking into the distance, one thought pounded in Michael’s head.

His parents could take the girl off the streets, but they could never take the streets out of the girl.

Chapter Three

Jayda pasted on the brightest smile she could manage as the Blair family settled around a table in the dining car. The small space bustled with chatter, clinking silverware, and the gentle sway of the train beneath them. The Blairs had commandeered a long table by the window, where the snow-dusted scenery of the Hudson Valley blurred past in streaks of white and gray. Ginny handed everyone their room keys to their private sleeping quarters, two for each in case they lose one. Ginny always planned for the inevitable. Jayda yearned to slip away, but Aunt Caroline reached across the table to squeeze Jayda’s hand warmly, her eyes full of excitement, keeping Jayda rooted to her seat.

“Sweet Jayda,” Caroline said, almost bursting with delight, “how did finals go? You must feel so relieved to have them behind you.”

Jayda’s throat tightened. She swallowed against the sudden lump and forced her lips to smile. “Oh, you know…it’s a relief, yes.” Her voice came out smooth, how she hoped to sound in a courtroom someday. She lifted her teacup like a shield and took a sip before anyone could press too hard for the truth—that she won’t be graduating now.

Ed leaned forward, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “And the bar exam? You’re sitting for it soon, aren’t you?” His deep, judicial voice carried a mixture of admiration and expectation.

Jayda curled her fingers tighter around the cup. The truth clawed at her—she’d missed her last final. Missed it because two men in dark coats had cornered her outside the lecture hall. Missed it because she’d been running for her life through city streets instead of writing essays that would lock in her future. And because of that, the bar exam—the finish line she’d worked toward for years—was now out of reach.

She smiled anyway. “I’ll be studying on the train,” she said lightly. “Plenty of time to cram, right?”

Aunt Caroline beamed. “Perfect! We’ll quiz you with flashcards, won’t we, Ginny?” She glanced down the table at her sister-in-law.

“You know me. I can’t resist,” Ginny said, bouncing one boy on her knees. “We’ll help Jayda, won’t we, boys?”

The boys giggled at the idea, but Jayda’s laugh sounded hollow in her ears. “I’d like that,” she murmured.

But her mind wasn’t on flashcards. It was on the pounding of her shoes against Grand Central’s marble floor. The hint of breath on her neck as she sprinted to lose the men outside one station as she ran to another, having no choice but to join the Blairs now. The echo of footsteps had followed her all the way to Penn Station. She glanced toward the window, pretending to admire the snow, when really, she was searching the car for any sign of the men, just in case they had managed to jump on the train.

Across the table, Michael lounged back in his chair, arms crossed, a determined expression in his startling blue eyes. He had seen the men. And he saw straight through her. Always had.

The others laughed and chatted, caught up in reminiscing about past holiday memories, but Michael’s gaze never left her. When the noise at the table swelled and attention shifted away, he leaned close, his words pitched just for her.

“You’re not fooling me,” he murmured. His tone wasn’t cruel—just steady, edged with that old mix of irritation and protectiveness he’d worn since they were teenagers—protective of his family, not her. “Who are they?”

“Who?” She practiced her rebuttal face, giving nothing away, and picked up her cup again. “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

He leaned back. “You will tell me.”