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She’s relieved when, instead of retreating, Reggie moves deeper into the lounge. He looks again at the body of Judd Dodge. This time, it’s not a fleeting glance but a full-on stare.

“Is it possible he could have done it himself?”

“Impossible,” Herb Pulaski says, piping up for the first time since being searched. “Judd would never poison himself.”

“Never?” Reggie looks to Anna. “These people who framed your father. You said this train’s taking them straight into the hands of the FBI, right?”

“It is,” Anna says, wondering where he’s going with this. Wherever it is, she’s perked up considerably. Her earlier exhaustion is gone, replaced with throbbing curiosity.

“So, he knew that once this train reaches Chicago, he’ll likely be going to prison.”

“That’s where they’re all headed,” Anna says, reminding the four remaining conspirators in their midst.

“When faced with the prospect of spending the rest of his life behind bars, what if he chose to die instead?”

Anna studies Reggie, still wondering if he is indeed who he claims to be.

His suggestion seems too shrewd for someone foolish enough to not know he’d boarded the wrong train.

Then again, maybe he’s simply read a lot of mystery novels and watched too many detective movies.

Anna herself is the same way. One of the reasons they’re aboard this train is because she was inspired by all the films she’d seen that were set on one.

Strangers on a Train. The Narrow Margin. The Lady Vanishes.

Now that she finds herself trapped in a real-life murder mystery, Anna understands she must think and act like the characters in those movies. Which normally would mean not trusting the seemingly innocent stranger who just happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Yet there’s undeniable logic behind Reggie’s suggestion.

Anna thinks about Judd’s location when he died.

Standing alone. Distanced from the others.

That relative isolation is the main reason she’s struggled to identify the person who poisoned him.

No one was near him once he took his drink from the bar.

Taking all of that into consideration, it becomes more and more likely that Judd Dodge poisoned himself.

And Anna can think of only one way to find out for certain.

“We should search him, too,” she says. “If Mr. Davis is correct and Judd did poison himself, the proof would be in his pockets.”

She approaches the corpse, followed closely by Seamus.

The others move in as well, surrounding Judd’s body while maintaining a respectful distance.

Only Reggie stays at the other end of the car, as if he now regrets bringing up the possibility that it was suicide instead of murder.

Still, he makes no move to exit the lounge and run back to coach.

A sign to Anna that he’s as invested in this as the rest of them.

Anna hesitates before lifting the tablecloth, daunted by the task at hand. She’s about to search a dead man, and there’s not a single thing she can do to make it seem less terrible than it is.

“I can do it,” Seamus says as he kneels on the other side of the body. “After all, I searched the others.”

Not all of them, Anna thinks, shamed by the memory of her hands around Edith’s neck, of the way she squeezed her throat, blind with rage. It dawns on her that Seamus is likely thinking about it, too, and that his offer has less to do with her hesitation and more with her flash of violence.

“Be my guest,” Anna says.

Seamus lifts the tablecloth as far as Judd’s shoulders, keeping his face blessedly covered. He then quickly shoves his hands inside all of Judd’s pockets, retrieving only a single item—a pocket watch.

“That’s all there is,” Seamus says, holding out the watch. After everyone gets a look, he returns it to the appropriate pocket and pulls the tablecloth back over Judd’s body.

Anna stands, frustrated and disappointed in equal measure. Knowing Judd was responsible for his own death, Anna thinks grimly, would have made things easier for her. Now she’s forced to once again face the fact that someone else in this car is a murderer.

And that they might strike again if given the chance.

She has no proof of that, of course. Just a sticky, uneasy hunch, mostly based on Dante’s earlier warning. It’s only a matter of time before these people start to turn on each other. If someone did turn on Judd, nothing is stopping them from doing the same to the others.

And to her and Seamus.

“It’s late,” she announces. “In light of what happened to Mr. Dodge, I think it’s wise if we all retreat to our rooms and remain there until we reach Chicago.”

“What about me?” Reggie says, looking truly worried that he’ll be forced to sleep in the lounge with a corpse present.

“There’s an empty room in the next car,” Anna says. “You can stay there.”

“Can I fetch my overnight bag from coach?”

“Of course. When you return, Seamus will take you to your room.”

Reggie hurries out of the lounge, perhaps never planning to return. And maybe, Anna thinks, that’s for the best. He’s likely better off spending the rest of the trip locked in a lavatory in coach than casting his lot with the likes of them.

“Since you’re so convinced this is our last night of freedom,” Sal says, “maybe we don’t want to spend it locked in our rooms.”

“I don’t give a damn about what you want,” Anna says. “But if I were you, I’d enjoy the space and privacy while you still can. From what I hear, prison cells can get awfully cramped—and crowded.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere just yet,” Lapsford says, his bluster returning in full force. “Not until the two of you have been searched.”

“Yeah,” Herb adds. “You searched us. We should be allowed to do the same to you.”

Seated next to him, Edith brings a fluttering hand to her neck and says, “It’s only fair.”

“As you can see, I have no pockets in which to hide anything,” Anna says.

“How do we know you’re not hiding something under your dress?” Lapsford says.

Anna gives him an icy stare. “I’m not going to strip naked in front of you, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“No, but someone should at least pat you down.”

That, Anna thinks, is better than being forced to strip naked. She nods for Seamus to do it. Although two people in the car have previously used their hands to roam the most intimate parts of her body, he’s the only one she trusts.

“Not him,” Lapsford says. “One of us needs to do it.”

He takes a step toward Anna, who stops him with an outstretched hand.

“If you lay even a finger on me,” she warns, “I guarantee you’ll walk away with a broken hand.”

“And I’ll break the other,” Seamus says, resuming his place at Anna’s side.

Anna can’t stand the thought of anyone else touching her. Especially Edith, who might feel the urge to reciprocate what Anna had done to her. And the very idea of Lapsford or Herb doing it makes her nauseous.

That leaves Dante, who happens to be the other man in the car whose hands she’s felt on her body. And from the smug grin spreading across his face, it’s clear he remembers it as well as Anna does.

“I’m game if you are,” he says, reading her thoughts. “It’ll be just like old times.”

Anna hates the idea, but she also doesn’t have much of a choice. Just as she’s about to agree to it, another option presents itself, in the form of Reggie Davis returning with a compact suitcase.

“Mr. Davis should search me,” she says.

Reggie drops the suitcase, dumbfounded. “Me? Search you ?”

“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 merely looking at 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 to him, ” 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.”

Reggie raises his hands, as if it’s he and not Seamus who’s supposed to be frisked next. “Then I don’t want any part of this. I’m going to go back to coach and sit there until we reach Chicago. In the meantime, you can kill each other for all I care. Just leave me out of it.”

“I already told you why that’s not an option,” Anna says. “You’re a part of this now, whether you like it or not.”

“Can you guarantee my safety?”

Anna can’t, so she doesn’t even try. “I can promise you that Seamus and I will do everything in our power to keep you safe. Seamus will take you to your room now. Lock the door and stay inside until we reach Chicago. Seamus and I will check on you every so often, just to make sure you’re fine.”

Reggie’s hesitation makes it clear he still doesn’t like the idea. Neither does Anna. Her preference would be to not have him on this train at all. But since she can’t stop the train and let Reggie off, the next best option is to put him in an empty first-class room and hope he stays there.

“Go on,” Anna says gently, even though she wants to say something else.

Why didn’t you tell the others about the knife? Are you really who you say you are? And, most pressing of all, Are you also hiding something?