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Fifteen

From the moment Reggie’s hand passed over Anna’s thigh, he knew she was hiding a knife. He also understood why she had it, which is why he remained silent. If he were her, he’d want a weapon, too, in a crowd like this.

But a knife is different than a gun. Sure, knives can kill, but not as easily.

To hurt someone with a blade, you need to get close to the person you’re attacking.

Close enough to know who they are. A bullet needs no such thing.

It can strike from a distance, hitting anyone unlucky enough to be in its path.

Following Seamus down the corridor of the next car, Reggie wonders how much experience he has with guns.

Probably plenty, from the looks of him. Reggie estimates he’s about thirty-five, give or take a couple of years.

Old enough to have likely seen combat during the war.

Seamus has the same gruff weariness as other veterans Reggie has come into contact with.

Men who saw too much horror to forget about it.

Seamus stops at the last room in the car and throws open the door. “Here it is.”

Reggie peers inside like an animal facing a cage. “Are you sure I’ll be safe in here?”

“If you do what Anna says, you should have no problem.”

“And is she safe?” Reggie asks.

Seamus nods. “Yeah. As long as I’m around.”

“Have you thought about what might happen if that’s no longer the case?”

He means no offense by the question, and Seamus seems not to take any. Both men know it’s entirely possible that whoever killed Judd Dodge might try it again. And that Seamus, thanks to the gun, is a prime target.

“I’ll be fine,” Seamus says before lumbering back the way they came.

Alone in the room, Reggie takes a long, wide look at the space. It’s bigger than he expected. Fancy, too. Far nicer than what he’s used to. Hell, there’s even a bed. He’s never had a room on a train with a bed that doesn’t fold up into the wall.

He sits on the edge of the mattress, testing its firmness. Soft as a feather. It’s a shame he’s not going to be able to use it to get a little shut-eye. He needs to be awake and alert for the entire trip.

Boss’s orders.

Reggie stands and examines the room’s other surprise amenity—the bathroom.

Although smaller than a broom closet, it’s better than those stinking, shared lavatories in coach.

He crinkles his nose at the memory of hiding in the one located in the second coach car, flinging himself inside the moment he heard people stomping through the sleeper car.

He barely made it, closing the door behind him just as the others entered the car.

Pressed against it, he listened to the group make their way to the front of the train, wondering which of them were on the list of names he’d been given. All of them, from the sound of it.

He stayed locked in the lavatory for what felt like an hour before the group passed by again. Just to be safe, he waited an additional hour before deciding to join them in the back half of the train.

Now he’s here, in a place he never, ever expected to be.

Reggie reaches for his overnight case. He didn’t pack much.

There wasn’t time to add anything more than a shaving kit, an extra shirt, and a ham sandwich wrapped in wax paper in case he got hungry.

Although the sight of the sandwich makes his empty stomach rumble, eating will have to wait a few more minutes. There’s another task he must do first.

From an inside pocket of his suit coat, Reggie removes the wallet he’d told Anna was in his suitcase and the ticket he’d quickly purchased to lend credence to his lie about boarding the wrong train.

Philly to Baltimore. The cheapest one available.

He drops both into the small suitcase and pushes them aside along with the shirt and sandwich, reaching for something else.

A list of six names in alphabetical order, last name first.

He looks it over, matching the names to the people on the train. All present and accounted for except for one—Kenneth Wentworth. A possible transcription error, considering the presence of Wentworth’s son.

Outside his door, Reggie hears footsteps in the hallway.

The others making their way to their own rooms. He waits until they pass, still listening closely once they’re gone.

There could be a straggler coming by. Or, worse, a lurker who doesn’t want to be heard.

Sure enough, after five minutes of intense listening, Reggie hears a single set of footsteps.

Only these don’t pass by his door.

They stop there.

Soon there’s a quiet knock on the door, followed closely by the voice of Anna Matheson. “Mr. Davis? May I speak with you a moment?”

Reggie goes to the door, opening it just a crack. “Can I help you with something?”

“I just wanted to thank you.” Anna pauses to look up and down the car. Satisfied there’s no one else around who can hear her, she adds, “For not mentioning the—”

“Yes,” Reggie says, cutting her off. “Of course.”

Anna bites her bottom lip, the obvious question hovering between them. Why didn’t he mention she had a knife? Again, Reggie doesn’t force her to say it.

“I thought it was a good idea to keep quiet,” he says. “Considering the circumstances, you have every reason to want to protect yourself.”

Anna exhales, relieved. “Yes, that’s exactly why I have it. And I appreciate your discretion.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Reggie says. “Was there anything else you wanted to tell me?”

“Just that, despite the rather tense situation you’ve been thrust into, I assure you that Seamus and I won’t let anything happen to you. Just lock your door and stay in your room. If you do that, you should be perfectly safe.”

Reggie acknowledges the advice with a nod. “Thank you. I’ll do exactly that. Hopefully, you won’t see or hear me again until we reach Chicago.”

After Anna leaves, he follows orders and locks the door. As for Anna’s other piece of advice—staying put—well, that one will go unheeded. Because Reggie will need to leave his room very shortly.

Back at his overnight case, he removes a red pen and presses its tip to the first name on the list.

Judd Dodge.

Then he drags the pen across the page, crossing out the name in a single, quick stroke.

When that’s done, he reaches back into the suitcase, running his hand beneath the extra shirt until his fingers touch cold steel.

There it is.

The biggest tool of his trade.

Reggie isn’t sure if he’ll take it with him when he leaves the room. On one hand, it’s better to be safe than sorry. On the other, it’s more exciting to go without it. He decides to play it by ear, depending on his mood. For the moment, he’s content simply knowing it’s there if he needs it.

And that there’s now another gun on this train.