Page 56

Forty-Six

Not to Anna, but to Seamus.

The sound makes each respond in different ways.

In Room C, Dante Wentworth strains at the ties that bind his arms to the chair.

He’s been at it ever since Anna and Seamus left him here, and now that he suspects Seamus is gone, he pushes against them even harder.

Body tensed and muscles straining, he grits his teeth and makes one final attempt, not easing until he feels one of the restraints give by a millimeter.

It does the trick, creating just enough space for Dante’s left hand to slither loose of the tie. He uses it to quickly free his right hand, tugging at the knot in the fabric until it falls away.

A sense of triumph sings through his body. Despite their best efforts, he’s managed to escape.

Next door, in Room B, Jack Lapsford’s heart pounds out a staccato beat as he paces the room. It still hasn’t settled down since he was ambushed by Seamus Callahan. He can’t stop thinking about how big Seamus looked towering over the bed, gripping that pillow.

If Anna hadn’t interrupted when she did, Lapsford might now be dead. A fact that causes his heartbeat to increase another notch. It now reverberates in his rib cage. Like an echo in a cave.

He hopes he’s not having a heart attack. That would be rich, coming after he faked two of them in the span of twelve hours. Unlike his first failed attempt, the second had been an overwhelming success.

Physical exertion.

That was the key.

To get his heart pumping and his face flushed, Lapsford endured a series of calisthenics he hadn’t attempted since boot camp. By the end, even he thought he was about to die.

But it worked. Seamus was certain he was having a heart attack.

Now left to his own devices, he lumbers from door to bed and back again. He does his best thinking like this. And right now he needs to come up with another way to get off this train.

In Room A, the body of Sally Lawrence remains exactly how Anna had left it—in the chair by the window, covered with a sheet.

The only change that’s occurred in the hour or so since it was discovered is with the sheet itself, which has been jostled by the wind pouring through the open window.

It’s been happening for as long as Dante Wentworth struggled against his binds two rooms away.

A constant motion that moves the covering millimeter by millimeter until, after one last nudge, it drops away.

When it does, another change occurs.

Sally opens her eyes.