Page 79 of With a Vengeance

Reggie enters first, storming in before Anna even gets a chance to move. Seamus is next, shoving into the room right behind him.Anna, unceremoniously shoved aside, pushes in behind them, their sturdy backs blocking her view inside the room. In the sliver of space between their bodies, she gets glimpses of the window, the chair next to it, the door to the bathroom.

Reggie and Seamus are still in her way as they turn the corner to the bed dominating the other half of the room. Again, Anna sees only slivers. A strip of sheet. A glimpse of headboard.

What she doesn’t see is Judd Dodge.

With good reason.

When Seamus and Reggie part, finally allowing Anna a clear view of the room, all she sees is an empty bed and a tossed-aside sheet that once covered what they all had thought was a dead body.

Judd himself, though, is gone.

Thirty-Four

Judd Dodge sitsin darkness, relieved to no longer be playing dead. He’d spent almost six hours doing exactly that. First for an interminable length of time in the lounge, during which he was certain he’d be found out, then for hours in the last room of the train’s second-to-last car.

Other than a few brief trips elsewhere, he remained exactly where he’d been placed on the bed in Room C. His fear was that if he moved too far, for too long, someone would notice. So he stayed completely still beneath the sheet while his brain churned at full speed. What if someonedidlook in on him and notice his chest rising and falling? What if theydidcheck his pulse? Correctly this time, and not like Seamus, who unwittingly—and, for Judd, luckily—missed the mark by an inch or two.

He eventually got tired of such restrictions, becoming so antsy that the urge to move was uncontrollable. It got even worse once he heard the racket two rooms away. Pretending to be dead was one thing when he was mostly alone in the car. Doing it with everyone nearby was a different story.

So he fled, even though it wasn’t part of the plan. Judd doesn’tcare about that. For him, the biggest question running through his thoughts is this: What if the rest of the plan fails?

There’s no reason to suggest it will, especially after he played his part so perfectly. All it took was a little unplanned distraction in the form of Jack Lapsford’s temporary heart trouble and some old-fashioned sleight of hand.

Once he realized the train had left the station empty, Judd suspected Art Matheson’s daughter was behind the journey—and that she had revenge on her mind. His hunch was confirmed when he saw who else had been invited. By then, a plan had already been formed.

And Judd was prepared.

While everyone was arguing in the lounge, he remained focused on the small amount of white powder hidden inside his pocket watch. Rat poison. Found beneath the sink as he passed through the galley after learning the rest of the train was empty.

When he opened his watch to check the time, Judd poured the powder into his martini glass, letting most—but not all—melt into the cocktail. After all, the others needed some way to know he’d been “poisoned.”

To sell the illusion, he made sure that red-flecked foam also appeared on his lips. An impromptu bit of trickery that makes him exceedingly proud. It might well be the greatest trick Judd ever pulled off, for it made everyone think for a time that he was dead. Now he’s certain they know he’s not. Just as they now know what he’s done.

Judd looks down at his hands, grateful for how the darkness hides them from view, keeping him from dwelling on the death they’ve brought.

Until twelve years ago, he never thought he’d be a killer. Even after he could be labeled as one, Judd still felt slightly removedfrom the act. Something he designed did the killing. Not him. Not directly. At least that’s what he told himself during those long, sleepless nights in which guilt was his only emotion.

Now he can no longer lie to himself.

He is a murderer.

And he’ll do it again if he has to.

If that’s what it takes to escape his fate, he’ll kill every single person on this train.

4 a.m.

Four Hours toChicago

Thirty-Five

While one ofthe seven remaining living people aboard the Philadelphia Phoenix waits in darkness, the other six have gathered in the first-class lounge at the insistence of Agent Reggie Davis. Whether it’s intentional or not, none of them sit near the windows. Instead, they remain clustered together in the middle of the car, all eyes on Reggie as he stands beside the baby grand piano.

“Now that we know Judd Dodge is alive, well, and hiding somewhere on this train,” he says, “we can also assume he’s the murderer.”

“You think he killed Edith and Herb?” Lapsford says, his voice now missing some of his usual bluster. He’s scared, Anna thinks. At least, he should be. She certainly is.

Yes, she’s been a sparking jumble of nerves since before the Phoenix pulled out of the station. But that was from worry about the voyage not going according to plan. Now that it’s gone completely off the rails, her anxiety has sharpened into something more primal.

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