Page 39 of Noel Secrets
They were the men from Chicago. The fight in the alley. Most likely the men who shot out their tire and left them to freeze to death.
And now here to finish them, even with children in the car.
Jayda’s gaze darted from Ginny to the men and back again. Before he could tell her to stay put, she bolted. The burst of speed sent her hair flying behind her like a banner. She darted toward the far door and up to Ginny.
“Jayda! How could you?” Ginny’s voice cracked with anger and confusion.
“Not right now, Ginny. We have to get the kids out of here. Now!” Jayda picked up Timmy and took Tyler’s hand, pulling him toward the exit.
“I want to talk to both of you. Michael, you’re in big trouble, mister.”
Michael kept his gaze on the men. “You’re right about that, Mom. But we’ll talk after. Go with Jayda. Now.” His tone held authority, and thankfully his mother listened.
Michael squared his shoulders and readied for a fight. In no way was he letting the men past him. His blood thundered in his ears, adrenaline building.
“Well,” he said, his voice rough, “we meet again.”
The man on the left sneered, his jaw lined with old, pockmarked scars. “Get out of the way, Blair.”
“We don’t want you,” the other added. “We just want what the girl has.”
Michael flexed his jaw. “And what’s that?”
The scarred man’s eyes narrowed. “The pictures. After that, we’ll leave her alone.”
“I don’t believe you. Who is Veronica Carlisle?”
The second man grunted. “Veronica. She was mine. My wife. The broad turned on me. Called the cops on a job I was doing and got my boss sent to prison. She needs to pay. She thought she could run with our secrets.” His lips curled in a snarl. “But wives don’t betray their husbands. She betrayed family. Now she’ll pay for it. And anyone who protects her—” He leaned forward, menace dripping from every syllable. “—pays too.”
Michael clenched his fists. Every instinct screamed at him to lunge, to fight, but he forced his tone cool, almost mocking. “So let me get this straight. You married a woman smarter than you, who turned you in, who escaped you, and you think the best revenge is chasing down a law student because she picked up the wrong envelope?”
The scarred man’s nostrils flared. “Move, Blair. Now.”
Instead, Michael stepped sideways—just enough to angle them closer to the vestibule doors. His eyes flicked toward the glass reflection, catching movement down the hall. Timing. He needed only timing.
“You know what’s funny?” Michael said, tilting his head like he wasn’t trembling inside. “You could have learned something from Veronica.”
“What’s that?”
“How to run.”
Before they could ask what he meant, Michael yanked the emergency brake handle by the wall. The train lurched hard. Both men stumbled, their balance thrown, and Michael shoved them back with a grunt, slamming one against the steel wall.
The far door slid open. Two more men entered, guns drawn. For a breathless second, Michael thought reinforcements for the mob had arrived—until the words rang out:
“U.S. Marshals! Hands where we can see ’em!”
Relief surged so hard it left Michael dizzy.
The two Chicago men froze. Michael shoved the scarred one again, tipping him toward the marshals, who moved swiftly, handcuffs snapping in seconds. The second man spat curses, thrashing, but Michael helped pin him until the cuffs bit home.
“Good work,” one marshal grunted to Michael, hauling the mobster upright.
Michael’s chest heaved as the men were dragged away. “Don’t thank me yet. Jayda ran. I have to find her.”
The marshals exchanged a look. “She’ll be safe now with these two off your tail. Go.”
Michael didn’t need more permission. He bolted down the aisle, shoving the next sliding door aside until he reached her cabin.
