Page 47 of Noel Secrets
Caroline let out a cry. “What did he do to get himself killed?”
Hollins replied, “Simon took a bribe to deliver Miss Simone to the killer. When he didn’t, he got himself killed.”
Michael searched Jayda’s face, his eyes darkened with shock and fear that made her chest ache.
“I’m sorry,” she said to him and then to them all. “But it’s true. Simon and was willing to put my life at risk for money. I took his phone from his cabin to read his texts. They confirmed it. So yes, I tampered with evidence, but I had to know the truth. I had to know if he had died because of me. I was just as shocked and hurt by what I read. But he gave me the money. I believe Simon regretted what he had done. But there was no going back for him.”
Caroline turned, embracing her husband, the two needing this time together.
Jayda stepped back from the Blair family, needing to separate. “I’m going to go on to find Veronica. I know where she is. She needs to be warned. But I’ll handle this from here on my own. I’m so sorry to you all.”
“No,” Ginny said firmly, pulling back. “We’ve decided something. All of us.”
Jayda frowned. “What?”
“We’re not going home.”
Jayda blinked. “What do you mean? The train’s going west. You can get a flight from Denver and be back in Connecticut tomorrow.”
Ginny shook her head, her chin lifted with stubborn resolve. “Michael told us about protecting Veronica. If you need to keep going, then we’re going too. You’re not doing this alone.”
Jayda’s throat tightened. “No. This isn’t your fight. It’s unnecessary.”
Ed crossed his arms, his broad frame blocking any chance of argument. “Family doesn’t walk away from each other. Ever.”
“Exactly,” Ginny said, her voice thick with emotion. “We’ve been fighting for you since the day you stepped into our home. And we will never stop. Do you understand? Never.”
Jayda swallowed hard. She wanted to argue, to tell them they didn’t understand what they were walking into, but the lump in her throat choked off the words.
Michael’s voice cut through, quiet but firm. “Now I see four stories. And this one—this one’s the winner.”
Jayda’s eyes flicked to him, startled. He wasn’t talking about journalism anymore. She could hear it in his voice. He was talking about her. About them. About family, about belonging, about love.
And she didn’t know whether to run or to stay.
The Denver train station buzzed with life, but Michael sat still and quiet on the long benches with his family, their group huddled together waiting to be questioned further. The whistle of their train to the west rang out as it pulled away from the station without them.
Michael’s notebook weighed heavy in his jacket pocket. His journalist brain throbbed with unwritten sentences, paragraphs that clawed to get out. A mob entanglement on a train. A foster daughter running from danger. A murder in the snowbound Rockies. He’d never stumbled across a story this wild but also painfully personal. He had enough material for at least three exposés, maybe even a book.
But the thought of putting Jayda’s face in print—her name, her life—made his gut twist. For once, Michael Blair wasn’t sure he wanted the story at all.
Harold would surely fire him if he didn’t produce by Christmas Eve in five days’ time.
Aunt Caroline and Uncle Henry sat across from him, their grief unspoken but blatant. Caroline’s hands were folded tight in her lap, white-knuckled, holding herself together by sheer will. Henry, normally a man of steady calm, seemed hollowed out, his gaze on the floor but full of disappointment. His arms draped around the twins, who seemed to sense the heaviness around them and sat still.
Henry and Caroline had lost Simon, their son, their flesh and blood. But it wasn’t just grief that filled their eyes—it was fury. They wanted the men who had used Simon, bought his loyalty, pushed him into betrayal. They wanted justice for their son. Michael could see it in every tense line of Henry’s jaw.
Beside him, Ginny and Ed flanked Jayda like guards. Ginny had an arm wrapped over Jayda’s shoulder, as though holding onto her made her part of the family she’d longed for since Jayda was fourteen. Ed sat quietly, a reliable presence, his eyes flicking toward every uniform that passed by, ready to protect.
Michael leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes on Jayda. She hadn’t spoken since Ginny announced they would continue to help her. Her chin rested in her palm, her dark eyes far away, locked on something only she could see.
She was thinking of San Francisco. He knew it. She’d tried to convince the detectives that she had to get there, that it was imperative, life or death. But they’d told her in clipped voices not to leave Denver. “You’re material witnesses,” they’d said. “Stay put.”
Now they were stranded, watching their ride vanish down the rails.
Michael needed to talk to Jayda alone. To break through the wall that she’d erected between them after he’d admitted his feelings for her.
Michael swallowed hard, made up his mind, then rose and touched Jayda’s elbow. “Walk with me a second?”
