Page 6 of Noel Secrets
Who was the woman to him? Was she in danger? In need of protection?
Jayda couldn’t worry about her right now. Not when Jayda’s days in family law hadn’t started yet—and they wouldn’t if she didn’t take her final exam. Shaking off the image of the woman in the picture, Jayda’s mind returned to the test awaiting her.All the late nights, the lectures she’d forced herself to sit through despite exhaustion, the endless outlines and flashcards—it all came down to this week. If she failed the final, she might as well drop out. Law school didn’t forgive that kind of stumble. A poor grade could end her future acceptance at a prestigious law firm. She needed to take the exam, get a good grade, and get out of town.
But to where?
If she didn’t get on that train and go west, where else could she go? And if she boarded that train, was she walking right into another fiasco of the Ginny Blair kind?
Jayda grabbed her heaviest winter coat—a puffy black monstrosity that could double as personal body armor—and looped a wool scarf around her neck three times. Then sunglasses. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and almost laughed.
“I look like an incognito snowman,” she muttered.
But overkill was better than being killed.
She zipped the coat, slung the backpack over her shoulders, and headed out. Careful to keep her head down, she made her way to her classroom building. Her every step was focused and moving quickly. Her boots shuffled through the fresh snow as she took the sidewalk toward the brick structure ahead. She was almost there…until she reached the bottom of the stairs and looked up.
Three men in dark jackets stood by the front doors, scanning every student who approached. One of them—Scar—took a step forward.
Her heart lurched.
She pivoted hard, pretending to check her phone, then ducked down the side street. She kept walking until she was three blocks away, lungs tight, sweat prickling under her coat despite the cold.
No exam today. No passing grade. No Yale Law degree if she couldn’t make this up—and the odds of that happening were slimmer than her chances of winning the lottery.
A sharp, hollow ache filled her chest. She’d worked too hard, sacrificed too much, to lose it all now.
And then the anger came.
Not the hot, reckless kind. The deep molten kind that burned slowly with the old fury of injustice. She knew it well.
It was the same anger she’d felt at eight years old, watching her mother shrink into a hospital bed, knowing the cancer was winning because the system didn’t care about people like them. Her mother had worked herself to the bone—two jobs, no insurance—until she simply couldn’t anymore.
Jayda watched her mother die and had sworn that one day she’d fight her way back. Law school was supposed to be that way.
She couldn’t let a smug mobster take it from her.
She also couldn’t let him take her life.
Jayda walked faster, checking over her shoulder every block she made it to…every block that led to New Haven’s train station. Car tires sloshed wet snow in her path, slowing down her quick pace. She felt too exposed, waiting to be cut off at every alley. She pushed on with short, determined breaths.
By the time she reached the station, her breath fogged in the cold air and her calves ached from the stride. The station loomed ahead, all glass and stone, and she didn’t hesitate. She bought a ticket for the next train—didn’t care where it went—then darted down the stairs and the long white tiled corridor to the next departing train’s platform. The train doors stood wide, waiting for her.
She dropped into a seat, her backpack clutched tight to her chest. Only when the train lurched forward did she allow herself to exhale.
The destination scrolled across the overhead screen.
New York City.
Her stomach tightened. Michael—and the rest of the Blairs—would board their ridiculous Polar Express this afternoon, expecting her to join them.
But she was on the run.
Then again, the bad guys would never imagine her walking straight into a family holiday.
Perhaps Jayda could paste on a smile and sing a few songs to make Ginny happy—if it meant she stayed alive.
The platform bustled with the usual mix of exciting chatter from arrivals, but for Michael it might as well have been a stage. He pasted on a smile while his family gathered near the car assigned to them, their cluster of luggage stacked with Ginny’s usual tidy precision. His father, Ed, stood tall and robust, scanning the crowd like a man still half-expecting something to go wrong. His mother, always chipper, stooped near the twins, fastening the zipper on one boy’s jacket while the other darted a few steps away to peek inside the train car.
Michael adjusted the strap of his computer bag over his shoulder and joined them. “You’re all looking ready for the grand adventure,” he said, letting his voice carry a warmth he didn’t entirely feel. He was tired already—travel wasn’t leisure for him, not when his mind catalogued every face, every overheard snippet, like notes for a story that might someday matter—and for the one he had to write.
