Page 32 of Noel Secrets
Michael filled out the paperwork, his drivers license sliding across the counter with hands that he willed to look steady. But the adrenaline still hummed from earlier, every nerve on edge. Jayda stood just behind him, silent, her arms folded tight across her chest, her eyes flicked to the windows. The shooter was still out there, tracking them.
“Lucky day,” the clerk muttered, pushing a single key across the counter. “One left. Small hatchback.”
Michael lifted an eyebrow. “Just one? Anything…faster?”
The clerk shrugged. “Nope. It’s Christmas week. You want it or not? Folks have been snatching them up before the storm gets bad.”
Michael glanced at Jayda. She gave the smallest nod. They didn’t have options. He took the key.
The hatchback sat under a blanket of snow in the lot’s corner, barely visible until they trudged up to it. Michael brushed off the windshield with the side of his arm, revealing a car that looked more suited to grocery runs than mountain roads. They might not catch the train until Denver if they didn’t get driving. He heard Jayda’s low exhale behind him.
“Cozy,” she said, voice dry.
Michael opened the driver’s side door with a creak. “If cozy’s another word for impractical in a snowstorm.”
The car sputtered to life on the third turn of the key. The heater groaned before finally pushing out a weak stream of lukewarm air. Michael adjusted the mirrors, gave the wheel a testing grip, and pulled out of the lot.
The road stretched dark ahead of them, snowflakes swirling under the beams of the headlights. He could feel the tires slipping now and again, struggling to grip. The weight of catching the train pressed down heavy.
For a while, silence filled the compact car, broken only by the windshield wipers fighting against the snow. Michael kept his eyes on the road, but his awareness stayed trained on the woman beside him. He could feel her restless energy—like she was holding her breath.
Then, out of nowhere, she laughed.
It startled him enough that his grip tightened on the wheel. “What?” he asked, his voice sharper than he intended. “What’s so funny?”
She shook her head, still laughing softly, a sound both strange and startling in the tense quiet. “I was just thinking…if someone asked me a week ago if I’d be in a car with Michael Blair, of all people, during a snowstorm, chasing after his family to catch a train…” She pressed her gloved hand to her mouth to stifle another laugh. “I’d have told them they were out of their minds.”
Michael cut her a quick look, surprised by the brightness in her eyes. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to see it—her laughing, even at his expense. It cracked through the fear like a match struck in darkness.
“You think this is funny?” he said, but his tone softened, teasing.
“I think,” she said, still grinning, “this must be some kind of Christmas miracle. You and I in this car, together.”
Warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the heater kicking in. He nodded, turning his attention back to the snowy road. “Miracle’s one word for it.”
Her laughter faded into a smile, and she leaned back against the seat, her breath fogging faintly in the cool air of the cabin. For the first time since this whole thing started, Michael felt something ease inside him. They were still being followed, still in danger, still driving through a snowstorm in a car that wasn’t built for it—but sitting next to her, it didn’t feel quite as impossible.
He focused on the road, but his thoughts wandered. His boss was expecting a story before Christmas Eve. Something nostalgic. Families coming together for the holidays. Heartwarming copy that readers could sip cocoa over. But what would he think if Michael delivered something different—raw, urgent, a story about family that wasn’t tied up with bows and candlelight but with grit and sacrifice? A story about choosing to be together, no matter the cost?
The idea sparked something inside him, something that pushed against the weight he carried. But he kept it to himself. The last thing Jayda needed was to think he was doing all this for a headline. He was doing it because…well, because he cared.
Snow thickened, swirling faster. Michael leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing as he scanned the road ahead. His hands tightened on the wheel. He could feel the car shudder under him, straining.
Then headlights flared in the mirror.
He stiffened at the sight of a vehicle behind them, closing in too fast.
Jayda noticed immediately. Her head snapped toward the side mirror, her posture going rigid. “Michael…”
“I see it,” he said, forcing calm into his tone even as adrenaline spiked through him.
The headlights grew brighter, closer. The other vehicle’s engine roared, tires crunching over snow and ice. Michael kept their hatchback steady, hands tight, eyes darting to the narrow shoulders of the road. Snowbanks rose high on either side. No room. No escape.
The vehicle swerved, nudging too close. Gunshots pierced the night.
“Michael!” Jayda’s voice sharpened with fear.
A loud pop jolted the car violently, forcing it toward the snowbank. The wheel fought in his hands. The tires skidded, screaming against the ice.
