And a rage…
She shivered at the recollection, suddenly feeling very alone in the empty train car poised for remodeling.
She picked up her pace, moving across the space toward the opposite exit which led to the dining car. A drink. She needed a drink—not that she imbibed as much as Bella did. The poor thing, drinking at all hours of the day. How her boyfriend, Richard, put up with it, heavens knew. Then again, Richard himself was not unfamiliar with a beverage or two. And if her sources were to be trusted, he’d started seeing another girl on the sly.
She smiled to herself, grateful she wasn’t as caught in her vices as Richard or Bella. Really, it was magnanimous of her to befriend them.
As she neared the divider between this car and the next, leading to the dining space, she pulled up.
A dark, lumpy jacket had been left, draped just in the shadows of the doorway.
She looked over her shoulder, her spine suddenly prickling. For a moment, it felt as if she were being watched. She shivered, but the compartment behind her was empty.
For the faintest moment, she thought she glimpsed a silhouette flash across the glass divider door leading back to the first-class compartment.
She froze, her heart in her throat. But no one came through the door. She relaxed, breathing a bit easier now, and turned.
A man stood in front of her.
Not just a jacket, but a person, she realized. He’d been hiding in the shadows.
Her eyes widened and for a moment she caught a scream. “What are—” she began.
Then her eyes widened further as she recognized the man in the jacket. The same man with the raging eyes who’d been ogling her back in the first-class compartment. He’d been waiting for her.
“I—I don’t—” Her voice began to rise, but before she could scream, his face stretched into a smile and he lurched toward her, one hand clamping over her mouth.
She felt ill all of a sudden, her stomach twisting in stark terror. She could only hope he didn’t defile her. What would the others say then? She remembered after the little incident where one of their mutual friends was assaulted behind a bar, it had been the talk for months…
“Help!” she screamed. Except the hand covered her lips, and her voice came out more like a strangled gasp into his thick palm.
He was strong, and though she tried to fight, she couldn’t move. Her eyes strained in their sockets, desperate, gaping. A flash of a needle near her check. A needle? She realized then, the man was holding a syringe.
It plunged toward her neck once—he cursed as if he’d missed his target. Another sharp jab, and then… a hot, sluicing sensation spreading through her veins.
It hurt, like a bee sting. She staggered and kicked out this time, hard, catching him in the shin. The man grunted and his grip loosened for a moment. She reeled back, screaming now at the top of her lungs. The man’s eyes flashed and for a moment he just stood, seemingly unfazed by her yells. But also, his eyes hungry again, as if he wanted to drink in the sight…
Her knees felt wobbly all of a sudden. Her head spun.
Margaret reached up, her hand at her chest; the warm feeling from her neck had now spread down her shoulders, her arms, her legs, her heart.
It felt like something was squeezing her insides, twisting. Then the pain—unimaginable pain.
The man grinned now, watching, then he looked up, as if noting movement beyond, and quickly turned, scampering back toward the dining car, away.
Margaret could barely see. She dropped to the ground, gasping. Something was squeezing her chest. The man in the jacket slipped through the doorway, stepping through the shadows.
She tried to scream again, but her lips were completely numb.
Now she heard the patter of feet. A sudden cry of voices. Was one of those Bella’s? Dear God, she hoped Richard wasn’t there too. She couldn’t imagine the embarrassment of explaining this. They’d talk about it for weeks…
They’d…
The shadows moved in above her. She heard voices echoing as if from down a deep well, but she couldn’t react, couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.
Darkness came complete.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The train stopped in Karlsruhe in Germany, just north of the Black Forest, on the other side of the French border. Adele and Agent Leoni moved toward the open doors in the dining car which exited onto a small metal embarking platform, and down some stairs to the train station.
“Your partner will be here, you say?” Leoni asked, regarding Adele.
She nodded distractedly, scanning the platform ahead of them. “Yes—he won’t be joining us on the train, just meeting at the station to go over case notes. Rest stop is for a couple of hours,” she said, but then glanced back to the Italian. “I don’t know if it matters, though.”
“Oh?” His eyebrows went up.
She paused in the threshold of the train, one foot on the first step and the other still in the compartment. Most of the train’s residents interested in moving through the station to stretch their legs or grab some food had long since left. A few still remained on the train, either sleeping, or in the case of Mr. Lafitte, his eyes fixed through the window, as if seeing something no one else could.
Adele frowned, shaking her head at the recollection of the interview. Mr. Lafitte had initially struck her as loud, abrasive, and potentially dangerous. Now, though, after double-checking his claims with the travel company, it became clear that traveling by train was a near daily experience for the retired train-hopper.
It all just felt so sad now. She sighed and shook her head again, regarding Leoni. “No. The killer didn’t stay on the same train last time, and I imagine he wouldn’t this time either.”
“He?” asked Leoni. “You’re assuming a male? Poison is often a woman’s weapon, no?”
Adele shrugged. “Perhaps—I’m not ruling anything out. My point is that we might be wasting our time here…” She shook her head and stepped off the train onto the platform. Leoni followed behind, and as he did, he reached out suddenly, steadying himself against her and murmuring, “Sorry!”
She looked back at him and his face had gone red in embarrassment as he stared accusingly at the bottom step of the metal ladder. “Blasted thing tried to trip me,” he muttered.
Adele watched Leoni, and the way he shook his head, flustered. His right hand, though, still pressed to her shoulder—warm, comforting, and strong all at once. Adele didn’t say anything, but allowed him to lift his hand in his own time. As he did, though, she felt a strange flicker of regret.
She opened her mouth, uncertain what she would say, though wanting to say something. But just then, her phone began to ring.
Adele cursed, held up a finger, and turned her back to Leoni, answering.
“What?” she said, a bit more crossly than perhaps she ought to have.
“Happy to hear from you too,” retorted the voice of John Renee.
“What is it, John? We’re here. You still coming to meet up?”
“I’m on my way now. Crossing the border.”
“All right, we can wait. I was just telling Leoni we need to tackle this case from a different angle. I don’t think the killer is on board.”
“Right—we. Whatever. Look, Sharp, I can pretty much verify that second part. Killer definitely isn’t on board.”