This second man gives the order to clear the car.
Some of the passengers begin to grumble, but he makes a point of tucking his hands into his pants’ pockets. This move pushes his jacket back and there, in a shoulder holster, we all see the shiny black butt of a pistol.
Ice chills me.
“Everyone out,” he commands.
I swallow, my hands clammy, shaking as I slip my backpack over one arm. I step into the aisle because I don’t know what else to do, not because I think I’m actually getting by him.
I’m second to last of the passengers, and I follow the others who shuffle to the door where the man is standing.
When it’s my turn, he gives me a quick once-over, then stretches his arm out to force me backward a step out of the aisle. I watch the last passenger disembark as the door behind me slides open.
Every hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and I know it’s him. I don’t even have to turn around and see to confirm it.
Damian Di Santo is here.
It must be midnight.
I don’t move as the car empties, and the two suited men at the front step out of the compartment. They remain just on the other side of the glass door, leaving Damian and me alone.
Turning my head to the window, I see the flicker of a lighter outside, the tip of a cigarette. Someone’s going to have a smoke.
Where is the conductor?
Damian moves behind me, and I catch the subtle scent of his aftershave. I’d registered it from the apartment. Cataloged it. Or maybe I’d done that years ago when I was a kid.
He clucks his tongue as he approaches, and I have no choice but to face him.
My heart races. He’s close. The train isn’t that big, and the aisle doesn’t leave either of us much space.
I look up at him. Meet his predator’s eyes. I can see inside them that he likes the hunt.
“This is…inconvenient,” he says, voice low and deep and now familiar. My knees wobble, and I slip into the seat closest to me because if I don’t, I’m going to fall.
My backpack drops from my shoulder. I catch the strap absently as it rests on the floor by my feet.
He takes one more step, expression changing as he studies me.
All I can do is stare up at him as he takes the seat opposite mine. We’re so close our knees are almost touching, and my throat is so dry I can’t speak.
I flinch when he reaches out and I feel him slide my hat off my head.
“You cut your hair.”
He touches it. My breath catches.
“I liked it long,” he adds.
God. What’s he doing here? How did he find me?
No, that’s the wrong question.
How did I think he wouldn’t find me? Wouldn’t come after me?
“That’s too bad,” he says. He looks down at my hat. It’s worn, but it’s one of the few pieces I’d knitted when I’d taken up the hobby for all of six months.
Damian seems unimpressed as he drops it on my lap and stands.
“Let’s go,” he says, tilting his head toward the door. He checks his watch before tucking his hands into his pants pockets, pushing his long, charcoal coat back when he does.
I stare up at him from my seat. I look for the shoulder harness of his gun, but he doesn’t have one. Probably doesn’t need it with all his soldiers around.
I steel my spine and force myself to my feet. I’m trembling. My knees are weak, my hand sweaty around the strap of my backpack.
Never let the kidnapper get you into his car. Isn’t that something they try to teach you? That once you’re in, your chances of escape decline sharply.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I force the words out. I’m not only scared. I am terrified of this man. And I know if I leave with him, I will have no chance.
He smiles, a quick, short smile accompanied by an audible exhale. Like he’s put out. Inconvenienced.
“It’s 12:01, Cristina. Happy birthday, by the way,” he says the last part like it’s an afterthought. “You’re mine. Now, we’re on a tight schedule. Are you walking to the door, or am I carrying you?”
My heart pounds and my stomach flutters. He is so calm, so in charge, and so completely unflustered. Exactly the opposite of me.
“You should know that I’m not a very patient man. This will go easier for you if you do as you’re told.”
“I’m sorry if my not waiting for you to kidnap me in my own home has inconvenienced you,” I challenge with strength, or stupidity, I didn’t know I had. “And I don’t know what century you grew up in, but women don’t do as they’re told anymore.”
He smiles, and this time, it remains on his face.