Rescuing His Secret Child

by Maggie K. Black

  “How about you sit down and mind your business!” Fox yanked the gun from his pocket. Passengers gasped. The man’s hands rose. But it was the unmistakable rhythm of the jolt of the train beneath her—hard forward, hard back—that made Erica’s heart leap into her throat.

  Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no...

  The train wasn’t just stopping. It was separating.

  SIX

  “Erica! Get down!” Nick’s voice was loud behind her.

  She dropped to the floor and looked back just in time to see Nick lunge through the door. The thief turned on Nick and fired. But Nick was too fast, dropping to the floor and rolling beneath the bullet as it flew past him out of the car. Passengers screamed and ducked behind the seats. Nick leaped to his feet, swung his elbow back and leveled a blow at Fox’s jaw. The thief swore and fell back. The gun went flying, skittering under the rows of seats. Fox dived in the direction of the gun. Nick dived for the criminal, jumped on him, knocking him to the ground.

  A handful of passengers were beginning to rise now, with that look that meant they were ready and willing to help just as soon as they best knew how. Oh, how he loved that look.

  “Everybody stay back, and somebody find the gun!” Nick shouted.

  A final lurch shook the car. Erica got to her feet and turned toward the front of the train. If the train was really separating, what would happen to the back half? Which part would her son be in when the train pulled away? And would she be left behind without him? There was no way she was about to let that happen. She’d been separated from her son for long enough.

  She glanced back to where Nick was battling Fox on the floor now, thankful he was still wearing his fatigues.

  “Listen to Corporal Nick Henry!” she shouted. “He’s a soldier with the Canadian Rangers! He’ll tell you what to do.”

  Heads swiveled in his direction. Nick looked up and it was only the fear of losing her son that enabled her to look away. She turned and ran, pushing through the double doors onto the gangway separating the passenger and dining car, just in time to see a large man with a dark beard charge out of the dining car toward her. It was Orson.

  “Hands up!” he ordered.

  No, not this time. She was done with cooperating. She was done with playing nice. And his weapon was still in his holster. He reached for his gun, but she was faster. She lowered her head, raised her elbows in front of her like a battering ram and barreled into him, knocking the air from his lungs before he even managed to get off a shot. He grunted and fell back, winded. The gun fell from his grasp. Real or replica, she didn’t know. But either way she wasn’t about to let him grab hold of it and she could use it to hit him. She snatched the weapon up and leveled a swift, hard strike to his face. Something cracked. He grabbed for his nose. Was there time to search him for more weapons? No. But she could get away faster than he could recover from having been pistol whipped.

  Erica darted into the dining car and heard the door shut behind her as she pelted toward the end. She yanked the door open, expecting to see the first-class car, and instead almost tumbled into the two-foot gap between the cars. Rain coursed between the cars. The train had already separated. The front of the train was already pulling away. She braced herself to jump onto the front half of the train. Goodbye, Nick.

  “Mommy!”

  “Erica, stay there!”

  Two voices came at once, filling her heart. Then she saw her brother running toward her through the first-class car, holding Zander in his arms. Fear filled her son’s eyes. His tiny hands clasped his uncle’s neck. Oh, Tommy. Her brother had grabbed her son and made a run for it. The gap between the cars grew.

  Three feet.

  “Step back!” Tommy yelled. “I’m going to jump!”

  A shot rang out from the air behind him.

  Four feet.

  “Get down now!” Mr. Grand charged down the cabin. “So much as flinch, and I’ll shoot.”

  Her brother groaned and dropped to his knees. Zander’s arms reached out for her. “Mommy!”

  Five feet.

  She gritted her teeth. There was only one thing left to do. She flung the door into locked-open position, ran a few steps back, then turned and sprinted full tilt for the departing train. Her foot hit the edge. She leaped, throwing her body into the wind and rain, bracing herself to feel the relentless, hard tracks beneath her if she fell short and plummeted to the ground. Lord, help me now! Her shins smacked against the doorway of the departing rail car. The momentum of the train tossed her backward, threatening to throw her off again. Then she felt her brother’s strong, rough and reassuring hand grab her jacket and yank her in. She collapsed onto the floor and gasped for breath.

  “Hey, sis. You okay?”

  “Thank you,” she huffed. Finding two words was all her breath could muster.

  Thank You, thank You, God.

  “Mommy!” Zander squirmed away from her brother and dived into her arms.

  “Hey, Little Soldier. It’s so good to see you.” She clutched him tightly. “You okay?”

  He hid his head in her neck and nodded. “I was brave, Mama.”

  “I’m sure you were.”

  “Where’s Soldier Nick?”

  Tears choked in her throat. “Fighting the bad guys.”

  “Get up!” Mr. Grand’s voice came from above her. The weapon in his hand was all too real. “It’s about time you joined us.”

  The gun sat heavy in her pocket, along with the question of whether it was real or fake. Either way, she expected that Mr. Grand or somebody on his crew would search her. But maybe he wouldn’t search her brother. Nick’s warning about her brother filled her mind. But he didn’t know Tommy like she did. Yes, he’d always been loudmouthed and easily provoked, with a tendency to fight first and think second when offended. But there were only so many jobs a man could lose and only so many establishments he could get kicked out of before he started to learn some self-control. And right now there was no one else left to trust.

  She pivoted as she climbed to her feet, cradling her son with one arm. With the other hand she slid the gun from her pocket and eased it around the floor toward her brother, blocking Mr. Grand’s view with her son. For a fraction of a second, she thought Tommy was going to miss it and she felt her heart seize. Then she sensed Tommy pulling the gun from her hand. She stood and faced Mr. Grand. Zander’s face pressed into her neck as she held her son tightly with both arms.

  Mr. Grand aimed his gun directly between her eyes. “Nice try,” he said. “But tell your brother to toss the gun or things are going to get ugly.”

  Erica winced as she heard the gun she’d worked so hard at smuggling into her brother’s hands clatter to the floor.

  Now what, Lord?

  Mr. Grand frowned. “Come with me. I have something to show you.”

  Erica looked at the man behind the weapon. “You look tired,” she said, “and like you’ve lost control of the heist.”

  But the only response she got was the sound of him swearing under his breath. She allowed herself one quick glance at the back half of the train as it disappeared into the rain and darkness behind them.

  “Goodbye, Nick,” she whispered, feeling her heart yank her back to where she’d left him fighting for his life and the lives of the passengers around them. Was he still alive? Would she ever see him again? I’m going to miss you so much. I’m so sorry I never properly introduced you to your son.

  Then she turned her head back and walked toward Mr. Grand, as the only man she’d ever loved became farther and farther behind her.

  * * *

  Nick was still down on the ground. Not quite the longest fist fight he’d ever been in, but the fact that Fox was twice his size and they were trapped in a cramped train aisle with civilians all around definitely complicated matters. Thanks to one final, decisive blow, he’d knocked Fox down. Ni
ck pressed the criminal into the floor on his stomach. Now, to get some answers. Last time he hadn’t been all that talkative. But pulling a gun in a crowded economy car was definitely an escalation; Nick had watched this man’s boss both strand people and kill Clark, and the train had definitely stopped.

  Not to mention Erica had taken off running.

  “Tell me nobody’s going to hurt the boy or his mother,” Nick demanded. “Tell me he’s going to be safe.”

  Fox rolled his jaw but didn’t speak. Maybe one too many blows had left him even more winded than Nick felt. Or, more likely, Fox didn’t know.

  Nick looked around at a sea of widened passenger eyes watching him from every direction. Now to find out what had happened to Fox’s gun and where Erica had gone.

  “Do you know why the train has stopped?”

  Fox cut his eyes to the ceiling. Yeah, that looked like a “Nope.”

  “Look, I don’t want to fight you,” Nick said, feeling his voice drop, level and calm. “And I’m guessing fighting me wasn’t in your plan. I think you agreed to do a job, it got out of hand and now you’re caught up in something you can’t control. I’m guessing that you and your buddies were hired to help Mr. Grand steal a case from a train. That’s it. Hop the train, grab a case and everybody goes home happy. Job probably looked too easy.

  “But then things kept changing on you and nothing turned out as planned. I’m also guessing this is your first job from Mr. Grand. Because I can’t imagine a pro like you taking a second job from a man who’s a mess like this. So let’s stop exchanging punches and find a way out of this where nobody dies.”

  Yeah, this was who he was now. He was a corporal. He was an instructor. He was the kind of man who stopped fights instead of ran from them. And he was thankful to God that he was. Fox’s mouth spit out a string of vile invectives. His eyes said, Yup.

  Nick pulled a red bandanna from his pocket and gagged Fox, just enough to mute the noise. This man wasn’t a planning criminal. He was a hired gun, nothing more. And Nick still had a stopped train, a missing weapon and a frightened audience to worry about. Then, through the muffled fabric, Nick caught two words loud and clear: train waitress.

  “She’s a train attendant.” Nick leaned in and pulled the bandanna out. “And what did you say about her?”

  “You’re worried about her, right?” Fox practically spit. “All this is her fault. She’s the reason all this went down.”

  Nick’s heart stuttered. “What do you mean? What’s her fault? The fact the heist went off the rails? Or something else?”

  No answer. Okay, conversation over. He retied the gag around the man’s mouth and then sat back, fished his military service identification from his pocket and held it high.

  “As Erica mentioned, my name is Nick Henry,” he called out. “I’m from Huntsville, Ontario, and I’m a corporal with the Canadian Rangers stationed out of Petawawa. I’m incredibly sorry you all had to witness this. There has been an incident on the train, but I want to reassure you I’m doing everything in my power to keep everyone safe. Now, does anyone happen to have a satellite phone? Because, as you probably know, regular cell service isn’t working.”

  He decided to omit the fact that they hadn’t managed to reach the authorities—along with the news of what had happened to Clark and the train staff—to de-escalate things the best he could for now. More eyes met his. That was good, people were listening. But still, the audience was mostly frozen, which, while normal in a shock situation, didn’t make his life any easier now. He’d need somebody to help him deal with Fox, not to mention that he had to figure out what to do now that one of the thieves had pulled a weapon in front of everyone.

  Several passengers had run out of the car and into the car behind them during the kerfuffle, and Nick had lost eyes on the man in the blazer he’d pegged as private security—he guessed he’d evacuated the suits he was accompanying and was maybe even helping some of the others. Which, if so, was great and probably him doing his job, but still. As for the elderly gentleman with military bearing, his tall form now seemed to be protectively cradling his wife, who was huddling under the seats. So Nick was on his own.

  Nick plowed on. “Also, while I have your attention, has anybody seen a gun? A handgun. Specifically a Glock 17, about nine by nineteen inches, with a muzzle at one end and a trigger in the middle?”

  The door crashed open behind him. Nick’s head whipped around. Orson staggered through, looking like his face had just met the wrong end of a fight. His nose was crooked, swollen and bloody. His hand was waving a very small but nonetheless lethal handgun at nobody in particular.

  “You! Soldier! Stand up and put your hands in the air!” Orson snapped. He stumbled forward so unsteadily that for a moment, if Nick didn’t know any better, he’d think the train was still moving. “Somebody tell me. Where’s...the...waitress who did this to me?”

  Orson punctuated the gaps between words with some of the ugliest swear words and insults Nick had ever heard weaponized against a woman, and instinctively he felt his ears edit them out.

  The waitress? Erica? Hang on. Was he saying that Erica was the one who’d broken his nose? Pride surged through Nick. So Zander was right—whatever she’d hit Orson with, it seemed Erica could pack quite the wallop.

  Nobody answered. Orson staggered forward and aimed his gun at Nick.

  “You! Soldier! Get off him, get down on the floor and put your hands behind your head. Or I’m going to start shooting people, got it?” He swung the gun toward the elderly couple. The old woman was still cowering and now she seemed to be shaking. “One by one, until we got bodies littering the floor. Got it?”

  “Loud and clear.” Nick gritted his teeth and rose slowly, feeling Fox slide out from under him and hating the fact he was letting the criminal go. Fox yanked the gag from his mouth, grabbed Nick by the back of the neck and shoved him down hard.

  So now he was trapped in a train car, on a stranded train, in the middle of the night and in the middle of nowhere, with a smattering of passengers, one criminal to his back and another in front of him. The thieves exchanged a look. If Nick had to guess what was happening, Mr. Grand’s plan was spinning even further off course and these two thugs, tired of being told what to do, had decided to go freelance. Seemed there truly was no honor among thieves. But if it was every crook for himself, Nick doubted that would make them any safer.

  Okay, God, how exactly am I going to get out of this one? There’s only so much I can do alone. Please, God. I need some help right now.

  “Everyone!” Orson barked. “This is a hijacking! You’re all going to get out your bags and open them. We want wallets, jewelry, wedding rings, phones, laptops, electronics, knives, credit cards, debit cards, ID’s—everything and anything you’ve got. Okay? Everything. And if you hide something from us, we’ll know.

  “My buddy Fox is going to grab a bag and we’re going to start collecting. Then when I say the word, you’re all going to walk single file into the next car, with your hands on your heads. You’re going to do exactly what you’re told or I’m going to kill each and every one of you.”

  The gunshot cracked the air so suddenly Nick didn’t know where it had come from and so unexpectedly his brain couldn’t begin to process. Thankfully, his instincts had always been good at kicking in and letting his brain catch up later. The bullet caught Orson in the arm. He howled in pain as his body snapped back. Nick sprang onto his heels, swung his elbow back and tossed Fox off him. Only then did he look back to see where the shot had come from.

  Nick’s jaw dropped. The elderly man’s tiny gray-haired wife stood behind them, smoke still swirling from the muzzle of the gun she held in both hands with clear military precision. Well, guess that answered the question of where the gun had gone and why she’d been under the seats.

  “Corporal!” The woman’s sharp blue eyes cut in his direction as her voice ro
se with a ring of authority that had every molecule in his body springing to attention. “Secure the hostile at the front of the car. Secure his weapon. We’ll cover this one.”

  That was all Nick needed to hear. He charged down the narrow aisle between the seats like a linebacker and lunged for Orson, throwing him back against the wall and taking him to the ground. Orson flailed wildly, reaching for his gun, blood seeping through his jacket from the bullet wound in his shoulder. Nick didn’t give him the chance. Instead he yanked Orson back, pressed him to the floor and pinned him hard.

  He glanced back. Two passengers were restraining Fox at the elderly woman’s direction.

  “I need a belt or some rope,” he shouted. “Something I can tie his hands with!”

  Within a second, two belts and a bungee cord had landed beside him from various corners of the car. They were followed by the smattering sounds of nervous clapping and laughing. Okay, good. Passengers were starting to unfreeze. He let himself smile, grabbed the cord, flipped Orson over and bound his hands hard. He flipped him back over and propped him up against the wall in a seated position.

  Orson glared at him and swore. His face looked even worse up close.

  “Did Erica, the red-haired train attendant, really break your nose?” Nick asked, knowing the truth even before he saw the confirmation flicker in the thief’s eyes and heard the words spew from his mouth. And while, as a Canadian soldier and peacekeeper, Nick had a deeply rooted belief that violence should always be the last possible resort in a conflict situation, his heart was flooded with both relief and pride that the tenacious girl he’d once fallen for had grown up to be someone so strong, brave and capable of defending herself. No man in his right mind would have ever let a woman like her go. “Where is she? Where did she go? Is she okay? How is her son?”

  No answers. Just more threats and swearing. Fortunately, Nick had another bandanna handy to gag this one, as well.

  “Corporal?” The woman’s voice rang with authority and snapped his attention back. “Everything secure?”