Express Pursuit
By
Caroline Beauregard
April 3rd, 2020
This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, and incidents
either are the product of the
author’s imagination
or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Caroline Beauregard
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced
or used in any manner without
written permission of the
copyright owner except for
the use of quotations in a book review.
For more information, address:
[email protected]
First edition April 2020
Website: https://carolinebeauregard.mailchimpsites.com
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 1
August 25th, 2017, London, Victoria Station, Morning
I never go back on my word because a promise is a promise. But still, rushing to catch a vintage Express train instead of using a modern aircraft seemed ludicrous to me. Granted, I wasn’t laughing last night when my New York to London flight took off with a ninety-minute delay.
Like a maniac, I ran across London’s Victoria Station, afraid that I’d be too late to reach Platform No. 2 in time for my departure. I caught my breath for a second and glimpsed at the legendary train up ahead, painted in milk-chocolate brown and custard gold. Further up, the stationmaster, in full livery, waited for the passengers to complete their boarding procedures. At a small temporary desk, over which stood a banner reading Venice Simplon Orient Express, a steward was greeting the last incoming travelers for the VSOE while handing out glasses of champagne. I, Mara Ellington, was about to embark on a trip across Europe aboard one of the most illustrious trains in history.
I resumed my sprint, racing past the different gates. Platform No.2, along with Platform No.1, stood at the extreme end of the station. As I approached, my eyes began to sting and water. After a couple of useless blinks, I had to stop again as my throat also became irritated, as if I had been running at a breakneck speed for hours. The pause allowed me to rummage for my ticket in my overstuffed Chanel purse, but my eyes burned like hell now. I lifted my head and wrinkled my nose from the strong acrid smell coming from a white cloud of smoke spreading on the nearby platform about fifty feet away.
The noise level in the station moved up a couple of decibels as I got closer to my destination. A moment later, dozens of travellers were running in all directions, some coughing and crouching. The chaos was denser up ahead at the front of the platform. By now, whistles and automated alarms were ringing all around the platform. I didn’t have time to examine the scene further as something forceful yanked me down from behind.
The impact reverberated in my skull when I hit the concrete floor and within seconds, a sharp pain detonated in the back of my head as dark spots flashed in front of me. Did I black out? I couldn’t be sure, but my eyes struggled to focus.
The hard surface of the concrete offered no comfort to my aching head and stiff back. What in the world had hit me? It appeared that I was the only one to have been a victim to this invisible earthquake, judging by my quick survey of my surroundings. The white cloud at the next platform had dissipated. Dozens of uniformed security men arrived, running and barking orders.
Everything happened so fast and l still had no clue what I was doing on the floor.
I took a visual inventory of my body parts, checking for visible injuries. I lay sprawled with my left knee up while my other leg was stretched out at an awkward angle. The slit of my skirt had ripped further up, revealing the full length of my thigh. I pushed the now messy tangles off my flushed face. At least I wasn’t bleeding. There was nothing graceful about my fall. I kept looking around to see what had hit me. My purse's contents, scattered everywhere around me, had likely flown out during the fall. My carry-on had tipped on the floor. As I turned my head the other way, I saw a man crouched beside me. His turned down face was hidden by the hat, sunglasses and bandana he wore over his nose. I couldn’t discern much of his cast down face. Following the direction of his eyes, I caught a pair of hairy hands and a flash of silver, but before I could make any sense of what I saw he was already up and running away toward the exits. Had he stolen anything from me?
“Hey! Wait! Stop!” I croaked, unable to yell louder because my throat still burned from the scratch of the pungent smoke. I coughed several times and tried to get up to run after the likely thief, but a fit a dizziness prevented me.
This whole situation was beyond crazy. Had the smoke been caused by a fire or had a bomb exploded? I struggled to get up again, pulling down my skirt while straightening myself up. Upon sitting upright, I checked my head, sliding my fingers over the painful small lump forming on the back of my skull. Ouch. A steward rushed in my direction but someone else got to me first.
Dressed in black from head to toe, the approaching man reached me with a swift grace and leaned over me. Definitely eye candy. Mid thirties, tousled brown hair, and a light stubble on his jaw. He was sporting a rugged sophistication typical of publicity shots for Gentlemen’s Quarterly magazine.
"Are you hurt, Miss?" He frowned with an unusual pair of green eyes.
"No, I don't think so, but I think someone may have robbed me. I caught him hovering over my purse for a second but he ran out when I called after him.”
He studied me from top to bottom, like a doctor assessing a patient for injuries. Satisfied with his findings, his frown morphed into another kind of expression. This one had nothing professional about it. A slow grin eased his well-defined jaw, a hint of the mischievous nature hiding behind his features. I could have sworn that he was giving me a quick overall glance as if assessing my figure!
The man certainly had an imposing presence. Measuring, I’d say, six foot one, with a lean but athletic build, he gave a commanding presence despite the laid-back attitude he had first shown. Not what one would call a beefcake, but he sure exhibited an aura of strength and determination. The easiness with which he could shift from a devil-may-care feline grace to a calculating predator disconcerted me. My primal instincts warmed me against his magnetic animal charm. I hated to admit it, but I was ill equipped to deal with such a potent combination.
“Did you see what he looked like? Which way did he go?” he asked, his attitude now turned all businesslike.
“Gray trench coat, baseball cap and a bandana over his nose. He ran off toward the exits before I could stop him,” I said.
The handsome man turned and scanned the area, but it was already too late. Likely, the mystery man with the bandana must be far away by now.
“Here, let me help you…Miss?” He bent, handing me with precise dexterity all the items from my purse that had flown down on the floor.
“Ellington, Mara Ellington.” With haste, I stuffed the items back into my purse. When he handed me my wallet,
I opened every section to take an inventory.
“Anything missing?” A brief look of concern creased his brow.
By this time, a security officer was arriving in my direction while an army of other ones where bringing order back on Platform No.1.
I frowned, closing my wallet. “No, there is nothing missing.”
Now, I should have been relieved, but I was not. This incident was beyond strange. Someone must have pushed me down. This couldn’t be an accident. But if it was not to rob me, what was this about? I scanned the crowd in case I spotted the man I thought was running away, but it was in vain. There was too much commotion with the chaos going on in the next platform and whoever he was, he must have used the disruption to disappear quickly.
“Did you see the man running away from me?”
“No, I'm sorry, I was busy helping the team of security agents by Platform No.1.”
“What happened over there?” I pointed my chin in that direction.
“It’s still under investigation, but it looks like someone threw a tear gas bomb.”
He leaned over, offering me help to get up. His large hands were strong and sure, but the contact of his skin shot a flash of tingling electricity through me. He lifted me without the least bit of effort although my legs were still unsteady. His tall and solid frame exceeded my height by a good six inches.
He ran his right hand along the back of my head. “Maybe you should have yourself check out by the paramedics over there.” He jutted his head toward Platform No. 1. “You might have a concussion.”
His proximity sped my heart rate and flushed me with erratic heat waves followed by cold sweats. Let's stay calm, I reminded myself.
“No. I think I’ll be fine.”
“Well, have a safe trip, miss,” he said, extending his hand. His eyes bore into mine as if he was looking for something. Under different circumstances, I might have looked for an excuse to prolong the conversation, but I couldn’t find anything smart to say as my mind remained still half dumb from my fall.
I stared at his outstretched hand and mumbled a stupid “Thanks for your help, sir.”
“No problem, and stay out of trouble.” He winked, flashing me a killer smile before leaving to rejoin the team of security agents and police force busy with the nearby commotion. Because he wore no uniform, I gathered he wasn’t part of either group, but still his attitude hinted he might be someone working on official business here. That’s it. That’s what I should have asked him about, but it was too late; he was already out of ear shot.
Perhaps I was suffering from a distorted imagination because I had been half knocked out, but the moment his warm fingers left my hand, I almost missed their contact on my flesh for some inexplicable reason. I dismissed the fleeting sensation.
I must have been jittery from the accumulated stress built over these last few weeks. To start, three weeks ago my lifelong best friend and confidant, Josie, who was supposed to accompany me on this trip, had passed away as a result of a car accident. I felt responsible for her death because I’m the one who had been driving that fateful night. There was not a single day that passed since when I did not feel the snaking tightness of remorse. I didn’t want to go on this journey alone, feeling sorry for myself, but she made me promise, before she died, to go on with this trip as planned. I guess she thought it would give me time to get over another failed relationship and give me the occasion to travel.
Two months ago I had caught my boyfriend cheating on me. Could this get any worse? Josie always complained that as an air traffic controller, I insured the safety of thousands of airline passengers daily, but the irony is that I seldom traveled myself. At least, when I arrived at my final destination, I’d get to reunite with my globe trotter elder sister Sylvia whom I hadn’t seen for two years.
As I walked along the side of the train glancing through its windows, I noticed that almost everyone had already boarded. Most travellers were darting looks toward Platform No.1 as disorder still reigned in the station. Like me, they must have been wondering if they would be asked to disembark and evacuate the train station.
A sophisticated socialite, in her sixties, judging by her Botox-filled face, readjusted her fox fur stole as she stepped out of the wagon-lit car. Poor animal; he hung from her shoulders like a flat roadkill. She had a quick word with the young steward, who was still waiting for me to go on board. She smiled with compassion in my direction. However, on reflection, her arched pencil traced eyebrows betrayed more a look of impatience as a tight calculated smile completed the studied poise. That was the cue for the steward to take a few steps in my direction.
I darted a last look at the handsome man who had helped me. He was busy discussing with what appeared to be a SWAT team who had arrived on the other platform. He was pointing at different members of the security team of the train as if giving them orders and directions. Now and then, he tilted his head to the side and touched his ear with his index finger to listen better to whoever was talking to him in his Bluetooth earpiece. During that time, the public announcement speaker called for the final boarding for the VSOE. The loud whistle of the train almost made me jump out of my skin. As if I wasn’t on edge enough, I leaped up with the sudden pressure release from the bottom of the car stationed beside me.
I had not boarded yet, and if I didn’t hurry, I’d miss the train. Get a grip, Mara, I chastised myself. To make matters worse, Mrs. “Nosy Fox Stole” was now peering at me with full attention only a short distance away. No doubt she had seen my tumble. The young steward, supervising the boarding of the tardy passengers, slid another glance my way.
“Miss, I have received the authorization by the train station security team to finalize the boarding. Please allow me to show you to your cabin,” said the young and eager steward.
As I reached my assigned seat situated in the Phoenix car, I remained perplexed about that teargas bomb. Since the train station was not evacuated, I would think it was because it must have been an isolated event. Perhaps even a prank. The gentleman with unforgettable green eyes was the platform about fifty feet away and turned at this moment in my direction, branding a permanent image in my memory.
"Welcome aboard, I hope you’ll enjoy your journey,” greeted the steward while helping me put my carry-on up on the luggage rack. His sharp royal blue uniform was trimmed with gold buttons and trimming. It even included a golden VSOE logo embroidered badge.
With a sigh, I half collapsed on the plush upholstered sofa and only admired the shiny polished intricate woodwork of the cabin’s cherry wood panels with mild interest. My nose detected a faint mixture of wood polishing wax and the delicate aroma of fresh-cut flowers from a dainty silver vase decorating a small folding table by the window. These elegant touches, aimed for the sophisticated travellers, should have enthralled or at least relaxed me, but I couldn’t appreciate the rich appointments of the fabled train and this magical moment because my thoughts kept drifting elsewhere.
What had happened on the platform before boarding? Shaking my head, it occurred to me that maybe I shouldn’t dwell too much on the incident and instead focus on the refined atmosphere of this compartment, straight out of the Golden Age of fine traveling. This made my unusual encounters appear rather absurd now even if I couldn’t dismiss it all together. Who was this stranger who had fled from me at the station? Why did his behavior seem so peculiar? Was this a rioter who had decided to go for a quick steal during the commotion on the platform? My thoughts replayed my meeting with the handsome man from the station on a non-stop loop. Like involuntary flashbacks assaulting my mind, I kept seeing his forest green eyes assessing me. His virile scent had stirred something strange in me. He had not worn a police or security officer uniform, but his tone had sounded business like and official when he said “under investigation” and “someone threw a tear gas bomb”. I assumed he worked with the official local authority or security agents.
I wouldn’t say the events on the platfo
rm left me uneasy and worried, because I don't do emotional. I always pride myself on being considered quite a level-headed person, a fast decision maker and a no nonsense kind of woman. At least, that’s what the guys say about me at the John F. Kennedy Airport control tower. Because I juggle over fifty aircrafts per hour in my designated space area, there is no room for sentimentality when I’m dealing with thousands of lives that depend on the efficiency and safety of my split-second decisions.
But then again, I had made the wrong decision that disastrous night a little over three weeks ago. That split second decision had cost my best childhood friend her life because of my fault. I would never forgive myself for offering to drive her fancy vintage Porsche for the first time. I didn’t want her to take the wheel. She had had too much to drink. Instead of calling a taxi, I had to be so helpful and take charge of the situation. That was until our encounter with an out of control ten wheeled truck. While I came out with nothing more than a few scratches and bruises, she died the following day from internal injuries and post-operative complications.
So here I was, miserable and gripped with an uncontrollable guilt over Josie’s death when I was supposed to be enjoying the trip of a lifetime with my best friend. I could only hope that my promise to go ahead with this journey gave her some measure of comfort.
Now, after my delayed flight, arriving in London’s Victoria station in the middle of a tear gas bomb attack and being thrown to the floor, I was even less enthused by the prospect of this journey.
I stepped out of my cabin to familiarize myself with the train. Strolling down the hallway, I crossed some of my fellow passengers milling about.
Their attires, from casual chic to downright eccentric, suggested they hailed from the middle to upper class of society. Most traveled in pairs except for Mrs. Nosy Fox Stole, who seemed to travel alone. The spitting image of an old movie star who had had too many facelifts. Acted like one too. I spotted a few couples of honeymooners or lovebirds who couldn't keep their eyes or hands off each other. I scanned the station from a window in the narrow wood paneled corridor, getting lost in the sight of the now returning usual hustle and bustle of the crowd moving in different directions to catch their own trains. A black spot in the back of the scenery on the other side of Platform No. 2 attracted my attention. Against my better judgment, I focused on the dark-clad figure in the distance.
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