“Survive now. Cry later.” -Anonymous

Lara

The lights in Fragonard’s stateroom cast a dim yellow glow. I’m only five minutes late, but as I step through his sliding wooden door, a quick glance tells me I’m the last to arrive.

Mark is sitting across a round, green-felt covered card table from the baron. He’s wearing the same suit as when he left me, but he’s relaxed. His legs are crossed and a drink is in his hand.

I changed into a dark brown, matte jersey dress. It wraps and hugs my body, and I don’t miss the appreciative glances from both Fragonard and Mark.

Mark’s blue eyes rise to mine, and his smile sends electricity humming all the way to my toes. When I move, I can still feel him inside me, but my guard remains up. I’m not here for him.

Molly sits between Mark and the baron. Her lips are swollen and pink around the edges. Her curls are mussed and frizzed, and I’m sure she spent the interim in a similar way as me—although I know hers wasn’t as pleasurable.

Molly’s specialty is using her mouth to get what she wants. Giving head isn’t my favorite pastime, but she says it makes her feel more in control of what’s happening. It’s less personal, less invasive.

She grips Esterhaus’s sleeve, pretending to be enthralled by every word that spills from his mouth, and he appears to believe he’s in control of what’s happening. Men of his age are so easily deceived.

It’s interesting how as women age, they become more self-aware. As men age, they become more convinced of their virility.

“Ah, Miss Hale. For a moment, I thought perhaps you had changed your mind.” Fragonard rises from his seat and meets me at the door.

“Of course not.” I take his outstretched arm and allow him to lead me to the empty seat beside the baron. “I’m intrigued by what we might learn here.”

The luxury stateroom is decorated with plush Persian rugs and thick velvet curtains. It’s heavy and close, and it seems more like a personal room than a sterile sleeper for a visitor on a train. I wonder if he owns this small bit of mobile real estate.

Aleister takes a seat between Mark and me, and he lifts a satin turban from the table, placing it on his head. My eyes narrow, and I clutch my brow. I’m not sure he intends to be humorous, and I don’t want to insult him.

“Good God, Fragonard.” The baron coughs out a laugh, pulling the cigar from his lips. “What the hell are you trying to be? A swami?”

“I am a medium,” Aleister sniffs. “If you intend to be a hostile vibration, you can take your little friend and go. Three is all we need for the séance.”

“Oh, no!” Molly sits straighter in her chair, her voice high and breathy, contrasting with the men’s. “I want to see what happens.”

The old man’s face relaxes, and he places a hand on top of hers. “I thought you were afraid. Come, let’s return to my room and discuss more pleasant matters.”

She blinks slowly, turning round eyes on him. “But you said you would protect me, Daddy.”

My stomach turns, but I have to hand it to her. She’s good.

“Oh, well…” He’s clearly affected by her words. “In that case, we can stay for a few minutes.”

Fragonard grabs the reins, arranging a plate of dark red candles in the center of the table and lighting them one by one. On the head of a brass elephant a tray of incense smolders, mixing a layer of sandalwood with the cigar smoke in the air.

“We must clear our minds of all foreign interference.” When the candles are lit, Aleister sits and holds out his hands. “Join hands and think in harmony. Unify your thoughts with the group.”

“How do we do that?” Molly asks in her whisper-kitten voice, so innocent.

She joins hands with Mark and the baron. I join hands with the baron and Fragonard. Mark closes the circle taking Fragonard’s hand and Molly’s.

The candles are lit and the lights are completely lowered so only our faces are illuminated in the eerie glow of the four pillars.

“Close your eyes and listen to the tone.” He makes an Om sound, holding the single note for a long minute. “Hear the vibration of every vowel. Allow it to clear your mind.”

He does it again, and I do my best to focus on the noise. I don’t believe in communicating with the dead, but I did some therapy after I left New Orleans. I do believe in the power of meditation, notes, and sounds. I know the cycle of confronting painful memories, acknowledging them, giving them space, and then letting them go.

At last Fragonard seems convinced our minds are unified.

“I will now invite the supernatural.” I peek at our leader, and his brows are furrowed. “Come into this place, spirits of the dead. We greet you, supernatural guides. Come to us now as we wait…”

The train lurches suddenly to the left. I lunge forward, and Molly squeals.

“There, there, it’s only the train.” Esterhaus’s tone is fatherly, as if she’s a child. I wonder how he rationalizes that approach when she’s sucking his cock.

“Yes…” Fragonard seizes the interruption. “They are here. They are with us. Open your mind and allow them to show you their faces.”

My eyes pop open, and I don’t care. I’m looking at the human faces in this room lit only by candles. Fragonard’s eyebrows have gone up, and he seems to be straining toward something invisible. With a jolt of electricity, I see Mark is looking straight at me. He doesn’t smile when our eyes lock, but I feel as though I can read his thoughts.

After this is over…

I answer in my mind. I can’t let you make me weak…

I made you a promise…

How long are you willing to wait?

We hold each other’s eyes, and in those supernatural moments, I want to believe he’ll wait until the end.

Then I remember he’s a cop.

A very sexy cop, but nonetheless, he represents the law.

Breaking his spell, my eyes move to Molly. Her eyes are solidly closed, and her eyebrows are raised. Her pale blonde hair curls toward her neck, and when she speaks, it’s all innocence and wonderment.

If I didn’t know better, I would think she were a simple eighteen-year-old girl venturing into the adult world for the first time. The baron holds her hand tightly, his cigar clutched in his teeth. He, by contrast is not innocent. His skin is pink and his neck is fat. I think about his fat neck and his fat belly. I wonder how much hate it would require for me to do what Molly does so well.

She makes it look so easy…

The true sign of a master.

“Look for the faces.” Fragonard’s voice is monotone, as if he’s trying to hypnotize us. “Concentrate on the faces. Listen to them speak. Hear what they want to tell you…”

My eyes flutter down to the red candles clustered together on the table. In unity, they send up a bright orange light.

It wavers and dances.

It dips and lengthens with our breath.

It moves side to side, and as I watch it, I feel as though I’m seeing something in the flames.

The scent of sandalwood intensifies around us, and my eyes grow heavy. Smoke gets in my eyes. They flutter closed, and for a moment, a face darts across my memory. It’s pale and painfully thin. Frizzy strawberry blonde hair frames sunken cheeks. Fear tightens my chest, and I realize it’s Tanya.

She watches me several moments, and my neck grows stiff. Her eyes are black and hollow, void. She’s dead, and her soul is lost. She was lost for so long, but now she’s here watching me, begging.

Tears are in my eyes. That will be me one day.

No! Mark’s voice is in my mind. Why would it be?

Don’t you know what goes on here?

Tanya’s arms drift up and down at her sides like she’s a bird. I think of an angel rising on enormous wings. Only, she’s not rising higher. She’s hovering in the space above the candles staring down at me, waiting. She’s waiting for justice, waiting for revenge. Waiting to be set free.

“Thank you, spirits.” Fragonard’s loud voice breaks my vision, and I blink several times. “You may go in peace.”

I’m staring at the candles, but my eyes are clouded and burning. I didn’t blink enough. I tried to look at them without blinking. That’s all.

The sandalwood is too strong.

I blink several more times to clear the stinging mist from my eyes.

Looking across the table, I meet deep blue ones studying me with concern. My eyes dart around the room, and I see Molly’s attention remains on the baron. The baron is bored and sucking on his cigar again. It makes me think of a fat, pink baby.

My hands are in my lap, and I look down at them clasped tightly. Pain creeps up the sides of my stomach, making me feel panicky. Fragonard stands and takes the turban off his head.

“I’m sorry.” He makes a sad face. “The blizzard must be interfering with my abilities tonight.”

“It went exactly as I expected,” the baron interrupts. I’ve noticed he never misses a chance to throw a barb at the Frenchman. “What about you, Fitz? I’m sure you’ve had reason to consult psychics in your line of work, while investigating cases?”

“Not me.” Mark’s voice is a soothing balm to my twisting insides. “I’ve never been attracted to such things.”

“Is that so?” Fragonard flips the light switch at the door and returns to clean up the table. “So many unbelievers, no wonder nothing happened. I do apologize, Miss Hale. I had hoped to give you a sense of home.”

“No,” I stammer, thinking how close to home we got. “It was fine. I appreciate your efforts, and I did find the experience interesting.”

Going to the door, I pause and look back. “Molly, it’s after midnight.”

“Is there a curfew?” The baron looks from me to Mark.

“Technically not in this part of the world,” he answers.

“I’ll only be a little while longer.” Molly looks up at me. “Daddy is going to show me how the anaconda squeezes its prey to death in the Amazon.”

Esterhaus emits a congested chuckle.

“Don’t stay up too late.” I say it, but I know she won’t return to her room until early in the morning, if at all. We have separate staterooms, so whatever she does, I won’t know the timing.

“May I escort you to your room?” I’m at the door when Mark stops me. The vision is still heavy in my thoughts, but his voice is electric, a soothing hum across my skin.

“You’re not going to bed so early.” Fragonard crosses the space to meet us at the door. “Let us discuss our heritage. It’s possible we have a connection…”

“I’m afraid I’m too tired to stay up any longer.” I smile and shake my head.

Fitz takes a step back, but I lift my chin. “If you would walk me to my car, I’m sure I’d feel safer.”

It’s a lie. The way he looks at me couldn’t be more dangerous.

“With pleasure.” He puts my hand in the crook of his rock-hard bicep, and I relish his strength in my unexpected weakness.

The hall is too narrow for us to walk side by side. He takes the lead, and I follow, my slim hand clutched in his larger one. His blazer is tossed over his arm, and my eyes go to his ass filling out those slacks perfectly.

I think of the old joke about bouncing a quarter off a tight end like that. I could bounce a quarter off his entire body.

We walk from Fragonard and the baron’s rooms in the last car, through the middle car, where Molly’s and mine are located. Still, we keep going past my door, all the way to the dining car and bar.

Sitting beside each other, I have a glass of wine and he has a scotch. He watches me take a sip and smiles, and my insides flood with a pleasing warmth.

“I’ve traveled this line with these men for several years, and we’ve never done anything like that.” Lifting his scotch, he sips, his eyes never leaving mine.

“What would you do on a night like this?”

“Sit here and drink. Maybe play cards. Smoke. Eventually drag ass to bed.”

That statement makes me wonder. “Where is your room?”

“Up front with the porter. They have a radio, and in case of emergencies, they like me to be close enough to take the lead and communicate with the authorities.”

I nod. “Because cell service is poor in the mountains.”

“And apparently I’m always on call.”

His full lips part, revealing straight teeth. Our glasses are half-full, but I don’t want to drink anymore. I don’t want to waste time. I’ll never see him again after tonight, and desperation drives me.

My chin lifts, and I place my hand on his forearm, standing out of my chair. “You’re always on call?”

His eyes move up and down my body, and he stands as well. “I can go off the radar for a few hours.”

The bill sits in a shiny brass tray on the bar, and he initials it. With that, we’re out the door moving quickly forward in the direction of his stateroom. It’s much closer than mine, and much smaller—about the size of a large supply closet.

A single bed lines the back wall under a high, square window. The walls are lined with wooden panel-doors I assume are closets.

“No bathroom?” I ask once I’m inside.

“Across the hall.” He crosses the threshold and slides the wooden door shut behind him.

I hear the click of the lock, and my insides turn to hot liquid. He tosses his blazer onto a chair, and I’ve just lifted my hand when he closes the space between us, pulling me to him and claiming my mouth in a deep kiss.

My nipples tighten, and a little noise aches from my throat. I clutch the front of his shirt, straining to rise higher, to push my body closer against his.

Large hands go to my ass, moving up to the small of my back, and everything disappears, burned up in the heat of my desire for him. I’m breathing fast, chasing his kisses. Our lips move over and over in time together, tasting and pulling.

Relaxing my hold in his shirt, I reach down to pull the belt holding my dress together. In a swish of thin fabric, it opens, falling away to reveal my black lace bra and thong panties. I’m not wearing hose, only black heels.

Fitz takes a step back, and my skin tingles as his eyes devour my body. His gaze is as potent as a touch. The bulge in his pants makes my pussy wet, and I shrug the dress off my shoulders, allowing it to fall in a puddle on the floor.

I step forward, closing the space between us and cupping my hand over his erection. His eyes darken, and he places his hands on my bare waist, sliding his thumbs over my stomach.

His light touch makes me shiver.

“What do off-duty heroes like to do?” My voice is a purr.

I want him to use me and abuse me like he did earlier. I want him to bend me over and take me from behind, spank my ass, and make me scream his name. I want to feel him everywhere I go for a week.

The muscle in his jaw moves back and forth as I stroke him. “I wouldn’t know.” His voice is thick. “I was never a hero, but I do hunt down the bad guys.”

Bad guys…

The words twist in my stomach, and I lower to my knees in front of him, unfastening the buckle of his belt. It might not be my favorite thing, but I want to do this for him. Guilt swirls in my chest, and it feels like a way to make amends, to say I’m sorry for what’s to come.

The way his breathing has changed, I can tell he wants it, too.

Lowering his fly, I lean back fisting his thick cock in my hand. A drop of liquid is on the tip, and I lean forward to lick it slowly, tracing my tongue around the sensitive head. My round eyes blink up to meet his, and his arm flies, his fist gripping the wall.

“Fuck, Lara.” He looks down at me, eyes glassy as I pull him into my mouth.

My palms are on his hips, and I bob my head forward, sucking and pulling him as deep as I can. He’s so big. Still, it’s enough.

He moans and fists the back of my hair, and I see his muscles flexing as he fights his instincts, his automatic urge to thrust into me, to fuck my mouth. Seeing him lose control this way electrifies my insides, and my pussy grows slippery.

Using my nails, I lightly scratch his inner thighs up to his sack. His muscles jump, and I lean forward to pull him as far back into my throat as possible.

“Fuck, yeah,” he hisses, giving me a slight rock.

He repeats the words like a chant, and as his body tenses, I know he’s getting close to the edge. Reaching up, I grasp his shaft and work him, milking his cock as I focus my suction on the tip. Faster I work him, and his moans grow louder until he catches me under the arms and jerks me to my feet.

“Get up.” A distinct pop fills the quiet room and he carries me to the bed, roughly pulling me to him. “I’m not coming in your mouth.”

I’m captured in his arms, caged by his possessive strength. The animal lust in his eyes shakes me to the core. He talked about making a memory.

I’ll never forget this as long as I live.