“Raine!”
Brax pulled the train’s emergency lever near the exit and braced for the sudden stop. He dove for the armed man and grappled with the weapon as the train turned to chaos. Passengers screamed and scrambled for cover.
Seconds. No time. With two shooters he reacted on instinct.
Brax yanked the man from his seat and shoved his weight to pin him against the exit door. He tore the man’s finger from the trigger in a bone crunching twist and aimed the weapon at the armed man at the other end of the coach.
In fear for their lives, people leapt behind seats and crawled on the floor. A high-pitched cry from a baby made Brax’s skin crawl. When Raine hit the deck, she covered the college kid with her body.
The second shooter stood and cursed in Spanish, aiming his weapon at Brax. In a short burst from the Glock 19 machine pistol, Brax hit the man center mass and tore a hole through his chest. Blood hung in the air in a red mist before it vanished. The assailant toppled backwards as bullets strafed the ceiling of the train. When the dead man hit the floor, the machine pistol slid under a seat.
Brax rammed an elbow into the man struggling behind him. When a knife sliced his arm, he winced and turned to see his attacker lunge at him with a blade. He couldn’t let him get by—not with a deadly weapon. The bastard could take a hostage.
“¡Chinga tu madre, cabrón!”
“My mother’s dead.”
He pulled the trigger one last time. A controlled burst punched holes into the armed man and his body jolted. He fell hard with his eyes open—dead before he hit the floor.
With his ears ringing, Brax stood over the body with his chest heaving. Adrenaline raged through him with no release. In a fog, he heard the sounds of the crying baby and women sobbing as if they were far away. When he turned around, other passengers stared at him with eyes wide in panic and their bodies shaking.
Inside his head, he listened to the jackhammer pounding in his ears—the punishing beat of his heart.
It was over.
He gazed over the people coming out from cover and peering from behind their seats. No one had been hurt, except for the two dead men. He let his body relax as he searched the coach for Raine. His arms craved to hold her.
“Raine.” His voice muffled in his head.
He called out to her as he weaved through the people who stood in the aisle, hugging their loved ones. Hands patted his back as he craned his neck searching for her. One woman touched his arm and said, “You’re hurt,” but he kept pushing through.
When the bodies parted, he saw the college kid kneeling on the floor with tears in his eyes.
“I’m sorry, man. I don’t know what happened. She saved me, but—”
Raine lay dead at his feet with a bullet through her heart.
Oh, God. No.
His mind reeled with what could’ve happened. He hadn’t seen her get hit. Raine was okay. She’d made it. She did everything he asked her to do. Why did this happen? How could she be dead?
Brax dropped to his knees, numb. He touched a trembling finger to her cheek. Her beautiful eyes were closed as if she were asleep.
Wake up. Please.
He wanted her to open her eyes.
Please don’t let this be real. PLEASE!
Brax sensed people standing over him. Every touch of their hands felt like the jolt of an electric cattle prod. He wanted them to stop. When the authorities raced onto the train, he only caught their blur. His eyes were on Raine as he reached for her.
“Oh, baby. I’m…s-sorry.” He cried. “I’m so very sorry.”
Oh God, why her? He should’ve been dead, not Raine. He lifted her from the floor and cradled her to his chest. Her limp body shattered what was left of his heart. With tears rolling down his cheeks, he shut his eyes and rocked her, imagining her arms around him one last time. He whispered in her ear, things meant only for her.
He never wanted to let go.
***
Mia Romeo peered out from behind two men and watched as the hero who had saved the passengers on the train held a woman in his arms. She didn’t have to know how much the young woman meant to him. She saw it in his tears and the gentle way he caressed her body.
He must’ve loved her very much.
Mia had kept her eyes on the assault. She had no idea how the young woman had been shot. She replayed what she remembered in her head, but the girl’s death didn’t make sense.
Like a thief, she stole images from others standing beside her. Could they have witnessed something she could decipher later? All she could do was file the visions away in her mind, like cataloging priceless art.
Mia? What’s happening? Are you okay? Talk to me.
Faith reached out to her by telepathy. Mia sensed her friend’s stress and her love through her extrasensory perception. Without changing her expression, Mia responded using her fledgling telepathic gift. She had to separate her sadness over the dead girl from what she would communicate. If she didn’t, Faith would worry.
Mia’s willingness to tweak her telepathic ability allowed her to learn something that could prove to be vital on another mission. She had to trust her gut and try new things in order to be a valued member of her team, but today had been a lesson of the heart.
He did it. The man that the cartel targeted for assassination saved a train full of innocent passengers. He was amazing.
She shut down her thoughts as her throat clenched tight. Seeing such a brave man grieving over the woman he loved—imagining the torturous, never-ending regret that must be roiling in his mind—Mia cried for him and blocked Faith’s questions. She couldn’t deal with anything.
Not now.
Men in uniform entered the train and took charge.
The police are here.
She sent another message to Faith.
You keep a low profile, Mia. Make up whatever you want about why you were on that train, but don’t let the media get wind of your involvement. They’d be merciless.
Faith was right. Mia had been a target for news media outlets. They reported her as a psychic hack and had called her a freak. The Psi department of Phoenix would have an even greater battle for credibility if Mia got on the bad side of the news.
You’re right. I’ll leave as soon as they let me go. No news. I promise.
When Mia was questioned by a detective, she gave her personal contact information and lied about why she’d been on the train. She told the officer about a museum exhibit she had to see in Los Angeles, something she knew would be a standing exhibit and verifiable.
Lies were a slippery slope. She didn’t leave the train when police were done with her, as she had promised Faith. She had to stay for another reason, to learn his name. He’d saved her life, too.
As an EMT tended to the knife wound on the grieving hero’s arm, police questioned him. Mia heard him say his name—Braxton Valentine. The dead girl, Raine Garrett, had been his fiancée.
Mia lost it.
***
Hours later
After police released him from questioning, Brax accompanied Raine’s body to the Medical Examiner’s office in El Paso. He didn’t know where else to go and he couldn’t leave her alone.
“I have to take her home…to her mother and father.” He remembered saying those words, but he couldn’t recall who he’d said them to. “She’s my fiancée.”
He heard himself speaking as if Raine were still alive, but he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to.
“We need to contact her parents. Do you have a number for them?” a woman at the morgue asked.
“Yeah, sure.” He pulled up the Garretts’ phone number and handed his phone over to the woman behind the desk.
“Her purse,” he said. “What happened to it? She has a gift for her mother.”
“You’ll get her personal effects returned after the autopsy in a few days. I’ll call her parents to make arrangements.”
“Arrangements?” he asked.
The woman cleared her throat and had a hard time staring him in the eye.
“Funeral arrangements…for her body.”
Oh, God. His stomach turned. He wanted to puke.
His brain switched off. Voices told him he couldn’t stay in the building. He didn’t remember where he was or how he got there. Hours of pacing in a waiting room turned into a blur until he was forced to leave by security guards.
He wandered downtown El Paso for the rest of the night, not sleeping. The autopsy would take a few days. That’s all he remembered.
He wandered down another sidewalk of neon lights. The horizon had turned steel gray. The sun would be up soon.
When his phone rang, he answered it.
“Brax? Is this Braxton Valentine?” A man’s voice.
“Yes.”
“This is Charles Garrett. I’m Raine’s father.”
Brax stopped and doubled over. Fresh tears came and he fought the emotion, unable to speak.
“I know you’ve been through a lot, son…but I have a favor to ask you.”
“A-anything, sir.”
“We want you to bring our daughter home.”
Silence screamed in his head and he grimaced when he couldn’t say a word. Overcome with pain, he knew it would be the right thing to do. He didn’t deserve the honor, but he said the only thing he could muster.
“Yes, sir.”