Page 55 of Passion's Wicked Torment

Well, Hunter knew, he wouldn’t let the President down. Hunter’s plan would work. All Ironman had to do was to just show up at the warehouse, where Hunter would be waiting for him. If he just showed up, that’s all it would take. Hunter would make sure he never left the place alive.

When they reached the White House north entrance, the limousine stopped, and the White House doorman opened the door. He grimaced at Hunter’s rumpled appearance. The doorman was upset that a person could dress and look so unbecoming, no matter whom he was visiting at the White House. And he undoubtedly thought Hunter was visiting some low-level civil servant. Hunter grinned at him and said, “Between you and me, pal, I’m going in to see the President.”

The doorman looked aghast, and then extremely doubtful.

“You didn’t have to say that,” Rogers scolded as they walked across the highly polished, floor of the rotunda.

“What’s it matter? He didn’t believe me.”

“Security. Your relationship to the President is top-secret.”

“Look,” Hunter said with growing irritation, “the only security you have to worry about is the security around Kristin when she reaches California. I want to be sure you’ve got men waiting there to protect her, like we agreed earlier.”

“It’s all arranged. Don’t worry. So long as she arrives, she’ll be provided for.”

“She’ll arrive,” said Hunter. “I put her on the train myself.” He stepped into the elevator that would take them to the Oval Office.

At that very moment, Kristin was making plans to leave the train at its next stop, catch another one going in the opposite direction and head back to New York. She had no intention of going to California to visit nonexistent relatives, and she never had any intention of doing so. She had only let Hunter put her on this train in the first place because she knew he would interfere with her plan if he knew she was actively plotting to get even with Ironman. She had deceived him. And now that he thought she was out of the way, she could return to New York and put her plan into action without his interference.

Did he really think she would let Chad’s death go unavenged? she wondered bitterly. Now that she was back in the States and back to her senses, she would make sure Ironman paid, and paid dearly.

She was in the dining car, finishing her poached salmon lunch, when the conductor came through to announce that the train would reach Chambers, the next stop, in 15 minutes. Kristin left the dining car and went back to her private coach. Halfway there, though, she realized she’d left her purse in the dining car. She reversed direction and headed back down the narrow passageway. It was then that she saw for the first time that she was in danger.

A man was facing her in the corridor, now that she had pivoted around. He had been behind her. He was surprised by her quick turn, and he cast his eyes down as if he were merely another train passenger casually wandering down the hallway. The truth was more apparent though, for his expression had shown panicky surprise. Kristin had noticed the man earlier during her trip, but thought little about him. She had heard the conductor call him Mr. Peters when taking his ticket. He had stuck in her mind only because he had a somewhat pockmarked face and because he often happened to end up in the same car as herself.

Now that she saw the expression on his pockmarked face, she realized that he had not just happened to be in the same cars at all. The man was following her! She looked at him closely as she neared him in the narrow passageway, but he kept his head down. He was wearing a brimmed hat with the brim pulled low.

“Pardon me,” she said as she brushed past him. She said this to him to hear his voice in reply, curious about how he would sound. He did not answer though. He merely put his fingertips to his hat and tipped it slightly.

She went out of the coach car, through the connecting accordion link and back into the dining car. She retrieved her purse from the table. Then, instead of returning to her coach car, she took a seat in the booth directly to the side of the door. This way no one could look through the window in the train door to see where she was. She waited, watching the doorway.

Her suspicions were confirmed. After a moment, the pock-faced man in the hat burst through the door and hurried down the aisle, right past Kristin, not even noticing her. He rushed up to the dining room porter and said in a desperate voice, “The dame in the green dress! The pretty one! Where is she? Where’d she go? I saw her come in here!”

The porter looked startled by his panicky voice.

“Did she go on through?” the man insisted, nodding toward the train door at the opposite end of the aisle.

The porter just shook his head, bewildered by the man’s agitation, and pointed toward Kristin, who was seated in the booth near the door the man had entered by. The man turned to look at Kristin, his face appearing vicious at that moment. Their stares locked. Kristin saw Peters scowl with self anger at his stupidity in giving himself away like this. She did not wait to hear any explanation. She was sure she knew everything there was to know: Ironman had discovered her whereabouts after all, and he had sent this man to follow her—and to kill her at the first opportunity. She got up from her booth and rushed to the door.

“Hey!” shouted Peters. “Wait!”

She was out the door, though, and rushing through the accordion connecting link, then into the other car. She saw him through the glass window, rushing through the accordion link after her. There was a lock on the connecting doorway. Kristin turned it quickly, just in time. Peter’s hand was on the door latch. He became flustered and furious at the way she had foiled him, and he began screaming through the door. She could not hear his words due to the thick glass plate and the rumbling of the train. But she saw his agitated features and the way his face was turning red.

A woman was coming out of her compartment as Kristin rushed by. “Don’t unlock that door,” Kristin said to her. “There’s a madman out there.”

The woman looked shocked. “A ... a madman?” She glanced at the door, saw Peters’s angry face through the thick glass, and with a small gasp she turned back into her compartment, slamming shut the sliding door.

Kristin continued down the aisle, then hurried out the far doorway and into the next car. She was breathing quickly from fright, but her mind was working clearly. She had to lose this man. Her life depended on it. She could not tell a porter about the situation and expect any protection. The man Ironman had sent was undoubtedly ruthless. A porter, unused to physical violence, would be no match for him and would certainly not be able to protect Kristin from him.

She could not go back to her own compartment. The man would look for her there. She could not simply wait until the train arrived at Chambers either, and then disembark, because Peters would undoubtedly have the dining room porter unlock the door by then and would be after her.

Kristin had a desperate idea. She would pull the emergency stop and halt the train as they were passing through the small town. Then, in the confusion, she would rush away.

The problem, though, was that there was no emergency stop cord to pull. She looked everywhere, frantically. Oh, dam, she thought feverishly, feeling betrayed. There had always been an emergency stop cord in all the movies she’d seen. How was she to know that such a th

ing did not exist in reality.

Oh, no! Looking through the glass in the doorway, she saw the pock faced man coming through the accordion passageway. He was still after her, and getting closer! Well, at least there was one proven way to buy time. She quickly forced the latch on this new door, locking it. On the other side of the door, Peters turned the handle, saw that he had been defeated again, and now his expression became really enraged. He cursed through the thick window, though the rumbling of the train again drowned out his words.

She hurried through the car and exited into the next one. She knew she could not use this ploy again. This time the man would be smart enough to take the key from the porter and carry it with him, rather than just ordering the porter to unlock the door. What could she do? They were only minutes away from the next stop now, but that meant nothing if she did not live long enough to reach it.

Standing in the passageway, she had an idea. There was a gap of perhaps nine inches between where she was standing and the train car’s exit. She looked through it. There were handles running the length of the accordion passageway, outside it, for use by the train crews in pulling the folding metal contraption into place and securing it. It was incredibly windy out there, and there was only a tiny ledge on which to place her feet. Worst of all, she knew that if Peters did find her there, all he would have to do would be to give a small push, and she would plummet down the steep embankment of the tracks, at around 80 miles an hour.

There was no choice. She had only seconds. She took the folding money from her purse and stuffed it into the pocket of her blouse. Then she tossed the purse away through the gap between the accordianway and the train car. She pushed the gap as wide as she could make it, then slithered through to the outside as carefully as she could. She was not careful enough. She had not anticipated the blast of wind that caught her as the train barreled along at such high speed. It almost lifted her straight up and away into the air. She gripped the handles tightly and finally managed to plant her feet back upon the tiny ledge.

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