A train had just left when she reached her track. She found her mind wandering as she waited for the next one to arrive.
She was happy, she realized, and she hoped desperately that she would be able to bring peace to Elizabeth Martin. Poor Elizabeth. She wanted to be vindicated so badly. The thing was, so many years had passed…who remained to know or care? It wasn’t as if she could go to Elizabeth’s loved ones and explain or ease their pain. But Joe had met a reporter the other night—heck, she knew dozens of reporters, she realized—she could get someone to do a story. She could see that Elizabeth received a proper burial.
She noticed a group of people coming down the stairs, crowding onto the platform, surging and jostling behind her. She staggered a bit but held her position behind the yellow line.
As she did, she felt a gust of fear again.
Cold at the nape of her neck.
Unease.
As if she were prey and something was stalking her.
She started to turn.
She was hit in the back by a heavy shove.
The next thing she knew, she was flying toward the track.
And she could hear the shrill cry of the approaching train, speeding along the rails.
12
Joe couldn’t find a place to park his car. What had he expected? This was New York.
But the sense of danger was so real that he didn’t care. Even knowing he would be towed, he pulled into the first empty space he found along Fifth Avenue. He raced up the stairs to the library, past the magnificent lions, and inside. A second’s hesitation sent him to research, where an attractive young woman told him that he had just missed Leslie MacIntyre, who’d made the copies she wanted and headed out. “It’s impossible to get a cab this time of day, so she probably took the subway. She said she was heading back to Hastings House.”
Joe barely thanked her. He hadn’t seen Leslie on the street, which meant he had already lost precious time. For all he knew, she could already be on a subway downtown.
A voice inside his head kept mocking him. She’s fine. She was at the library. You’re acting like a madman. She’s on her way home.
But another thought kept plaguing him endlessly.
Buried sins.
She wasn’t heading down into a crypt, some dark hollow in the earth. Well, not really. She was going to ride the New York City subway, used by thousands of commuters on an hourly basis.
Still…
He saw the entrance and ran down the stairs, scanning the signs for trains heading toward the downtown financial district. He leapt over the turnstile, again damning himself as a madman. Great. His car was going to be towed, and if the subway attendant yelling at him had his way, he would also be arrested.
As he rushed headlong through throngs of people on the stairs, he felt a sense of dread as he headed toward the platform.
Screams echoed from below, and he ran faster, shoving people out of his way and taking the steps two at a time.
Move!
In a split second, Leslie was aware of so many things. The vibration of the ground beneath her. The bruises forming on her flesh. The awkward way she was lying. The fear that she was going to be electrocuted. The squeak and scurrying of the subway rats…
And that voice.
Move!
She couldn’t move; she was stunned, breathless and in agony.
Move!
Suddenly, arms were reaching for her, pulling her up.
Matt…? Yes, it was Matt!
She blinked, and then she was up, moving with the speed of light. There were arms again, real arms, strong, powerful arms, grabbing her and dragging her up and…
She was lying on the platform. She heard the whistle of the train; felt the air rushing over her, the train so close that its passing rustled her hair, touched her face.
There were new sounds. People. Voices rising in indignation.
“Sweet Jesus—did you see that? She was nearly squashed like a bug!”
“Thank God someone got her out!”
“She got herself out.”
“It’s horrible, Harold. I’m always telling you, it’s horrible—people pushing and shoving down here all the time.”
“They should be arrested!”
“Who should be arrested? I couldn’t tell who did it.”
She just lay there, gasping for breath, staring up. Joe. Joe was there, hunkered down by her side. She tried to smile. He looked up as two policemen came running along the platform, calling for people to get back, to give her some air.
“The paramedics are on their way,” a young uniformed cop said, squatting down by Joe.
She tried to rise up on her elbows, looking at Joe for help, wondering how in hell he had managed to be there. “I’m all right. I’m luckier than a lottery winner, but I’m all right.”
“Sit tight,” Joe said. He had the strangest expression on his face. “Did you break anything? Are you in pain?”