A nasty tone creeps into Tony’s voice. "Nice. You’re a stand-up guy, Herb."

  "Hey, I told her I didn’t think you’d hurt anyone."

  "Thanks for the vote of confidence. You can shove it up your ass!"

  The migraine is back, throbbing right behind her forehead. She takes another sip of water to wet her lips. "Shut up, both of you."

  Hard to focus. Jules had the next question already formed, but now it’s lost. Scattered to the wind like the leaves whipping through the air outside. She shakes her head, forcing herself to concentrate. Then she looks at Tony, whose face seems odd. A second later she understands why. He's concerned.

  "You all right?" he asks gruffly.

  "I’m just tired."

  The bartender speaks from across the room. "Can I get you something else? Maybe some coffee?"

  That would be great. She opens her mouth to say the words out loud, only to discover her lips are tingling. Jules reaches for the glass. Her clumsy fingers push it over.

  "Oops! I’ll clean that up."

  Jules hears the friendly voice of the bartender with a growing sense of horror, but it’s muted somewhat. It’s as though there’s a thick wall cleaving her brain in two, separating logic and emotion. She’s terrified and doesn’t know why.

  The bartender approaches with a rag.

  The spilled water over the table.

  Did she watch him pour the drink? No, she didn’t.

  An unmistakable swell of dizziness hits her head the moment she stands up, and then one word runs through her like a sword.

  Drugged.

  Tony looks alarmed. "Hey—you don’t look good."

  The bartender is several feet away, the rag in his hand, a glint of silver hidden underneath.

  He drugged her.

  And Jules remembers the glass she found at Brandon’s seat, his blue-tinged lips, and the cyanosis on the first victim.

  It’s him.

  "Hands up!" she screams through her numbed lips. "Don’t move!"

  Tony wheels around at the bartender, who calmly lifts his hands to the air. The knife clatters to the floor as he drops the rag. She’s never really noticed him before. Both times when she interacted with him, she was distracted. His hair, pale skin, and blue eyes give him a Nordic quality. He’s tall and thin, with a growth of stubble that almost hides the pockmarks on his face.

  There’s a split-second when Jules thinks she’s got him. She grabs her service revolver—but whatever he gave her slows down her reflexes, and it tumbles out of her hands.

  "Shit!"

  Jules dives for the gun as the bartender makes a sudden movement. Her numbed fingers scrabble across the floor, clasping the handle. Jesus, she doesn’t trust herself to aim a shot. Her arm swings toward him, straight as an arrow.

  "FREEZE!"

  An eerie grin spreads over his milky face, and then he yanks on the emergency brake.

  Chapter 15

  1:16 PM – LA Express

  Jules’ first, foolish thought is that the bomb went off. The sudden yank under her feet and the metallic shriek remind her of one, even though she saw him pull the brake, and she knows the IED isn’t on the train. Screams lift into the air as the ground jerks back. Jules bashes into seats as her body flies forward. Her palms slip on the cushions, and the world makes a violent tilt to the floor. She barely raises her hands in time, but her forehead smashes into her knuckles.

  Everything goes black and flickers on like dying lights. Pain is the first thing to register, hot and searing up her nose and radiating deep inside her head. Then the sound of shocked yells and the continued high-pitched moan of the brakes. She struggles to a sitting position. Jules attempts to grab a seat, and her hand slides off. The adrenaline coursing through her veins is dulled by the poison he gave her. If she could just lie down and rest her eyes—just for a second.

  Whitlock’s gritty voice reverberates through her: Disarm him.

  Somewhere off this train, there’s a hostage, and Jacob has the trigger to the bomb. Whitlock didn’t mention if the prisoner was secure, and she has no way of knowing if the building was evacuated. She needs to get off her ass and tackle him to the ground. If only her body would cooperate.

  Jules seizes her leg and yanks. "Move, damn you!"

  A shadow passes over her head as Jacob steps over her. He grabs the heads of the seats against the backward shift of the train’s movements and walks. With a Herculean effort, Jules hauls herself to her feet. The world swims in distorted shapes and colors. She glances outside; the countryside is still moving fast through the windows.

  "Jacob! There’s nowhere to run!"

  He looks at her standing there. Jules takes a step forward, testing her bodyweight, and falls.

  "Damn it!"

  There’s laughter in Jacob’s pale eyes. She blinks, and he powers through the aisle. Passengers sway from side to side as they grip their armrests. So far, no one realizes the killer is walking beside them.

  A body stumbles into her back, and she’s lifted upright by a pair of strong hands. "Sawyer, he’s getting away!"

  Just ahead, Jacob crashes through the sliding doors into car four. It doesn’t matter if her feet won’t work. She’ll crawl her way to him and tear him apart, slower reflexes be damned. Her body launches forward, her stance staggered as she fights to regain control. Herb opens the door for her. Jules claws through.

  Finally, she manages a run. It’s clumsy, like a toddler’s first attempt at walking. Her roar of frustration is heard by Jacob, who turns around and laughs.

  The bastard laughs at her. Still grinning, he reaches into the overhead compartments and yanks down suitcases over the barrier. Passengers yell as they tumble down, blocking the aisle. He sprints, shoving people out of the way.

  The scream of the brakes is never-ending. It drowns Jules' voice as she yells for the confused passengers to move aside, and her legs are bags of flesh weighing her down. She concentrates every cell on moving forward. Jules grips the cushions of the headrests and staggers. She dives over the suitcases, and Herb slips past her. They fly into the adjacent seats, and Herb takes her hand, urging her on, but more obstacles are blocking the path, and Jacob is way ahead.

  "He’s getting away!"

  "I know, damn it. This is as fast as I can go."

  Herb looks at her, impatience written all over his face. "I'll get him!"

  She grabs the back of his shirt before he leaps away. "No! Leave it to me."

  "He needs to be stopped."

  The fabric slips out of her fingers. "Herb, it’s too dangerous. I need you to stay here—STAY HERE!"

  Herb doesn’t spare her a backward glance as he launches down the aisle, vaulting over the suitcases as he sprints toward Jacob.

  "Come back!"

  Has he lost his mind or does he think he can take down a serial killer by himself? Jacob is armed and deadly. Herb has no idea who he’s dealing with. Idiot boy!

  People stare at her as she lurches into the forward momentum of the braking train. She has to save Herb, and she needs to run faster. Using the headrests, she swings herself over the luggage and lets go. The air echoes with shocked gasps as she falls to a crashing heap. Jules claws her way to a standing position, using someone’s belt as leverage. She pats her holster—good, gun’s still there—and runs.

  Ahead, Jacob crashes through another set of doors, Herb quickly gaining. As soon as Jacob slams it closed, Herb is there, forcing it open. Shit, she needs to get there faster. Damn her useless legs.

  Their bodies collide like two boulders. The younger man tackles Jacob. Herb's tucked head smashes into Jacob's stomach. The floor shakes as they crash to the ground. There’s a tangle of writhing limbs. Bystanders scream at the pair fighting.

  A man clinging to a handrail yells at Herb. "What the hell do you think you’re doing?"

  "Stop!" She tears cushions in her haste to get to the two brawling men. Partially numb fingers grab the gun at her waist, and she aims at the mess of struggling limbs.

  "STOP! PUT YOUR HANDS UP!"

  Herb springs to his feet, grinning through a bloody nose as Jacob lies on his back, chest heaving. She inches forward, aiming at the center of his torso. "Don’t move!"

  Crap—she can’t fire her weapon here. A ricochet might hit someone, and she doesn’t trust her aim right now.

  The killer seems cowed until that apelike smile spreads across his face.

  "DON’T MOVE!"

  He leaps onto his knees and tackles Herb’s legs. The younger man lets out a yelp, moving his arms like a windmill as he loses his balance and falls to the ground.

  "STOP! HANDS UP, JACOB!"

  Jacob sinks his fist into Herb’s abdomen, the sound like a sledgehammer against a slab of meat. Herb seems to crumple like an accordion, doubling over, his mouth open in a breathless scream. And then there’s a flash of silver in his hand—Jules aims the gun at Jacob’s lithe body—she hesitates. Is he holding the trigger for the bomb?

  No, it’s a knife held against Herb’s throat. A wheezing sound leaves his chest as Jacob snakes his arm around his neck. The blade follows, opening a thin gash. Herb cringes as a stream of blood streaks down his skin.

  Through the panicked screaming in the car, Jules inhales a lungful of air and makes her voice heard. "Jacob, stop!"

  "I gave you plenty of chances, Detective. Now two people will die."

  "Nobody has to die, Parker! Put down the knife."

  "No."

  Herb stiffens, real panic blazing through his eyes. "Let me go—"

  "Shut the hell up. No more begging from you. I can’t stand it anymore." His lips curl. "You thought you could break me. I see right through you, Father."

  Herb mouths the word: Father?

  The guy’s nuts. She has to keep him talking. "This is about your dad?"

  His owlish gaze wheels toward her. "I know he sent you—he sends all of you to torture me. Why couldn’t you leave me alone?"

  "Is your father someone I work with?"

  His tone darkens. "Don’t play dumb, Detective."

  "I’m trying to understand. Who are you talking about?"

  "HIM!" The knife digs in Herb’s flesh. "I keep killing him, and he keeps coming back!"

  Jacob’s voice breaks with the last words and his eyes glaze over, fractured with pain. His head hangs, his lips pressed together to keep from crying out. "I don't want to do this!"

  "Put the knife down, hand me the trigger, and I’ll leave you alone."

  "No, he deserves to die!"

  "What about the hostage?"

  His arm flattens against Herb’s neck. "She’s his daughter. It’ll hurt him. Nothing would please me more."

  "What the hell are you talking about?" Herb’s eyes are like saucers. "I don’t have any kids, man!"

  Far from casting any doubt on the situation, it seems to confirm Jacob’s delusions. Herb chokes as Jacob increases the pressure on his throat. "Are you kidding me?" Jacob says.

  "No! I have no idea what you're—"

  "Stop lying!" The knife trembles with every ringing syllable. "I am sick of your voice. Just shut up. Shut the hell up!"

  If she can get the train to stop, the hostage crisis team will be here in minutes, and Herb will be saved. Flattened, brown landscape chugs past the windows.

  If the team can even reach this place.

  The shuddering of the brakes ceases, and the only sound is Jacob’s ranting, which grows in fervor with each second, and Jules knows it’s only a matter of time before he loses it completely and slashes Herb’s throat.

  "Put the knife down. You don’t want to do this."

  His eyes glitter with savage triumph. Jacob moves backward, dragging Herb with him. They enter the space at the head of the car that contains the bathroom, bike racks, and a door to outside. Jacob shoves his key into the slot and turns it. He kicks the red button.

  A brown field expands into view as a blast of chilly air sweeps inside the car. Jacob seizes Herb’s neck and pushes him toward the door. The knife lifts from his neck. For a moment it looks like Jacob’s granting him a reprieve, and then he kicks the young man’s back.

  There’s a sickening thud and a scream as Herb falls on the graveled tracks, Jacob jumping out after him. The rocks scatter as Jacob’s heavy boots land on them. Another shrill noise rips the air and Jules launches at the open door to see him standing over a terrified Herb.

  "Run," he says in a high, cold voice. "I like the chase."

  Chapter 16

  1:40 PM – Somewhere near Bakersfield

  Jules prepares to jump. Herb runs. At least, he breaks into a stumbling jog when he staggers to his feet. The gravel makes him slip. Jacob’s cold laughter follows as Herb picks himself up. The young man looks behind, sees Jacob with the kitchen knife, and another terrified scream echoes across the landscape.

  There’s nowhere to hide. A set of tracks runs in the opposite direction, and there’s an open field filled with dead grass on her left. On their right, a concrete wall separates them from the highway.

  Jules jumps out of the train, praying that her knees won’t give out. The numbness is fading from her legs, though, and she hits the ground running, but not before an enormous shock jars them. She chases the two men, Jacob too far to squeeze off a shot with confidence.

  Passengers lean out of the open door to watch, and Jules screams a command, but it comes out in a wheeze. Her lungs burn. Acid builds in her legs.

  Never mind the pain. Focus.

  She tries. Every cell inside screams to run faster. Her body won’t let her. She gasps for air. It’s as though there’s a fist clenched around her throat, but she keeps putting one foot in front of the other. Nausea grips the back of her tongue, and she knows she’s pushed her body to the edge of its limit.

  There’s no way in hell she'll catch up to them.

  Time slows to a standstill as Jacob chases Herb on the tracks running next to their train. A horn blows in the distance.

  Jules stops. Gasps. Aims. Still too far.

  One leg pounds in front of the other. Now it’s a limping stride, and she’s hopeless to match Jacob’s long legs. In seconds, he’ll be on top of Herb. She pictures the young man’s face, stricken with pain as the knife sinks into his body.

  "Come back," Jacob shouts, his voice distorted by the distance. "I’ll kill you—"

  The horn sounds again, loud enough to drown out the rest of his sentence.

  Jules’ lungs are on fire, but she cups her hands around her mouth. "Herb, get off the tracks!"

  A dark blue streak runs across the tracks as Herb bursts forward, but Jacob sprints faster to meet him, veering to the side. Jacob reaches out, slashing with the knife. Herb’s shocked yell echoes, mingling with the blaring horn. A horrible thrill moves through Jules when he staggers and grabs his left arm.

  Blood. The bright red color stains her vision. She sprints faster, and Jacob winds his arm back. She’s seconds from shouting a useless warning. The knife points at Herb’s gut. They're only one hundred meters away.

  Jules stops. Aims her shaking hands toward a blue torso. Fires.

  A crack splits the air. One of them staggers.

  Did she hit him?

  She didn’t.

  Two bright lights wink at her in the distance. The horn blasts are deafening. She aims her gun, off-balance with all the noise, but they’re still fighting. She can’t get a clean shot.

  Suddenly they spin around, and Herb is forced to his knees on the tracks. The knife is at his neck, and Jacob stands on the other side.

  Another blast from the horn almost knocks her off her feet.

  Herb swears at the approaching train and turns toward Jacob. "Let me go, psycho!"

  "Not a chance." Jacob smiles at her as she approaches. "You don’t look so good. Maybe you should take a nap."

  Jules trains the gun on his chest. She screams with the last breath in her lungs. "Jacob, this is insane! You’re going to get yourself killed."

  A shrug rolls over his shoulders as he glances at the vessel of speeding death headed toward them. "Faster, damn it."

  Herb gestures at the train. "It'll kill us all. Let me go!"

  Half a mile—it’s got to be half a mile away from them. Too late for an emergency brake. A shriek hits her ears—the conductor yanked it anyway.

  "Jacob!"

  "I’ve made my decision. Now you need to make yours."

  "What the hell are you—"

  He slips a hand down his pocket and pulls out a flip-phone. With his thumb, he opens it. He dials nine digits, and then his finger hovers over the call button.

  The trigger. A lightning bolt of alarm strikes her.

  His lips move. "Choose."

  She can barely hear him. Choose? He wants her to pick who should live?

  The young man at Jacob’s feet looks at her, screaming. Half of his words are cut off by the train’s blasts. "HELP—DON’T—!"

  What the hell kind of choice is this? If she picks one, she condemns the other.

  "Five seconds," Jacob shouts, "and I push this button! Step away and put the gun down; I’ll close the phone!"

  The head of the train approaches, its logo visible from the short distance. She can hear the tolling bell over its frantic blasts. They only have moments to get out of the way.

  Assuming they haven’t disarmed the bomb, the hostage would die. She could fire at Jacob’s chest. Or she could step back and watch Herb get pulverized by the train.

  The train screams. Jules blinks as though she can already feel the train rushing past. Jacob’s lips curl, and he lets the hand with the cell phone fall. She aims her gun at his torso. The smile twists into a snarl. Her finger nudges the trigger, and Herb shoots to his feet.

  Crack.

  She feels the noise right down to her soul, and screams into the wind of the rushing train. Herb steps backward, and she grabs the back of his collar and yanks. His body falls into her chest. They tumble down, away from the tracks with Jacob on the other side.

  A massive streak blazes in front of them. Jules sees giant wheels chugging on the tracks. The cars speed over them as they lay underneath, inches from death.