Page 73

I commit it to memory. The way her smile tugs on her jawline and brightens her eyes. The way her ponytail hangs just slightly over her right shoulder. Her cheeks suddenly flushing and slowly fading again. Her hands folded together on the table, slightly twitching.

I don’t want to forget what she looks like, just in case I never see her again.

“Bye,” I say again before walking outside.

When I first came to Boston, I arrived at this same train station. Seems fitting that I’ll leave from it, too.

I decided not to choose where I’d go to until I got here. I wanted to stand where I am now, stare up at the long list of destinations, and choose one at random. Letting fate decide has usually done well for me in the past but, then again, that’s how I ended up in Boston to begin with.

Boston wasn’t a total bust, I suppose. Still led me right back here again, though.

New York? Miami? Chicago? Maybe I’ll try out Canada for a change.

Or…

I walk up to the counter, and the man behind it smiles. “I need a ticket,” I say.

“Destination?” he asks.

“Surprise me.”

I lay down a credit card. He nods, barely looking up. A few clicks on his computer and he swipes the card, triggering a ticket to pop out of his machine.

“Have a good trip, sir,” he says, laying it all down in front of me.

I blink. “I expected more of a reaction than that.”

He shakes his head. “Happens all the time, man.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Where do you usually send people?”

“You’ll find out,” he says with a smirk.

I grab my ticket. “Well done, sir.”

I sit down on an empty bench and turn the ticket over to read my next destination.

Annapolis. Really, dude?

Fate’s a cruel bitch.

I drop the ticket into my duffel bag at my feet and stare into the passing crowd. My train doesn’t leave for another hour, so I have some time to kill.

After a few minutes, a woman walks over and stops in my eye-line. Her closed umbrella drips a small puddle next to my foot. My eyes glide upward in annoyance, taking in her pale, white skin and red knee-high — oh, goddammit. Give me a fucking break.

“Hello, Mr. Murray.”

I raise my head and Morgan McGregor flashes that snake-like smile at me again. “Morgan,” I grunt.

“Do you mind if I sit?”

I lean down to grab my bag. “I’m actually just leaving, so you can take the whole bench⁠—”

Two hands slam onto my shoulders. I look back at the two brutes from her car a few days ago.