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A brief hesitation, then a neatly dressed man with a thick head of dark hair brushed heavily to one side, raised a trembling hand. Sam arched a brow, but only gave a nod and the man rushed quickly to the porter’s side.
“Now everyone else just remain calm.” When they continued to stand in unison, looking up at him with matching sets of terrified expressions, Sam sighed and gave his gun a wave. “Mind moving aside there, folks?”
Harold Radford stepped forward, surprisingly abandoning his wife’s side to put on a false show of bravery. “I demand you unhand our servant this very moment.”
Sam grumbled low. “Another damn hero. Listen mister, you’ll do us both a favor if you just step back.”
“What is it you want?” Another man in the crowd demanded.
“At the moment, I’d really appreciate you kind folks clearing a path and letting us through,” Sam said and tightened his grip on the woman for good measure. This only made her struggle harder.
“Hold still now.” He snapped at her, but offered, “I don’t want to break you.”
“Who do you think you are anyway?” Someone from the gathering queried.
Sam glanced back to the spectators and realized they had gotten over their initial fear and were rallying behind Harold Radford. The passenger car was definitely starting to buzz with excitement. And not the good kind. The onlookers had now become a very excited and very irate group. He knew he had to get her off the train now before the situation got out of hand. A heroic old man was one thing. A car load of them was another.
Sam pushed past the spectators toward the next vestibule, dragging his cuffed prisoner behind him.
Harold Radford, however, did not give up so easily. “Who exactly are you? And what on earth would you want with Ms. James? She is worth absolutely nothing.”
“On the contrary, sir. She is worth a hell of a lot.”
“Ye lyin’ fiend. That I am not.”
“For pity’s sake, hold still.” For some stupid reason, Sam was impressed with the look of determination in her eyes. And surprisingly, considering how many crusaders she had at her disposal, she refrained from asking for help.
“Are you robbing the train?” someone cried out.
Sam actually chuckled. “Folks, you need to relax. I’m not here to rob or cause a threat to any of you. So please, once and for all, return to your seats.”
Ivy McGregor jerked painfully on his arm socket and drew his attention away from their audience. “Dammit, woman.”
“I demand ye release me at once,” she said in her sweet little Irish accent. However, sweet she was anything but, he was apt to remember that. He glared down at her and noticed her eyes fully ablaze as well. Their chilly depths remarkably aflame. “Why are ye doing this?”
There was a tiny catch to her voice, small and barely noticeable, but to Sam’s disconcertment he found himself pausing. Found himself looking into her eyes.
They were so pale and lifeless.
Then to his confusion, he felt a jolt at what he thought was a sudden but brief appearance of emotion lurking just beneath the surface of her aloof gaze. Reminded him suddenly of a time he had tracked a wanted but highly skilled mountain man, into the cold and harsh hills of Montana. He had just crossed a frozen lake when it suddenly broke and he had found himself clinging to a chunk of floating ice. By some miracle, he had dragged his nearly hypothermic self out of those frigid waters.
Then, because it was so damn cold, the water had iced over immediately once again, enabling him to latch onto something concrete to drag himself free. It was while he sat staring at what should have been his frozen tomb that he noticed a few lone bubbles drifting up from the chilly bottom, unable to break free.
“Are you with the Mountie police then?” Harold Radford inquired, looking hopeful.
“That I am not, sir.” Sam found his wrist wrenched backwards as his prisoner twisted in his grip, trying to free herself. “I have reason to believe this woman is Ivy McGregor and am here to ensure she is returned to Chicago.”
She stilled then, if only momentarily. “I won’t be going back there.” This was said in such a low voice, only Sam could have heard as the outraged gathering had grown quite loud.
“Who the devil is Ivy McGregor and if you’re not the police, then who precisely are you?” Harold pushed his face into Sam’s space, his eyes rounding suddenly when he spotted the cuffs. “Remove those from her immediately.”
“Sorry, mister, I can’t do that,” he said. “It is for the safety of yourself and the other passengers that I apprehend Ms. McGregor.”
He started moving, making his way out of the car and back toward the dining car, dragging her with him. He came to a stop in one of the enclosed vestibules to notice the change in scenery outside. They had long left the station and had now entered into the Canadian Shield. The rugged landscape which now appeared outside the train was harsh and formidable. Soaring coniferous trees dotted century old granite which covered most of the earth. Not a sign of life to be found.
There was no getting off now.
“You have made a huge mistake, Mr. Michalski,” Harold Radford continued to follow him. “I’ve already told you, this woman is Moira James and has been under our employ for the past three months since arriving in Canada from Ireland.”
