Chapter 6 - The Railyard Freight Car
The frost clung to the metal siding of the boxcar like crystallized lace as the heavy iron doors groaned shut, plunging us into absolute darkness. Outside, the muffled crunch of gravel under heavy boots signaled that Arthur's men were still combing the perimeter of the logging siding. I pressed my back against a stack of burlap sacks filled with dried alfalfa, my breathing shallow and controlled. Roman stood beside the narrow gap in the door, a heavy-gauge padlock chain threaded through the latch to keep it secured from the inside while allowing a finger-width of gray dawn light to cut across the floorboards.
"They missed the lower junction," Roman whispered, his breath pluming in the freezing air as he checked the slide of his sidearm. His tactical jacket was stiff with frost, the dark ink on his knuckles stark against the pale steel of his weapon. "The freight train heads south toward the Columbia Gorge within the hour. Once we cross the river, we're out of their immediate jurisdiction."
I pulled my beige knit sweater tighter around my swollen abdomen, feeling a small, reassuring kick against my ribs. Even in the terror of the chase, that tiny motion anchored me. "And if they've flagged the rail lines?"
"They haven't," Roman replied, turning his dark gaze toward me, his expression softening despite the grim circumstances. "Arthur is used to buying compliance through corporate channels and local sheriffs who dance to his foundation's tune. He doesn't think like a man who has to hunt someone across state lines with his bare hands. He thinks people like us just... vanish."
"I did vanish," I said bitterly, tracing the dried scratch on my cheekbone where the mountain ice had torn my skin three days ago. "For three years, I lived in a gilded cage where every door clicked shut behind me with a polite, digital hum. I thought I was protected. I didn't know I was being prepped for slaughter."
Roman stepped closer, his boots silent on the grain-dust floor, and crouched down until his eyes were level with mine. He reached out, his calloused thumb gently brushing away a smudge of soot near my jawline. The touch sent a strange, electric warmth through my chilled veins, completely at odds with the freezing environment.
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"You aren't a victim anymore, Elena," he murmured, his voice steady and absolute. "You're the evidence he forgot to bury. When we hit Portland, we find Sarah. She was your chief financial officer before you took your leave of absence. If anyone knows how Arthur laundered those foundation assets through offshore maritime accounts, it's her."
The train gave a sudden, violent shudder as the diesel engine engaged, the iron couplings clanking loudly down the line. Outside, shouting voices echoed across the frozen gravel, followed sharply by the barking of a search dog. I held my breath, my fingers clutching Roman's tactical sleeve as the boxcar lurched forward, slowly gathering momentum away from the dark shadows of the timber yard and out toward the open expanse of the Pacific Northwest highway.
