She pictured the moment before the blast. Rhun must have sensed the explosion. He had yanked her from Jordan’s arms and through that window.
Rhun’s shadow fell across the earth beside her, but she didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, she searched inside the dining car, fearing to find a body, but needing to know.
It was empty.
Stepping away from the dining car, she looked over to the sleeper. The last car lay on its side, one side caved and split. To its right, she spotted movement through the smoke and ran toward it.
She quickly recognized Cardinal Bernard, covered in soot. He knelt over a figure sprawled on the ground, bent in a sigil of grief. Standing vigil behind the cardinal, Christian gripped Bernard’s shoulder.
She struggled across the wreckage to them, fearing the worst.
Christian must have sensed her approach, turning his head, revealing a face covered in black blood. Shocked by the sight of him, she tripped and almost fell headlong.
Rhun caught her and kept her going.
Ahead, Bernard wept, his shoulders heaving up and down.
It could not be Jordan.
It could not be.
She finally reached Christian, who sadly shook his head. She hurriedly stepped around the cardinal.
The man on the ground was unrecognizable—soot smeared his face, his clothing had been burned away. Her eyes traveled from his smudged face, to his bare shoulders, to the silver cross he wore around his chest.
Father Ambrose.
Not Jordan.
Bernard held both of the priest’s burnt hands in his own and gazed upon his lifeless face. She knew Ambrose had served the cardinal for many years. Despite the priest’s sour attitude to everyone else, he and the cardinal had been close. Months ago she had watched the man kneeling in the pope’s blood, trying to save the old man after his attack without a thought to his own safety. Ambrose might have been a bitter man, but he was also a staunch protector of the Church—and now he had given his life to that service.
The cardinal raised his face. “I’ve called for a helicopter. You must find the others before the police and rescue workers arrive.”
“We must also be wary of whoever blew up this train,” Christian added.
“It could have been a simple, tragic accident,” Bernard corrected, already turning back to Ambrose.
She left Bernard to his grief, tripping over smoking debris, walking around fires, her eyes scanning the scarred field. Christian and Rhun flanked her, moving with her, their heads swiveling from side to side. She hoped their keener senses could help her to discover any clue to Jordan’s fate.
“Over here!” Christian called and dropped to his knees.
On the ground in front of him, a familiar blond head.
Jordan.
Please, no . . .
Fear immobilized her. Her breath caught, and her eyes watered. She tried to steady herself. When Rhun took her arm, she broke free of his grip and crossed the last few feet to Jordan on her own.
He lay flat on his back. His dress blue uniform jacket lay in tatters, his white shirt under it torn to pieces.
She fell to her knees next to him and grabbed his hand. With trembling fingers, she searched for his pulse. It beat steady under her fingertips. With her touch, he opened his clear blue eyes.
She wept with relief and took his warm hand in hers.
She held him, watching his chest rise and fall, so grateful to find him alive.
Jordan’s gaze steadied and looked at her, his eyes mirroring her relief. She stroked his cheek, his forehead, reassuring herself that he was whole.
“Hey, babe,” he mouthed. “You look great.”
She put her arms around him and buried her face in his chest.
12:47 P.M.
Rhun watched Erin cling to the soldier. Her first thought had been of Jordan, as it should have been. Likewise, Rhun had responsibilities as well.
“Where is the countess?” he asked Christian.
He shook his head. “When the car blew, I saw her and Nadia thrown outside.”
Into the sunlight.
Christian pointed beyond the main wreckage. “Their trajectory would have tossed them to the far side of the tracks.”
Rhun glanced down to Erin and Jordan.
“Go,” Erin said. She helped Jordan sit up and start gaining his feet unsteadily. “We’ll meet you back by Cardinal Bernard.”
Freed of this responsibility, Rhun set off with Christian. The younger Sanguinist jogged across the field, jumping holes as lightly as a colt. He seemed unaffected by the explosion, while Rhun ached everywhere.
Once beyond the tracks, Christian suddenly sped to the left, perhaps spotting something. Rhun struggled to catch up.
Out of the pall of smoke, a tall figure dressed in black limped toward them.
Nadia.
Christian reached her first and hugged her tightly. He and Nadia had often served together on prior missions for the Church.