Khloe stopped breathing.

“How do you know my name?”

The man in the navy suit smiled again.

But there was nothing friendly about it.

“I believe we have mutual acquaintances.”

Jackson remained seated.

“Then you can introduce yourself.”

The stranger glanced at him.

“And you are?”

“Not your concern.”

For several seconds, nobody moved.

The train continued rattling through the darkness.

Khloe could hear her own heartbeat.

The stranger shifted his briefcase.

“I only need a moment with Miss Rollins.”

“No,” Jackson said.

The answer was quiet.

Absolute.

The man smiled.

“You don’t understand.”

Jackson finally stood.

At nearly the same instant, Havoc stepped forward.

The dog’s body remained between Khloe and the stranger.

Passengers nearby began noticing.

The businessman with the unread book was no longer invisible.

“Sir,” Jackson said, “walk away.”

The stranger’s expression changed.

Not fear.

Calculation.

Then Khloe suddenly remembered something.

Earlier that afternoon, before entering Penn Station, she had received a phone call.

A woman had asked whether she was still volunteering at the veterans’ rehabilitation center in Philadelphia.

Khloe had assumed it was a wrong number.

She mentioned it now.

Jackson’s eyes hardened.

“What exactly did she ask?”

Khloe repeated the conversation.

The stranger stopped smiling.

That was enough.

Jackson noticed.

So did Havoc.

The dog’s growl deepened.

Passengers began moving away from the aisle.

The stranger raised his hands slightly.

“Everyone is overreacting.”

Jackson looked at the briefcase.

“Put that on the floor.”

“No.”

“Put it down.”

The stranger’s jaw tightened.

Then, suddenly, the train lights flickered.

Khloe jumped.

The man moved.

Jackson reacted instantly, driving himself between Khloe and the aisle.

Havoc lunged forward—not to bite, but to force the stranger backward.

The briefcase hit the floor.

It sprang open.

Papers scattered across the aisle.

Khloe stared.

They weren’t ordinary documents.

Several pages contained photographs.

Of her.

Leaving the rehabilitation center.

Entering Penn Station.

Standing outside her apartment building.

Her blood turned cold.

Jackson kicked the briefcase away.

“Who sent you?”

The stranger looked toward the emergency door.

Jackson followed his eyes.

Then he understood.

There was another person involved.

The train suddenly began slowing.

A scheduled stop.

The stranger made his move toward the door.

Jackson started after him.

But Havoc didn’t.

The dog stayed beside Khloe.

Protecting her.

The stranger disappeared into the crowd of passengers moving toward the exit.

Jackson stopped.

For one moment, he had to choose.

Chase the man.

Or remain with Khloe.

He returned to her.

“Can you stand?”

She looked at her braces.

“Not quickly.”

“Then we stay together.”

The train doors opened.

Jackson contacted train security and identified himself only as a federal security consultant.

Within minutes, officers entered the carriage.

But the man in the navy suit was gone.

So was the person Jackson believed had been waiting outside.

Khloe sat trembling.

“I don’t understand.”

Jackson crouched beside her.

“Tell me about the rehabilitation center.”

“I volunteer there twice a week.”

“With veterans?”

“Yes.”

“What do you do?”

Khloe hesitated.

“I help with adaptive equipment demonstrations.”

Jackson frowned.

“What kind of equipment?”

“Mobility technology. New braces. Prosthetics. Rehabilitation systems.”

Then she remembered something else.

Three weeks earlier, a former military contractor had visited the center.

He had watched her demonstrate a new experimental stabilization system designed for people with severe spinal injuries.

Khloe looked at Jackson.

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“I recognized him.”

“The man on the train?”

She nodded.

“He was at the center.”

Jackson stood.

The pieces were coming together.

Khloe wasn’t the target because of who she was.

She was connected to something she had unknowingly witnessed.

Something involving restricted military rehabilitation technology.

And someone believed she had information.

Jackson’s phone vibrated.

He answered.

His expression changed.

“What?”

Khloe watched him.

The call lasted less than thirty seconds.

When he ended it, he looked toward her.

“We have a problem.”

Her face went white.

“What now?”

Jackson glanced through the window.

Across the platform, a second man had appeared.

He wasn’t running.

He wasn’t hiding.

He was simply standing beneath the station lights.

Watching them.

And beside Jackson, Havoc began barking for the first time.

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