Ace on the Run

by Tina Folsom

  “Fuck!” he cursed behind his helmet and reached past her where her top had caught in a jagged edge left by the broken glass.

  Suddenly the music stopped, and the announcer now spoke. “And that was Stevie Nicks from Fleetwood Mac. How’s that for nostalgia?”

  He knew he had only seconds now.

  Her eyes darted past him, and he didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know how close the train was.

  “Run!” she urged him. “Save yourself!”

  “No!” Scott yelled and tore at her top. Finally, it ripped free of the glass and the teacher almost fell into his arms. He whirled around, the next words of the radio announcer in his ears.

  “And can you guess who’s going to be singing God Bless America…”

  With the woman in his arms, Scott jumped to the side, landing beside the tracks. He rolled over her, shielding her, when a moment later, the train hit the school bus behind them. His helmet and heavy leather jacket—though it was open in the front—protected him from the flying debris while he covered the woman beneath him as best he could.

  “Don’t move,” he urged her, though he had no idea if she heard him through his helmet.

  But he knew she was alive. He felt her breathing against his chest, her hands holding on to his shirt in a death grip.

  The screeching of the train braking was the next sound he heard. Only when there were no more sounds coming from the train, indicating that it had stopped, did Scott lift his head.

  He took a breath, his first conscious one since reaching the bus, and felt his heart thunder. The teacher in his arms had her eyes squeezed shut.

  “Are you all right?” Scott asked, but she didn’t reply. He jerked his helmet off and tried again. “Are you okay?”

  Finally she opened her eyes. The first thing he noticed was that they were a vibrant blue. The second thing he realized was that for the first time he looked into a woman’s eyes and felt he could trust her with everything.

  Shocked by the strange feeling, Scott pulled back and lifted himself off her, sitting back on his knees, flinching slightly as he did so. He’d hit the asphalt hard, taking the full brunt of the fall before he’d rolled on top of her. His ribs were bruised, but he knew nothing was broken.

  “You saved my life.” She squeezed his hand and pulled herself up to sit. She turned her head toward the gate.

  Scott followed her gaze and saw the kids standing there, dazed, in shock, but only a little worse for wear. Several cars had stopped in the meantime, and drivers and passengers were running toward the children.

  “You saved all those kids.”

  Her words made him look back at her. She was prettier than he’d noticed at first. Her shoulder-length dark brown hair had gentle waves, and her skin was bronzed, her lips full and red and a tantalizing complement to her blue eyes. If any of his teachers had looked like that when he’d been a kid, he was sure he would have liked school a lot more.

  “Are you sure you’re unhurt?” he asked now.

  She nodded, pressing her lips together, her eyes now growing moist with unshed tears. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “I was just there at the right place at the right time,” Scott answered and wanted to get up, but she suddenly slung her arms around his neck and hugged him to her so tightly he couldn’t resist putting his arms around her and hugging her back.

  So much innocence and honesty lay in her embrace that he found himself caressing her hair and rubbing her back to comfort her. And oddly enough, the gesture comforted him. For the first time since he’d lost his father and mentor—and at the same time his purpose—he felt needed.

  “I’ve got you,” he murmured into her hair.

  5

  Around her body, Phoebe felt the comforting arms of the stranger who’d rescued her. She could finally breathe again. The anxiety and mortal fear that had gripped her only moments earlier was seeping from her. For certain, she’d thought her final hour had arrived. The train had been so close, and when her clothes had caught somewhere she’d seen her life flash before her eyes. At that moment she’d realized she hadn’t really lived yet. Nor had she loved.

  “I’ve got you,” the stranger now murmured once more. His deep, melodic voice soothed her and made her tense muscles relax while her body suddenly stirred with awareness. She was pressing herself against a strange man who was practically straddling her. The intimacy of this position didn’t escape her.

  Nor him, apparently, because he now peeled himself from her embrace and started to rise, lending her a hand to get up. “Are you all right?”

  She stole glances at his face. His hair was dark, almost black. His green eyes were framed by long dark lashes and strong eyebrows. His lips were full and oddly tempting.

  “Miss?”

  She tore her gaze from his mouth, embarrassed that he’d caught her staring at him. “I’m fine. I’m all right,” she answered quickly. Her gaze drifted past him to where the children were gathered beyond the crossing gates. “The kids.” She had to make sure all of them were unhurt.

  Her feet already carried her toward them, while her eyes scanned the area. An ambulance screeched to a halt, and two paramedics jumped out, running toward the scene. A block away she saw lights flashing, accompanied by police sirens. The police car reached the railroad crossing at the same time Phoebe reached the kids.

  “Miss Chadwick, Miss Chadwick,” some of them wailed.

  “Is everybody okay?” She tried to look at all the kids individually, but they kept moving around in the huddle, anxiety rolling off them. “Is anybody hurt?”

  She heard several kids crying.

  “Just a few scrapes,” the voice of her rescuer assured her from behind. “Your pupils all got out safely.”

  Phoebe turned her head halfway, but before she could thank him for his reassurance the paramedics had reached the group of kids and suddenly everybody was talking over each other.

  The female paramedic caught her eye. “Ma’am, did everybody get out?” She motioned to the remnants of the school bus, which were strewn about the railroad crossing. Pieces of it were caught underneath the train’s wheels. The train had long stopped. The locomotive now stood several hundred yards past the crossing.

  “Everybody got out.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  Automatically, Phoebe shook her head, but when she lifted her arm to point at the kids, she felt a stinging pain in her back, where her shirt had caught on a glass shard. “I’m fine. Check the kids first.”

  “You’re bleeding.”

  The words came from her rescuer and sounded like an admonishment.

  “It’s nothing. Just a scratch.” She turned back to him just in time to catch him shaking his head, a soft smirk curving his lips.

  “You’re an interesting woman.”

  Phoebe tilted her head, not really understanding what he meant by that.

  “Still, you should have it looked at.”

  “Later.” She extended her hand. “I’m Phoebe Chadwick.”

  He nodded and shook her hand without taking his glove off. “Scott.”

  Her reporter instinct kicked in instantly when he didn’t offer a last name, and another question already sat on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t get a chance to voice it.

  “Are you the teacher?” an authoritative voice called out to her, making her whirl around. A policeman was approaching her. “What happened here?”

  She nodded at the police officer. “I’m Phoebe Chadwick. I’m from the Daily Messenger. I was—”

  “A reporter. How do you guys get here faster than we do?” The police officer was clearly annoyed.

  “I was on the bus! I was chaperoning the kids,” she defended herself instinctively.

  “You were on the bus? Where’s the teacher? What happened?”

  Her heart beat into her throat as she conveyed in as few words as possible what had happened once she’d realized the bus driver had abandoned them on the railroad crossin
g. “And then this man here came and smashed the door in.” She turned to Scott, but he wasn’t standing behind her anymore. Her eyes searched for him.

  ~ ~ ~

  A reporter! Shit! That was just his darn luck. Scott suppressed a curse and pushed his way through the crowd of kids and adults who had now started arriving—curious bystanders, neighbors, business owners, motorists, as well as more paramedics. A second ambulance had arrived already and another police car was approaching from somewhere, though Scott couldn’t yet see the car, only hear its siren. In a few minutes, the first parents would get here, concerned about their kids’ welfare. Considering the cell phones the ten- or eleven-year-old children wielded, it wasn’t hard to guess they’d already alerted their parents.

  Soon, the news vans would be flocking to this accident site with their cameras and microphones, interviewing everybody and anything that moved.

  Scott knew he had to get out of here fast. He’d already stayed too long. The moment he’d rescued the woman who he’d believed to be the teacher—but who by her own admission was a reporter by the name of Phoebe Chadwick—he should have hightailed it out of here. He’d done what he considered to be his duty. He’d saved the children from certain death. Now he had to save himself from exposure.

  Intrigued by Phoebe, he’d stuck around for a few minutes longer than he should have. From a teacher, he would have expected the kind of selflessness she’d displayed. She’d made sure all the kids had gotten out of the bus before her. From a reporter, her actions surprised him. She hadn’t even allowed the paramedic to treat her injury, more concerned about the children than her own wellbeing. Even from a female teacher he would have expected she’d at least have flinched at her injury and asked the paramedics to check it out.

  Scott shook his head and stepped past a crying girl. Phoebe wasn’t his problem. So he did what he always did in situations like these. He kept his head down and avoided eye contact. A few more seconds and he’d be gone. He quickly retrieved his helmet where he’d dropped it after he’d jumped out of the way of the moving train with Phoebe in his arms.

  From the periphery he noticed a news van park on the other side of the street and two people jump out. The woman was holding a microphone in her hand; the man carried a large camera on his right shoulder. They ran across the street, approaching the accident site.

  “What happened here?” the female reporter called out. “Is anybody hurt? Anyone got killed?”

  Scott scoffed. Yeah, that would have made quite a story, wouldn’t it? Dozens of school kids murdered by bus driver. Because that was what it would have been had Scott not interfered: murder. With only a shrug, Scott walked past the reporters. It was best never to engage with people like that. They would soon find somebody else who would answer their curious questions.

  The kids seemed more than happy to reply to the reporters, as he could hear now from their excited voices. Scott continued walking, almost running into a girl who was sobbing uncontrollably. He hesitated for a moment and couldn’t resist running his hand over her hair in a gesture of comfort.

  “It’s all right, little girl. Everything’s all right. Your parents are gonna be here in a moment. They’ll take care of you.”

  She sniffled and looked up at him. Recognition lit up her face. “You saved me.” Unexpectedly she slung her arms around him, burying her face in his stomach.

  He took her arms and gently pried them off him. It was time to leave before other kids got the same idea and tried to thank him.

  “He’s a hero,” he suddenly heard a boy call out in Scott’s direction.

  Scott snapped his head toward him.

  The boy pointed at him, while he addressed the two reporters. “He saved us all.”

  Shit!

  The two reporters were staring at him. They were already moving in his direction. “Sir! Sir! A word.”

  But Scott spun around and charged toward his motorcycle, slipping the helmet over his head. He jumped onto the Ducati, kicked the stand back and engaged the engine. The reporters had no chance in light of his speedy escape.

  He was racing down the main street and turning at the next corner before they could voice another question. It was unlikely the camera had even been turned on yet. And if they had really gotten a glimpse of him, it would have been with his helmet on. As for the license plate on his motorcycle, it was registered to a mailboxes place which couldn’t be traced to him, and as soon as he got home he would switch the plate out for another one. They wouldn’t be able to find him.

  The only regret he had was that the moment of peace he’d felt with Phoebe in his arms had been just an illusion.

  6

  “Novak is furious!” Kathleen greeted her as Phoebe made her way through the group of excited colleagues who had stormed toward her as she’d entered the newsroom. The news of the bus accident—if it could be called an accident—was everywhere.

  “What’s he got to be furious about? I was in a fucking train collision!” And still a little shaken by it.

  “Yeah, over four hours ago!” Novak yelled behind her. “We’re going to press in two hours and we’ve got nothing!”

  Phoebe spun around, facing her pissed-off editor.

  “Why didn’t you call in with the story? You were on that damn bus! Firsthand account! Shit!”

  Phoebe braced her hands at her hips. “Because the police dragged me down to the station to make a statement. And the paramedics insisted on treating me.” She pointed to her back, where beneath her fresh shirt she now sported a bandage over a superficial cut. “And by the way, I almost died today, so don’t mind if I take a few minutes to breathe, okay?”

  Her heart raced now, and she noticed her colleagues surrounding them had gone quiet, listening to the heated exchange with her editor.

  Novak clenched his teeth. “My office, now!” He turned on his heel and marched into his office.

  The moment Phoebe entered behind him he glared back at the other employees, making them scurry away, before slamming the door shut.

  Once they were alone, Phoebe took a breath and opened her mouth, intent on defending herself, but Novak cut her off with one movement of his hand.

  “Not another word out of your mouth, young lady! First you listen to me.” He sucked in a breath. “For starters, you nearly gave me a heart attack when I heard about the bus having been hit by a train. When you didn’t call in right away, I had to call a contact at a news station to find out if anybody knew anything. Only when Eriksson heard from his son did we know you were all right. So don’t ever do that again!”

  Surprised that he’d actually been concerned about her, she was speechless for a moment. But she wouldn’t be a reporter if words failed her for long. “We were all very lucky. The police are already looking for the bus driver. They’ve promised to give me first dibs on any information on him since I was on the bus.” Maybe she’d even get an exclusive once they’d caught the guy. “This might be just the story I need for Eriksson.”

  Novak frowned. “Eriksson isn’t interested in the story about the driver.” He walked around to his computer and motioned her to follow him. Pointing to the screen, he added, “He wants to know who this is.”

  The computer screen showed a picture of Scott walking through the crowd of kids.

  “Scott.” She looked up at Novak. “He rescued us. He smashed the door in and pulled us out.”

  Her boss nodded. “Scott? Do you have his full name?”

  Phoebe shook her head. “He left right after the police and the ambulances got there.” She pointed to the screen. “How did you get this picture?”

  “Eriksson’s son took it with his cell phone and told his father this is the guy responsible for saving his life. Eriksson wants this to be the lead story—the hero, the mysterious rescuer. Find him! Do whatever you have to do to get his story.”

  Phoebe cast Novak a doubtful look. “It didn’t look like he wanted to be the hero, or he would have stuck around. If he wanted the fame, he h
ad his chance when Debbie Finch from WYAT News arrived. She practically ran after him to get a statement from him.”

  “And did she?”

  “No. He jumped on his motorcycle and sped away.” He’d practically fled the scene, now that Phoebe thought of it. “Maybe he’s shy.” Well, not even she believed that. He’d seemed self-confident in the little interaction they’d had. Strong, self-assured, decisive.

  “Shy?” Novak scoffed. “That’s not it.” He tapped at the screen, pointing at Scott’s face. “Get the story! Find him and I can guarantee you that Eriksson won’t fire you. You’ve bought yourself some time now. Use it well. Prove to me and to Eriksson that you’re the kind of journalist I always thought you were.”

  Her eyes drifted back to the photo on the screen. “Can I get a copy of that?”

  “I’ll email it to you.”

  “Did the other kids take any pictures too? Maybe of his motorcycle?”

  “I’ll have Eriksson’s son talk to his classmates. Knowing those kids, everybody got something. They’ve probably already texted each other their pictures. I’ll forward you what I can get.”

  “Thanks.” She turned to the door.

  “And Phoebe?”

  She stopped.

  “I’m glad you’re all right.”

  She smiled to herself and opened the door. Novak wasn’t as much of a hard-ass as he made others believe. When it came down to it, he cared about the people who worked for him. And he was a journalist with integrity and an eye for a good story. Focusing on the hero of this disaster was the positive spin the parents of these kids needed, rather than highlighting the likely mentally ill individual who’d driven the bus onto the railway crossing and rigged it.

  She would introduce the citizens of Chicago to Scott, the hero who’d saved twenty-seven lives today and wasn’t expecting any public recognition for it. And maybe once she found him and got his story, she would be able to thank him in a more personal way than she’d had occasion to this afternoon.