Broken Silence

An icy wind whispered through the abandoned train depot, rattling the broken chain-link fence like an ominous warning.

Special Agent Peyton Hughes shivered as she exited her pickup. Dark shadows clung to the rusted rail cars, and the broken husk of the service station. Her vehicle was the only one in the parking lot. Where was Lilia? Had she not arrived yet? It seemed unlikely, given the frantic phone call she’d made to Peyton.

You have to come. Please. There’s no one else I can trust, and it’s life or death.

It’d been nearly three years since Peyton had last seen or spoken to her younger cousin, but nothing in their rocky relationship would prevent her from showing up when Lilia was clearly in trouble.

A clang reverberated from somewhere deep inside the train depot. Peyton peered into the darkness, trying desperately to make out distinct shapes among the shadows. “Lilia?”

Her voice carried across the parking lot, but silence was the only answer. Goosebumps skittered over Peyton’s skin. She didn’t like this. Not one bit. Pulling her cell phone from her pocket, she dialed Lilia’s number. Her cousin didn’t answer. Just like the last five times Peyton tried to reach her.

The nerves plaguing her during the two-hour drive from Dallas grew in intensity. Lilia had been thin on details, promising to explain everything in person, but the thread of fear thrumming through her voice had been all too real. Was she hiding somewhere in the depot? Her phone could’ve run out of battery. Lilia had never been violent—not even while high—but she hung out with a cast of unsavory characters. At least she used to. Peyton didn’t know what Lilia was like these days. Still, it wasn’t hard to imagine her cousin had gotten ensnared in a dangerous situation and was in over her head.

A career in law enforcement—first as a state trooper and now as a Special Agent with the Texas Department of Public Safety’s Criminal Investigation Division—had taught Peyton to trust her instincts. It wasn’t smart to search the train depot for Lilia without backup. Knoxville, Texas wasn’t a hotbed of criminal activity, but like all small towns, it had its problems. And the depot attracted all kinds, from drug users looking to get high to homeless individuals seeking shelter against the harsh winter nights. Tonight, in particular, was biting. The temperatures were predicted to reach freezing.

Peyton bit her lip. She needed to call for help. A state trooper would be the easiest option, but there was no guarantee one would be available or nearby. The next best option was reaching out to the local police department, but calling dispatch meant explaining the situation to a stranger, waiting for them to relay the information, then hoping a patrol officer wasn't already tied up with another call. That could take twenty minutes. Maybe more. Time, Peyton sensed, Lilia didn’t have.

Which left only one option. There was only one person who would understand the situation immediately, who knew Lilia's history, who could be here in minutes, and was trained for these kinds of situations.

Dawson Graham. A detective with the Knoxville Police Department.

Her ex-husband.

Peyton’s chest tightened and her fingers gripped the cell phone. Another icy wind rattled the broken chain-link fence. For a moment, she considered bailing. Hopping back into her pickup truck and hauling herself back home to her quiet apartment, far away from the ghosts of her past and the pain of her mistakes. But the fear vibrating in Lilia’s voice held her in place.

Her cousin had begged. Peyton had made a lot of mistakes in her life, but she’d never ignore a cry for help.

She pressed her lips together and punched in the numbers she knew by heart on her cell. The first ring had barely trilled on the line before a deep voice tinged with just the hint of a Texas accent filled her ear.

“Graham.”

An ache she hadn’t expected, or hadn’t had time to anticipate, swept through her. Her mouth opened, but it took a second before she could speak. “Dawson.”

Silence followed. She sensed his shock. Or maybe it was disbelief. They hadn’t seen or spoken to each other since their final divorce proceeding five years ago. A divorce she’d initiated, and he’d never wanted.

“I’m sure…I know this isn’t...” The words tangled in her throat, and Peyton momentarily lost her voice and her courage. Then she drew in a sharp breath and reminded herself that this was a professional call, not a personal one. “I need your help, Dawson. It’s a matter of life and death. At least…that’s what Lilia said. She called me earlier this evening, desperate and terrified, and asked me to meet her at the abandoned train depot. I’m here now, but there’s no sign of her. It’s possible she’s hiding out, afraid of someone. I need to search the area, but don’t want to go in alone.”

“Stay put. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

No hesitation. No questions. The vice gripping her chest loosened. “Thank you, Dawson.”

His only reply was to hang up. Peyton tucked her cell phone back into her pocket before adjusting the zipper on her jacket. It was bitterly cold. Her breath fogged in front of her. Weak moonlight peeked through the clouds overhead, and she searched the shadows again. A piece of cardboard fluttered from the broken window of the service station, and the air was scented with the acrid smell of old grease and decay. It would be far warmer to wait for Dawson in her vehicle, but she kept hoping Lilia was watching from somewhere nearby and would materialize from the shadows.

Peyton leaned against the cold metal of her pickup. Five minutes. It seemed like an eternity. Long enough to manifest fresh anxiety about seeing Dawson again, not to mention dozens of troubling scenarios that would've caused Lilia to call after three years of radio silence. What had her cousin gotten herself into?She scanned the depot again. Nothing moved. Silence pressed in from all sides, heavy and expectant.Peyton's thumb drifted absently across her left ring finger. The skin was smooth where her wedding band used to sit. That ache in her chest spread. She’d thought of Dawson often, especially in the last few years. Considered calling him to apologize for the way things ended, but in the end, she didn’t. It seemed unfair after what she’d done.

They’d been so happy. High school sweethearts who beat the odds and stayed together through college. They married, started their careers, and then a few years later, Peyton fell pregnant. Both of them had desperately wanted children, and it felt like finally everything in her life was falling into place.

Then her grandmother, Nana Grace, died suddenly. Peyton had been devastated to lose the woman who raised her, and she clung to her unborn son like a lifeline.

At six months, preeclampsia struck without warning.

Samuel Thomas Graham was stillborn.

And something inside Peyton broke. She lost her sense of self. Her dreams. Even her faith. She felt as if God was punishing her. Church, which had once been a haven, now made her angry. Dawson’s steadfastness, his kindness, and his grace were salt on her wounds. He went back to work, his friends, his family. And she'd hated him for it—hated that he seemed capable of surviving a loss that was destroying her.

She’d ended their marriage at the kitchen table.

I can't do this anymore. I look at you, Dawson, and all I see is everything we lost.

He'd fought her on it, but Peyton was beyond listening. She’d been hollow and so lost in grief she couldn’t see straight.

It’d taken years—and a nearly fatal car accident—before she finally sought help. She found her faith again, and therapy helped her process the mountain of unresolved trauma and grief she’d been carting around. Peyton was proud of the woman she’d become. It’d taken a long time to get here. But there was also regret. Dawson had deserved better. And now? After five years of silence, she was selfishly calling him for help. She prayed he would forgive her for it.

Peyton exhaled, her breath a pale ghost in the moonlight. She shoved the memories back behind the wall where they belonged and focused on the depot. Five minutes had to be nearly up. Where was—

A scream pierced the night.

High-pitched. Terrified. Female.

Lilia.

Peyton’s hand flew immediately to the weapon holstered at her waist even as her feet moved toward the break in the chain-link fence. Heart pounding, eyes scanning, she slipped into the train depot. Her scarf snagged on a jagged edge of the cut fence, pulling the fabric from her neck. She barely felt the frigid wind slipping down the back of her jacket. Urgency fueled her steps as she maneuvered past train tracks toward the west end of the depot and the sound of the scream. Her combat boots were silent against the gravel. The scent of grease and oil turned her stomach.

Another blood-curdling cry echoed through the night air. Further away this time. Closer to the woods surrounding the far edge of the property. Commonsense urged Peyton to stop, to call Dawson and inform him of her movements, but fear for her cousin kept her in motion. Adrenaline coursed through her veins. She pressed herself against the wall of a railcar. The icy metal bit through her jacket, seeping into her skin, all the way down to her bones. She shuddered.

Movement out of the corner of her eye sent her pulse racing. Peyton raised her weapon, catching a flash of dirty clothes and a bearded face before the homeless man slipped back into the darkness of a rusted shipping container. She exhaled sharply. Loosening the grip on her weapon, Peyton purposefully took three deep breaths to counteract the narrowing of her vision. Then she peeked around the corner. Faint moonlight glimmered on the trees surrounding the far edge of the property.

No sign of Lilia.

A faint whimper reached her ears. Peyton held her breath and strained to listen. It sounded like it was coming from inside the rail car. Was Lilia inside? Hurt and in pain? The entrance to the car was just around the corner, but the moonlight trickling in through the clouds would expose Peyton to anyone watching. She searched the woods and the surrounding area. Nothing stirred. But the pinprick sensation of danger nearby gave her pause. Was the homeless man in the container watching her from the shadows? Or was there someone else?

A shadow drifted across the moon, casting the entire area into darkness. Peyton knew she wouldn’t get a second opportunity. She pivoted around the corner and hurried toward the entrance, pausing at the set of steep stairs leading into the railcar. Impenetrable darkness yawned. Another faint whimper reached Peyton’s ears. The sound was strange, but she couldn’t place why.

“Lilia?”

The harsh whisper went unanswered. Someone was in there though. Peyton couldn’t turn back now, nor could she spend time second-guessing her decisions. Gritting her teeth, she grasped the frigid metal and hauled herself up the first step.

The blow came from behind. Hard. Sudden. Pain exploded across Peyton’s skull as her knees crumbled, bouncing off the unyielding metal stairs before the gravel rushed up to meet her. Instinct sent her rolling. She rammed into a concrete barrier, the impact strong enough to rattle her teeth, but she had the presence of mind to raise her gun.

A dark figure lunged. She squeezed the trigger, but her shot went wide as a massive fist connected with her wrist.

Her weapon clattered across the gravel.

Within seconds, he was on her. She fought back, but whoever the attacker was, he had skills and sheer strength on his side. Darkness hid his face. His body pinned her. Rocks dug into the bare skin at the nape of her neck as he pushed one gloved hand against her throat. Stars danced across her vision as the last of the air in her lungs became trapped.

Then the familiar sensation of a gun barrel pressed against her temple.