She could not hear the rest of the conversation. She did not want to hear the rest of the conversation.
In a moment they returned to the compartment. The older man seemed angry. “All right,” he said. “We’re not cuffing you. We’re taking you off at the next station. We’re going to radio ahead for a Bureau car. You’re not to leave this compartment. Is that clear?”
Tracy nodded, too miserable to speak.
The younger man, Tom Bowers, gave her a sympathetic shrug, as though to say, “I wish there was something more I could do.”
There was nothing anyone could do. Not now. It was too late. She had been caught red-handed. Somehow the police had traced her and informed the FBI.
The agents were outside in the corridor talking to the conductor. Bowers pointed to Tracy and said something she could not hear. The conductor nodded. Bowers closed the door of the compartment, and to Tracy, it was like a cell door slamming.
The countryside sped by, flashing vignettes briefly framed by the window, but Tracy was unaware of the scenery. She sat there, paralyzed by fear. There was a roaring in her ears that had nothing to do with the sounds of the train. She would get no second chance. She was a convicted felon. They would give her the maximum sentence, and this time there would be no warden’s daughter to rescue, there would be nothing but the deadly, endless years of prison facing her. And the Big Berthas. How had they caught her? The only person who knew about the robbery was Conrad Morgan, and he could have no possible reason to turn her and the jewelry over to the FBI. Possibly some clerk in his store had learned of the plan and tipped off the police. But how it happened made no difference. She had been caught. At the next stop she would be on her way to prison again. There would be a preliminary hearing and then the trial, and then…
Tracy squeezed her eyes tightly shut, refusing to think about it any further. She felt hot tears brush her cheeks.
The train began to lose speed. Tracy started to hyperventilate. She could not get enough air. The two FBI agents would be coming for her at any moment. A station came into view, and a few seconds later the train jerked to a stop. It was time to go. Tracy closed her suitcase, put on her coat, and sat down. She stared at the closed compartment door, waiting for it to open. Minutes went by. The two men did not appear. What could they be doing? She recalled their words: “We’re taking you off at the next station. We’re going to radio ahead for a Bureau car. You’re not to leave this compartment.”
She heard the conductor call, “All aboard…”
Tracy started to panic. Perhaps they had meant they would wait for her on the platform. That must be it. If she stayed on the train, they would accuse her of trying to run away from them, and it would make things even worse. Tracy grabbed her suitcase, opened the compartment door, and hurried out into the corridor.
The conductor was approaching. “Are you getting off here, miss?” he asked. “You’d better hurry. Let me help you. A woman in your condition shouldn’t be lifting things.”
She stared. “In my condition?”
“You don’t have to be embarrassed. Your brothers told me you’re pregnant and to sort of keep an eye on you.”
“My brothers—?”
“Nice chaps. They seemed really concerned about you.”
The world was spinning around. Everything was topsy-turvy.
The conductor carried the suitcase to the end of the car and helped Tracy down the steps. The train began to move.
“Do you know where my brothers went?” Tracy called.
“No, ma’am. They jumped into a taxi when the train stopped.”
With a million dollars’ worth of stolen jewelry.
Tracy headed for the airport. It was the only place she could think of. If the men had taken a taxi, it meant they did not have their own transportation, and they would surely want to get out of town as fast as possible. She sat back in the cab, filled with rage at what they had done to her and with shame at how easily they had conned her. Oh, they were good, both of them. Really good. They had been so convincing. She blushed to think how she had fallen for the ancient good cop-bad cop routine.