Murder on the Disoriented Express by Emily Lloyd-Jones Read Free Book Online Page A

upright. Leaning against a wall, he lets out a soft laugh. He did it. He did something that endangered himself, endangered the formula, and it turned out all right.
    Ciere winks into existence. She’s grinning broadly. “Not bad, newbie. Not bad at all. You want to alert security, or should I?”
    Alan is already pulling out his phone.
      
    They never make it to Florida. Rather, they get off at the next stop. It’s easy, amidst the swarming police cars and ringing sirens and the chatter of disturbed passengers.
    “...Murdered! Can you believe it?”
    “...Saying it was one of the passengers—”
    “I always rode these trains because they’re supposed to be safe—”
    Ciere hurries through the crowd, Alan at her heels. Once they’re free of the train station, Alan finds that they’re in a small town. It looks like it consists of a strip mall and some far-off factories.
    “Well, that’s one business arrangement shattered,” Alan remarks. “You think the Alberanis will be able to salvage their gun-running?”
    “Oh, yes,” says Ciere. “Probably just start using vans or something.” She shakes out her hair, head tilted up to the sunlight. “I should probably call Pruitt, shouldn’t I? See if he’s still alive.”
    “Probably,” Alan agrees.
    “Here.” Ciere turns her back to him. Her backpack, along with Pruitt’s, is slung over one shoulder. “Mind grabbing my phone for me?”
    Alan unzips the bag and reaches in. He never finds the phone; rather, his fingertips brush paper and he opens the bag farther, peering at its contents.
    Tucked inside her backpack are two stacks of hundred-dollar bills. He picks one up. It must be a thousand dollars, at least.
    “This,” says Alan, not daring to pull the money from her bag. It’s too conspicuous, so he puts it back, grabs for her phone, and yanks the bag shut. “It’s the money.”
    When Ciere faces him, she’s grinning widely. “Perceptive, aren’t you.” She tosses her hair. “The bottom layer of the briefcase might have been padded with that board game money I took from a toddler. Just so it looked full.”
    “Are we giving it to Guntram?”
    Ciere makes a derisive sound. “Are you kidding? We earned this money. If Guntram wants to rip off some mobsters, he can do it himself.”
    He can’t help but return her smile. “So the police have a mobster in custody, the corrupt train conductor is dead, our lying ally is probably hitchhiking home, and the heroes walk away with two grand. It’s almost…poetic.”
    “I’m not sure we’re exactly heroes,” points out Ciere. She begins walking away from the station, and Alan falls into step beside her.
    “Of course we’re the heroes,” he says. “Or at least, we will be when we tell this story.”
    She snorts. “Yes. We’ll call this one, ‘The Time Alan and Ciere Were Tricked into Helping a Mobster Cover up a Murder, Ciere Ended Up Going Through the Dead Guy’s Pockets, and Alan Pretended to be a Train Conductor.’”
    “I think we need a shorter title.” Alan considers it and says, “‘Murder on the Disoriented Express.’”
    Ciere chokes and sputters out a laugh.
      
    Alan hasn’t had a lot of time for friends. It’s one downside to being on the run for most of his life. There have been fragile acquaintances, but those always dissolved when he moved to a new city, a new name, a new life.
    But that changed when he met Ciere.
    There was nothing elegant about their friendship’s beginnings. Ciere and Alan came together like a car crash—colliding into each other’s lives, inexorably twisted up and unable to pry themselves apart. It was an alliance of circumstance; two teenagers against those who wanted them dead.
    Since then, their friendship has been a tenuous thing, fraught with adrenaline and never a moment’s rest. Ciere is impulsive and brash at the best of times and downright stubborn at the worst. But she is also the first person who has ever looked at Alan and not seen