“How much did you sell your integrity for, officer?” Marcus turned back and yelled at Brinehart.
Marcus turned to Dance, walking into his space. “You won’t get away with this.”
“Turn around,” Dance ordered Marcus.
“In your dreams, you bastard.”
Dance grabbed Marcus by the arm, but that was a huge mistake. Despite his size, despite the fact that he was in his late thirties, Marcus was bottled lightning. He snap-grabbed Dance’s hand from his shoulder and in one motion, pulled him toward him while throwing a bone-crushing punch, the combined momentum exploding into Dance’s jaw, knocking him to the ground.
Marcus had cocked his fist again and reached down for Dance when the butt of McManus’s rifle crunched the back of his head, sending him unconscious to the ground next to the detective.
McManus turned to his men, nodding them to get back into the jeep. “Sorry about this,” McManus said to Dance.
Dance glared at the young weekend soldier. “Maybe you and your men should get back to the crash site and leave us to do our job.”
“My apologies, sir,” McManus said.
The soldier offered his hand to Dance, but the detective ignored both the offer of assistance and the apology as he slowly got to his feet, rubbing his bruised jaw.
Without another word the young private jumped into the driver’s seat and drove off.
“Brinehart, you help take them in.” Dance turned to the three other police officers. “We’ve got it from here. Get back to the crash site and help those poor people who lost their loved ones.”
The three cops got into the patrol car and left.
Dance turned and leaned into Nick’s face.
“Does he know?” Nick said.
Dance continued glaring at Nick but remained silent.
“Know what?” Brinehart said as he knelt over the unconscious body of Marcus, pulling his hands behind his back to cuff him.
Nick looked down on the young redheaded cop in his crisp, blue police uniform. It had taken Nick a few minutes, but he had finally recognized him. “That detective Ethan Dance here is going to tie one of those weights in the trunk of his car to your ankles and throw you to your death in the Kensico Reservoir and-”
Dance’s gun smashed into the side of Nick’s head, driving him to the ground.
“Maybe I’ll just toss you in the reservoir,” Dance said as he gave Nick’s dazed, writhing body a swift kick in the gut.
“WHERE THE HELL were you?” Dance yelled as he got out of his Taurus.
“It’s not easy getting away with everything going on,” Brinehart said as he closed the twenty-foot loading bay door behind him. He stepped to the rear of his car. “Did you see the crash site? It’s inhuman.”
Brinehart opened his trunk, lifted the two duffel bags out of his car, and put them in the open trunk of Dance’s Taurus.
“I could have been killed.” Dance continued berating the young officer.
“Relax, I saved your ass,” Brinehart waved his hand.
“Where are the diamonds?”
Brinehart pulled the black velvet pouch from his pocket and handed it to Dance.
“So help me God, if a single stone is missing-”
“You talk a tough game for someone who just had to be saved from walking into a trap.”
“Watch yourself.” Dance jabbed his finger into Brinehart’s face. “I was smart enough to pull the bags from my car. Smart enough to have you gather some backup to save me. So in fact, I saved myself.”
“Yeah, of course. And if the two guys in the warehouse behind me know you’re involved in the robbery, how many others know?” Brinehart stepped closer to Dance, moving into his space. “And what the hell does he mean, that you are going to drop me in the reservoir? Are you thinking of killing me, Dance? Are you thinking of killing all of us? Because I don’t think you know me very well.”
“Listen to me, very carefully.” Dance leaned even closer to Brinehart. “Watch your step or you will not get a dime.”
“Hey, Dance,” Brinehart said. “Remember, they came for you, not me.”
“You think I would take a bullet for you, Brinehart? You don’t know me very well. Careful-if things get too crazy, I just may drop you in a lake.”
Brinehart’s face crumbled. He was outmatched. He quietly pulled a pistol from his waistband, handing it to Dance. “I pulled it off the one with hair.”
“Good job, Brinehart. Now both our prints are on it.”
NICK AND MARCUS sat ten feet apart, facing each other in a dimly lit room, the sole light coming from the wash under the steel bay door. Their hands were cuffed behind their backs, their feet secured to the legs of the chair.
“You all right?” Nick said.
“No, dammit. I’m pissed and my back hurts. And I’m going to break the jaw of that bastard who hit me,” Marcus shouted as he turned his head back and forth, trying to work out the kinks. “Do you have any idea where we are?”
Nick looked around the room, at the large open space. There were crates along the wall, a single desk in the corner. The power was out, as it was everywhere else in Byram Hills.
“In a dark room,” Nick said, trying to calm his friend.
“Smartass.”
“It’s a warehouse.”
“No shit?” Marcus said facetiously. “Where the hell is everybody?”
“Everyone is over at the plane crash or home.”
“You know how much money I give to the police retirement fund each year?” Marcus looked down at his wrinkled shirt, his torn pants. “That’s over. They ruined a perfectly good shirt and pants.”
Nick looked at the clock on the wall. 1:50.
“Stop looking at that clock,” Marcus said. “Time’s not going to slow down.”
Nick had less than ten minutes to get himself and Marcus out of here before he slipped back in time again, leaving Marcus alone and at the mercy of Dance.
Nick fought to keep the guilt out, the feeling of what he was putting his best friend through. He had set out to save Julia, but had inadvertently put his friend in mortal danger. Nick refused to have Marcus’s blood on his hands, and as soon as he had the chance he would free them, but he had to think quickly, as there was little likelihood they would survive if left in their current state.
Dance walked through a side door, slamming it behind him with a loud, jarring crash. He quietly walked into the room, circling his two captives. Finally stopping in front of Nick, he leaned into his face and whispered in his ear, “Where’s your wife, Nicholas?”
Nick stared at him, rage boiling in his eyes.
“Why do I bother asking you?” Dance turned to Marcus. “Where is she? Who else knows about the robbery?”
Marcus smiled a taunting smile, a Cheshire Cat smile, one he used often in toying with his business adversaries during negotiations.
“Listen to me, did you hear me?” Dance yelled, suddenly riled up. “Where is she? Who else knows about the robbery?”
Dance drew back his fist and unloaded it into Marcus’s nose, breaking it for the fourth time in his life. The blood ran down his lip, dripping on his white shirt and blue Hermès tie.
“Now,” Marcus said in a whisper, unaffected by the sucker punch. “You listen to me, you coward. Free my hands and hit me, let’s see how tough you really are.”
Dance pile-drived the side of Marcus’s face in answer.
“Tell me where she is,” Dance yelled at Nick as he pulled a gun, aiming at him, the moment hanging in the air. “Recognize your gun?”
And Dance spun around, smashing the pistol against Marcus’s head before jamming the barrel up under his chin.
“Tell me where your wife is, or he dies,” Dance said to Nick. This wasn’t just a threat, Nick could see Dance’s eyes confirming the truth in his words.
Nick stared at Marcus, his heart breaking as he was forced to choose one life over another.