the 13th Hour (27 page)

Now, after breaking into Shamus Hennicot's amazing collection of gold and jewels, with Dreyfus dead, with time quickly elapsing, he couldn't risk anything tying the crime to him.

What was supposed to be a by-the-book heist had fallen into disaster. But as quickly as best-laid plans fell to pieces, planes fell from the skies, offices and homes went dark, and death pulled everyone into distraction.

The plane crash was a fortuitous event in a morning filled with complications and betrayals. The disaster was already serving as the perfect diversion: power was out across the town, families had run to their homes in shock, leaving Byram Hills deserted. Confusion and chaos were the order of the day, providing the perfect smokescreen for cleaning up the mess made by Sam Dreyfus.

Dance's men would shortly enter the law firm of Aitken, Lerner, & Isles to remove any video files pointing in their direction, even if it meant burning the place to the ground. And with regard to the matter of Shamus's personal attorney . . .

Dance pulled the cell phone from his pocket. It was Sam's, foolishly left behind in his panic as he escaped to the plane with his precious mahogany box. Dance flipped it open and thumbed through the phone book, finding Julia Quinn's office and cell conveniently programmed. But Sam wouldn't be calling her as planned, wouldn't be meeting her at her office to discuss the robbery.

Dance chose the cell phone number and hit send. It was so convenient that the caller ID would read Sam Dreyfus, the first seed planted in his deception.

"Ms. Quinn?"

"Yes?"

"This is Sam Dreyfus at DSG," Dance lied.

"Oh, Paul's brother. We haven't had the pleasure."

"You obviously know why I'm calling."

"Yeah," she said. "I can't figure how they got in."

"Have you seen the video yet?" Dance asked, trying not to sound anxious.

"No, they destroyed the primary server at Hennicot's place, and with the plane crash and blackout, I never got back to my office."

"The blackout makes it hard to see those files," Dance said, glad that they could get to the computers before she had a chance to see anything.

"Not to worry. I have a backup on my PDA. It's pretty large. But once I have access to a computer . . ."

"Well, that's fortunate," Dance lied again, working hard to mask his anger.

"I have a call in to Shamus. I feel terrible having to break the news to him."

"As we all do." Dance had completely fallen into the role. "Have you contacted the police?"

"We don't involve the police until he gives the go ahead. He said he doesn't trust them."

"That's wise," Dance said with a smile. "Are you in town?"

There was a long pause. "I was supposed to be on that flight this morning."

"Really?" Dance feigned sympathy, wishing she actually was dead in the field right now. It would have wrapped everything up so nicely. "The whole thing is just so tragic.

"Could we perhaps meet?" Dance continued. "Maybe we can try to reach Shamus together?"

"I'm running all over the place right now. I'll be home later, though."

"Perhaps we can speak this afternoon?"

"Try my cell or my home number, which is--"

"Let me get a pencil," Dance said, faking the need, still playing the role. "Shoot."

"It's 914-273-9296."

"That's 9296. Got it. And listen, if you become available sooner, call me at this number."

Dance hung up Sam's cell phone, glad that he had it. But that being said, he hated technology, preferring spoken words to email, address books and calendars to computers. And PDA's . . . he particularly hated PDAs right now. How the hell had technology gotten so advanced as to be able to carry surveillance video in a hand-held device?

Dance pulled out his radio and punched in a code. "Listen up," Dance spoke on a secure channel. "Drop what you're doing. You need to locate a Julia Quinn, attorney at Aitkens, Lerner, & Isles, lives in Byram Hills. Run a DMV check on her for her car, she's out there somewhere. Do periodic drive-by of her house. I don't care what you do, but we need to find her or our freedom may be coming to a swift end."

"What's up with the box?" a static-filled voice came over the radio.

"Don't worry about that, that's my problem. You just do what you're told. Again, Julia Quinn, once you locate her don't take your eyes off her and call me. If she runs, feel free to take her down."

J
ULIA HUNG UP
her cell phone, glad that someone else was involved now with the robbery. She had been on a roller coaster of emotions: elation at having escaped death, sheer agony at the tremendous loss of life, the pain she felt for the theft at Shamus's offices and her inability to reach him. But her emotions were dominated by survivor's guilt. All of it weighed heavy now, as she sat in the parking area of the gas station in Bedford.

She turned as Marcus's Bentley drove up, Nick leaped from the car and ran to her, hugging her in his strong embrace.

Julia wrapped her arms around Nick as if she hadn't seen him in a month, and the moment her head hit his shoulder the tears poured out, all of her confusion, all of her joy at being alive, all of her sorrow for the tragedy she had barely avoided, which had taken the lives of all the passengers she had sat amongst.

"Listen," Nick said. "I don't have a lot of time to explain but we have to go."

Julia lifted her head and looked into his eyes. "I love you," she said.

Nick's smile grew wide as he placed his hand behind her head and pulled her into a gentle, heartfelt kiss that communicated his feelings far better than words ever could.

"Mmmm," Marcus cleared his throat, standing by his car, calling their attention. He tapped his watch as he hung up his cell phone.

Nick took Julia by the hand and led her to the Bentley.

"Hi, Marcus," Julia said. "I didn't realize you guys were together."

"It's good to see you, Julia."

Julia turned back to Nick. "I'm supposed to pick up a doctor in Pound Ridge and bring him back to the crash site."

"Let someone else deal with that," Nick said abruptly.

"What about my car?"

"Don't worry about it. We've got to get you out of here." Nick held the car door open as she climbed into the backseat.

"What's with all the drama?"

Nick sat in the front passenger seat, closed the door, and turned around to face her. "It's about the robbery at Washington House."

"How'd you know about the robbery?" Julia asked in surprise.

"Let's just say word is getting around."

"That makes no sense." Julia went into cross-examination mode. "How did you know?"

Nick's mind was working overtime. He didn't want Julia to know what was truly going on, he didn't want her to know anything about the watch in his pocket or what he was trying to prevent from happening eight hours from now. He had already given her a glimpse of things, telling her someone was after her twice--once in their kitchen at 6:30 just before she died and again at 5:30 just before facing gunfire in her office. Neither revelation had proved to be of any help in achieving her salvation.

"I spoke to Paul Dreyfus."

"How do you know Paul?" Julia asked in surprise, continuing in her lawyer mode.

"I don't, he called the house." Nick was afraid his lie would go too far. "We were making small chat, when I introduced myself. He told me about the robbery." It was the longest and deepest lie Nick had ever told Julia.

"That's odd. I just spoke to Sam Dreyfus, his brother, a couple minutes ago. He wanted to meet, see the videos from the robbery that are stored on my PDA." Julia held up her Palm Pilot.

"What?" Nick said in shock, knowing that Sam was dead, killed in the crash.

Hearing her words, Marcus started the car and pulled out. Marcus drove through the winding section of Route 22, past the lakes and forests and the occasional house, his car hugging the road as he kept the speedometer at seventy.

"Julia," Nick said, turning to face his wife, who rode in the backseat. "Listen to me very carefully--"

"I hate when you do that, Nick," Julia scolded him. "You scare me. Just tell me what's gong on."

"Whoever pulled the robbery is after you and your PDA," Nick said. "And I'm not taking any risks."

"Hey, don't you think your imagination is a little overdeveloped today? I'm fine. Look at the muscles." Julia flexed her arm, like a prize fighter.

"This is no joke," Nick snapped at her. "They are trying to kill you."

"Lower your voice," Julia shot back. "Who? If you know who, let's call the police."

"Absolutely not," Nick cut her off. "You know Shamus was right when he said not to involve the police unless he signed off on it."

"How did you know that?" Julia stared at Nick, the moment growing silent, a pause hanging in the air. "I never told you that."

"Yeah, you did," Nick's lie was filled with self-righteousness.

"Nick," Julia corrected him, "Shamus did say that, it was his policy, but I never told you, I never told anyone. The only people who knew that were the Dreyfuses. Sam and I just talked about that not fifteen minutes ago."

"Julia," Nick said solemnly, looking over the leather seat into Julia's eyes. "Sam Dreyfus was killed in the plane crash. I don't know who you spoke to but it wasn't Sam."

Julia fell to silence.

* * *

T
HE
B
YRAM
H
ILLS
train station was like something out of the early twentieth century: an English-style, fieldstone ticket booth and waiting room capped with a patinated copper roof, its green color blending with the leaves of enormous oak trees that shaded the small commuter parking lot. An old-fashioned platform of thick cedar planks ran for seventy-five yards, echoing with the steps of its passengers, who lined up by the hundreds at rush hour.

Now, though, the small station was empty except for the elderly ticket agent.

Marcus drove into the parking lot and pulled up right in front of the ticket booth.

"What the hell is this?" Nick asked from the passenger seat.

"You turned to me for help and I turned to my friends for help."

Nick looked around, not seeing a soul in sight but the clerk in the ticket window.

"The express train to New York comes through in three minutes. First stop Grand Central. Ben and his men will be waiting on the platform for her. Of everyone we know, who better to trust her life with? Ben could protect her from an invading army, let alone a bad cop or two."

Ben Taylor had been a close friend of Marcus's for too many years to count. He had retired after twenty years in the service--five as a Navy SEAL, five as a Delta Force team leader, and ten that no one ever spoke about. He had left the military and set up his consulting business with seed capital provided by Marcus, the first and only friend he had stayed in touch with from basic training. His small business was successful, procuring contracts both stateside and abroad on situations Marcus preferred not to know too much about. Marcus had maintained a small interest in the operation, partly for the bragging rights and cool factor but mainly for the quarterly executive committee meeting when they knocked the ball around at Winged Foot and shared stories of their female conquests.

"I don't know," Nick said with hesitation.

"Who taught you to shoot?" Marcus challenged. "Who got you your gun and permit so easily? Who would you trust with your life without question? This was Ben's suggestion; he couldn't get anyone up here in less than an hour--your time frame, remember? He said once she's on the train, it's a clear shot to the city."

Marcus jumped out of the car, stepped up to the ticket booth, and bought a one-way off-peak ticket to Grand Central.

He walked back and handed the ticket to Julia. "Listen, he'll be waiting on the platform, you can't miss him: six feet four, red hair, flirts like a son of a bitch. You've met him at my weddings."

Julia smiled, nodding, as she got out of the car. She silently gave Marcus a hug, which he returned.

"You'll be fine. There's no one I would trust more," Marcus said.

"I was just about to say that about you. You'll take care of him? Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid?" Julia said, alluding to Nick.

"You know that's never easy."

"What are you doing?" Nick asked.

"I'm going with you." Marcus looked at him as if it were obvious. "You think I'm letting you do this on your own?"

"I'm not putting you in the middle of this."

"What are you talking about? You already did."