“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.
THE BYRAM HILLS 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.”
Nick couldn’t deny the truth. “But I need you to go with her-”
“I’ll be fine,” Julia said. “It’s a train ride-”
Nick held up his hand for her to stop talking.
“Why do you think I have Ben taking care of Julia?” Marcus said. “In the whole scheme of things she’s now safe, out of danger, so you can focus… so we can focus.”
The roar of the train could be heard approaching from the north.
Julia took both of Nick’s hands in hers, looked up into his eyes, and spoke to his heart. “I love you. I love you more than life.”
Nick stared at her with fear in his eyes, worried that she was traveling alone.
“I’ll be fine,” Julia said, squeezing his hands with reassurance the way her mother used to do to her when she was a child. “You be careful.”
“I will, I just want you away from here till I get thing sorted out.”
“You come and get me, because we’ve got things to talk about, lives to get on with.”
“I’ll see you this evening, no later than 10:00 P.M., I promise. But I don’t think we’ll be seeing the Mullers for dinner.”
“You planned it this way, didn’t you?” Julia smiled. “I have something to tell you when you pick me up, so don’t be late.”
The train came around the bend, heading into the station.
“I won’t be late,” Nick said as he walked her up onto the platform.
“You should probably have this,’ Julia said as she pulled her PDA from her purse and passed it to him.
“Thanks,” Nick said, tucking it into his pocket.
“Remember what you promised,” she shouted back at Marcus. “Nothing stupid.”
The train pulled in, its brakes squealing as it came to a stop. The door whisked open with a release of air right where they were standing.
“Ten o’clock,” Julia said.
Nick pulled her into a long, hard kiss, a lifetime of passion passing between them in seconds. He finally released her as the door buzzed in preparation for closing. “Ten o’clock. No later,” Nick said in agreement.
Julia stepped into the train, the doors coming together, closing between them.
“I love you,” Julia mouthed from the other side of the door.
And the train pulled from the station.
“Protect the goalie,” Marcus said as he walked up behind him. “That’s my job.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Ah, maybe,” Marcus said as he straightened his tie and tucked in his white shirt. “But right now, I’m your idiot.”
HORACE RANDALL WAS six months from retiring. Twenty-five years on the force. He had put in an extra five hoping to put away enough money to retire. But life being what it was, he had already spent his retirement fund and would be leaving the department in December without a dime in the bank.
He had come in at the age of twenty-eight filled with piss and vinegar and an altruistic view of justice. But the years of exposure to a system that had no true black-and-white demarcation of right and wrong but instead was filled with gray areas of political expediency had broken his spirit. He had spent the last ten years going through the motions, pushing paper, and drinking beer.
He had never fired his gun on duty, never chased a suspect down, never lived the life of a romanticized cop. And that suited him just fine.
He had mentored Ethan Dance when he joined the force ten years ago, taking him under his wing, showing him the ropes, watching as he quickly rose to detective. He knew full well of Dance’s extracurricular activities but as long as they didn’t affect Randall, they didn’t bother him and besides, though he wasn’t a model cop, he was true blue and would never turn on his fellow officers.
Randall weighed in at 240 pounds. He’d averaged ten pounds of additional weight a year for the last eight years, his thirty-two-inch waist a distant memory. His horn-rimmed glasses were considered retro cool by some of the young patrolmen but truth be told he’d worn the exact same frames since he was fifteen.
Dance knew Randall’s situation and had offered him a retirement solution, a healthy bank account that would provide for him for the rest of his life.
It had fallen to Horace Randall to find Julia Quinn. While they planned to get her at home this evening, the timetable had been moved up by Dance for God knew what reason. Things would have been so much simpler if they’d stuck with their original plan.
While Randall was known as lazy, most people didn’t realize that laziness bred ingenuity; if necessity was the mother of invention, then laziness was the father. Randall wasn’t about to drive all over looking for Julia Quinn when just a few strokes of the keyboard could accomplish so much more.
While life had come to a standstill in Byram Hills, people still needed to shop, to eat, to get gas. As sad as it was, life went on despite tragedy. Randall sent out Julia’s image as a missing person in connection with the North East Air crash, emailing and faxing it to the bordering police jurisdictions, the rail stations, and the
