Nick glared back at him.
“I don’t particularly like false or unfounded accusations.” Dance paused. “Isn’t it off-base to question
“Just tell me what you’re doing here,” Shannon said, running his hand through his black hair, “so I can get back to dealing with more important things.”
“It’s personal, Shannon, so leave now before we have an issue.” A hint of anger rose in his voice.
“Yeah, it’s personal,” Nick mocked him.
Dance turned to Nick. “Who the hell are you?”
Nick stood quietly staring at the man who had wreaked havoc on his life.
“He said you were going to kill his wife,” Shannon said accusingly. “Do you know what the hell he’s talking about?”
“Listen, Shannon,” Dance said, as if speaking to a child. “Internal Affairs already has a file on you. One phone call and you’ll not only go down but end up in a prison where the inmates hate cops.”
“Boy, you really think that scares me?” Shannon said, stepping forward, his chest expanding in anger. “I know I’m clean and I know you’re not. Enough of your bullshit.”
Dance laughed, mocking Shannon. “We’ll chat later. In the meantime me and my friend have an appointment to get to.”
Dance turned to Sam and motioned for him to follow him back to his car.
Sam just stared at him, the moment dragging on. He looked back at the box, at his brother standing there, his hand upon it.
“Dance,” Sam said quietly. “We’re not going.”
“What?” Dance spun about as if a knife had been plunged into his back.
“I’m calling the whole thing off,” Sam said.
Dance walked right up into Sam’s face, breathing on him like an enraged bull. His eyes moved about, looking at Paul, looking back at Sam, looking toward the box on the car.
Without warning, Dance drew his pistol. His left arm shot out, grabbed Paul, and pulled him into a headlock. He jammed the nine-millimeter to Paul’s head.
Shannon was like bottled lightning drawing his Glock, aiming it head-high at Dance. “What the hell, Ethan?”
Dance ignored Shannon, grinding the pistol into Paul’s ear as he shouted, “What’s in the box, Sam?”
Sam looked at Paul, his mind fogged with panic.
Paul remained the personification of calm-he had been in war, he had been in battle, and he knew that cool heads prevailed.
“I didn’t wake up this morning with the intention of ending my day empty-handed. Answer me, what the hell is in that box?”
“It’s not what you think,” Sam said.
“It’s enough to screw me over. Is it worth more than $25 million? Is it enough to trade your brother’s life over?”
“Put the gun down, Ethan,” Shannon whispered.
“I think you better open the box before I kill your brother,” Dance thumbed back the hammer of his gun.
“Dance,” Shannon yelled. “Goddammit, put down your weapon.”
“Can you handle the blood on your hands, Shannon?” Dance twisted Paul so he was a shield between him and his partner. “You talk a big game, but can you make the shot, are you that confident that you can kill me? If you miss, can you deal with the guilt of collateral damage?”
Nick remained still, a silent observer to the unfolding anarchy.
Shannon stared into Dreyfus’s eyes, seeing a man who knew no panic, whose mind was calmly looking for solutions, for escape.
A Chrysler Sebring shot up the drive, coming to a screeching halt behind the standoff. Johnny Arilio leaped from the car, his gun leading the way, pointed straight at Shannon. Randall emerged from the driver’s seat, slowly drawing his pistol and aiming it at the other side of Shannon’s head.
“It pays to have friends,” Dance said.
Shannon gripped his nine-millimeter tighter, knowing that if he gave it up, the man in the crook of Dance’s arm would be dead in moments.
“I’ll tell you what,” Dance said. “Lower your weapon, toss it away, and I won’t shoot everybody here, beginning with the man in my arms.”
“You wouldn’t-”
Dance fired his weapon into the tarmac, sending a shock through everyone.
And the moment spun into chaos.
Nick stood his ground, staring at Paul Dreyfus and Dance’s gun, which once again was held against his head. Sam was in a full-on panic, his skinny arms shaking as his eyes darted around frantically searching for salvation.
“The next one will land in flesh,” Dance said. “Mark my words, Shannon.”
Shannon stared at Dance. Knowing the truth to his statement, he finally relented, placing his gun on the ground and pushing it ten feet out of reach.
“Hey, Randall,” Dance said. “In the trunk of my car are some police-issue zip-ties. Get them and secure everyone.”
Arilio waved Nick and Zachariah Nash over to stand next to the Mustang. Randall grabbed the plastic restraints from Dance’s trunk and quickly zip-tied their wrists in front, sitting them down against the muscle car.
Arilio turned to Shannon, pointing his gun at his chest.
“You guys just made the biggest mistake of your life.” Shannon’s eye burned with rage as they secured his wrists.
“Just cooperate, Shannon, and sit your ass down,” Arilio barked as he pushed the detective down next to Nick.
“See what you have done, Sam?” Dance said as he looked at the three prisoners, turning his attention back to the man he held in a headlock, then finally back to Sam Dreyfus.
“You’re not backing out on me.” There was a hint of fear in Dance’s voice. “I’ve got commitments, promises to uphold.”
Dance stood there controlling the moment, thinking…
“This your brother’s plane?” Dance looked at the white Cessna on his left. “You know how to fly?”
Sam reluctantly nodded.
Dance turned his attention back to Paul and drove the gun into the side of his head, grinding the barrel into his ear.
“So, we have a choice. A choice where everyone here can live or die. And it’s all up to the Dreyfus brothers. The fate of you all rests in their hands.”
Out of nowhere, a yellow Labrador retriever emerged from the woods, running by. He suddenly stopped, his head jerking back and forth, looking at everyone.
“We have a choice between box number one.” Dance tilted his head at the mahogany box that sat atop the BMW, ignoring the inquisitive dog. “A choice where you can all live while Sammy boy flies us out of here with our prize, or we can go ahead with the theft of Washington House, a choice where, sadly, we’ll have to kill you all before we depart here to relieve Shamus Hennicot of some antiques and diamonds.”
The dog suddenly started barking, coiling back on its four legs as if it could sense danger. The incessant loud bark intermingled with a low growl.
All eyes were on the dog when all of sudden, without warning, Dance shot it.
With a screaming yelp, the dog flinched and ran away, but within twenty feet, it slowed and teetered about, its eyes confused and pleading, before it collapsed dead on the ground.
“You cruel bastard,” Nash said.
“Hey, I wouldn’t want it to delay our departure,” Dance said, half serious before turning to Sam. “Now, unless everyone here wants to die like that dog… one of you please open the box.”
Sam and Paul remained silent.
“Open it,” Dance screamed, squeezing Paul’s neck tighter with his arm.
“I can’t,” Paul said. “It requires three separate keys.” Paul pointed toward the three keyholes. “I only have one.”
“Where are the other two?”
“With Shamus Hennicot,” Paul said.
“Where is he?”
“You don’t have a chance of getting the keys from him. He’d let us all die before you got into that box.”
“Well, then, he made your choice. I can live with that. I’ll just kill you all now, go get the diamonds from his house, and stop with all of this bullshit.”
Dance ground the barrel of his gun into Paul’s temple and drew back the hammer-
“You son of a bitch. Leave him out of this,” Sam said, stepping toward Dance.
“Didn’t you think about the consequences when you started down this road?” Dance yelled at Sam. “You said you wanted out of his shadow, now you want to protect him?”
“I was the one who wanted the box, my brother had nothing to do with this.”
“Well, if it required three keys, how were you going to get it open?”
Sam couldn’t meet Dance’s eye.
“Boy, you are the stupid one in the family, huh? You have no idea how to open it?”
“I would have figured it out.”
“Then figure it out now,” Dance shouted, the veins in his neck distending with his rage.
Sam turned and looked at the box.
“What the hell is in it?” Dance asked. “So help me God, it better be worth millions or I promise, you’ll all die here today.”
Without warning, Sam spun about, his arm flying through the air, punching Dance in the side of the head.
But the blow barely fazed him, and he quickly responded, aiming his nine-millimeter. Sam retreated in fear. And without hesitating, Dance pulled the trigger.
The bullet exploded from the barrel, hitting Sam in the knee, sending him tumbling to the ground.
“That was stupid,” Dance said. “You’re lucky I need you, otherwise that bullet would have hit you somewhere fatal.”
Sam rolled about the ground clutching his blood-soaked knee.
Dance tightened his grip about Paul’s neck and dragged him backward. He aimed his pistol at the box atop the BMW, firing off a quick shot.
The heavy box skittered along the car roof as the bullet barely split the side corner.
