“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.

“Don’t bother,” Paul said. “I designed it. It’s got a bulletproof, fireproof titanium core.”

Dance pressed the barrel back in Paul’s ear. “You designed it? Then you open it or die.”

“I can’t.”

“Then you’ll be the first to go-”

“Dance,” Nick called out as he rose to his feet. “Look at me.”

NICK GLARED AT the detective. He had seen Dance’s future and what he was capable of. He had killed Julia in cold blood, and Marcus and Dreyfus and McManus and who knew how many others. And while Nick had moved the pieces around on the chessboard, while he had played with fate, nothing would change the evil that was in Ethan Dance’s heart. The corrupt cop would go on killing, ending lives for his own purposes.

“You want your money?” Nick said. “Killing him won’t open that box, but I’ve got something far greater. Worth more than you could ever imagine.”

Dance stared at him.

Dreyfus’s words echoed in Nick’s mind, “perception of value,” and Marcus’s “the greedy mind, the double-down, double-or-nothing, win-a-thousand-go-for-two attitude.”

“Let him go,” Nick said. “And I promise, I’ll prove it to you.”

Nick held his trussed arms out as he walked over to Dance and stared into his eyes.

“Let him go, take me instead, and I’ll give you something that will grant you more wealth than you could imagine.”

“Fuck you.”

“If it doesn’t meet your needs, then you can kill me in his place.”

Dance continued staring at Nick.

“Tucked in a shoe in your office is a St. Christopher medal given to you at graduation. Your mother had it engraved, Miracles do happen.”

“How the hell did you know that?” Dance said.

“Do you believe in miracles, Dance?” Nick asked. “Cut me loose,” Nick said as he held up his zip-tied hands. “And I’ll show you a miracle that can make you richer than you could ever imagine.”

JULIA LOOKED AT her watch. It was 10:55. She pushed her Lexus to over eighty miles per hour. Once again, despite her best intentions, she was running late. She was thanking God that Westchester Airport was a regional terminal, a facility that she could actually run through and perhaps make her 11:16 flight.

The conference call had gone on longer than she anticipated, the other attorneys on the call feeling compelled to argue over nothing in order to justify the extra hour of billing. Julia hated attorneys like that. Their conduct created a global hatred for her profession.

She hit the speakerphone on her cell and dialed her voicemail. Nick had tried her twice. She was sure he was calling to apologize for their fight this morning and regretted that he had beaten her to the punch.

Of course, he could also be calling about dinner with the Mullers, making one last-ditch effort to get out of it.

“Julia,” Nick’s voice echoed in the car. “It’s me. Do me a favor, do not get on that flight to Boston. I don’t care why you’re going, I don’t care if you get fired, do not get on that flight. I have a terrible feeling, I can’t explain it. Just do what I say. Call me when you get this.”

Julia listened to the message. Nick’s voice was so urgent, so pleading. Though he didn’t apologize for their fight. Not that that mattered. But…

She couldn’t understand how he’d found out she was going to Boston. No one knew except her, Dr. Colverhome, and Jo, and neither of them would ever tell Nick.

It wasn’t the first time Nick had tried to talk her out of flying. She had canceled a business trip last February based on his fear of a snowstorm in the middle of the country, and of course there were no problems, all flights arrived intact and on time. It wasn’t as if he were crying wolf; it was just his way of saying he couldn’t live without her.

Even when Nick was mad at her, it never diminished his love, his caring, his worry. She loved Nick with all her heart, but today, she loved him even more.

He’d had a tough week, a tough month with work; she could hear the stress in his voice. He needed a surprise, a life affirming moment. And what better way to do that than a romantic dinner for two at which she would explain that dinner would soon be for three?

She didn’t care if she had to run a world-record sprint through the terminal, she would make her flight. She was even more determined now.