“COME WITH ME to my car.” Nick pointed at his Audi fifty yards away on the other side of the parking lot near the exit. “I can offer you not only something of far greater value, but also a way for you to get out of here without anyone knowing where you went.”

Dance removed a knife from his pocket and cut Nick free from the zip-ties about his wrists. “Pick up the box.”

Nick lifted the surprisingly heavy case off the roof of the BMW.

Dance tucked the gun into Nick’s back, pointing him toward the blue Audi, leaving Paul kneeling over his brother’s bleeding leg. Shannon and Nash remained bound and sitting upon the ground under the watchful eyes of Randall and Arilio.

Arriving at the Audi, Nick placed the box on the hood of his car and held his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“First look on my front seat,” Nick said, pointing into his car.

Dance opened the door to find the gold and bejeweled Colt Peacemaker on the seat. He lifted it out, staring at the weapon.

“I’m sure you know what that is and where it’s from.”

“Do you have the rest?” Dance said in shock. “Do you have the diamonds?”

“In my inner jacket pocket are two letters,” Nick pointed toward his pocket.

“Slowly.” Dance motioned to Nick to remove them before placing the barrel of the gun squarely in the center of Nick’s forehead.

Dance laid the Peacemaker on the roof of the Audi as Nick pulled out and handed him the first envelope. He looked at the blue crest before quickly opening it and reading the two sheets.

Nick slowly withdrew the watch from his pocket and held it out.

“A watch,” Dance said as his eyes flicked between the gold timepiece and the letter. “Are you fucking kidding me? Do you think I’m a fool?”

Dance scanned the letter from Nash again. “What kind of bullshit is this?” Dance jammed the gun harder into Nick’s head.

“Read the next one,” Nick said calmly, handing him Marcus’s letter while tucking Nash’s letter back into his jacket pocket.

Dance began to read.

“Look at the last sheet,” Nick said. “The printout from today’s Wall Street Journal.”

Dance read it through, confusion creasing his brow.

“Look at the date and time,” Nick said. “That’s eight hours from now.”

“A kid could have made this with Photoshop.”

Nick slowly reached back into his breast pocket and withdrew his cell phone, flipping it open.

“What are you-”

“Relax,” Nick said as he flipped it open, pulled up the picture of Dance’s car, and handed him the cell phone.

Dance thumbed through the pictures of his car, stopping at the image of his trunk. He stared at the golden weapons, the knives and swords, and the bag of diamonds, his eyes finally falling on the Colt Peacemaker, the same gun that rested atop Nick’s car.

“What kind of trick is this? That stuff isn’t in my trunk. I just looked into it a few minutes ago.”

“It’s no trick,” Nick said calmly. “You’re looking at the future.”

“How is this possible?”

“Bear with me a moment. If the letters you read are the truth, think of what you could do.”

And Dance’s mind began to work.

“Manipulate the past, know the outcome of lotteries, horse races.” Nick appealed to his greed. “Use it wisely, and you could amass a fortune.”

“Why would you give this up? You would trade all of this for that guy’s life?” Dance pointed his gun back toward Paul Dreyfus.

Nick nodded.

Dance smiled. “No,” he said, shaking his head as the pieces came together. “That’s what Shannon meant about my killing your wife, that’s what these letters are about. I do it in the future and you’ve come back to stop me.”

Dance looked around. And stared at the watch.

“Holy shit,” Dance said in realization.

As Dance became lost in his thoughts, Nick looked about the parking lot, down the driveway toward the road.

“I know who your wife is,” Dance said. “Hennicot’s attorney, right?”

Nick said nothing.

“If I take this watch,” Dance smiled a cruel smile at Nick as his thumb moved about the golden case, “who’s to say I still won’t kill her?”

Nick’s heart began to pound, the blood coursing through his body, filling him with fury.

Dance looked again at the watch in his hand and it was all the distraction Nick needed.

Nick snatched the Colt from atop the Audi and holding it like a hammer drove it into Dance’s temple. Nick’s left hand grabbed and twisted the Glock from the detective before he could react and tossed it aside. He raised the Peacemaker again and drove it down against Dance’s nose.

Tossing the gun aside, Nick pummeled Dance with all his rage, all of his anger and frustration, his fists a blur of wrath directed at the evil soul before him.

Despite all of his strength, despite all of his experience on the street, of fights and killing, Dance was no match for the passion-fueled onslaught being released from Nick’s soul. Nick had seen his wife die, experienced her death too many times, in too may ways, and all of it brought about by this man.

Nick finally stood, leaving the broken and battered detective writhing on the ground.

Nick spied the gold watch, his passport for the day, gleaming in the sunlight. He picked it up and tucked it into his back pocket.

Then he picked up the ornate pistol, reached into his pocket, and withdrew a silver bullet. He flipped out the cylinder and dropped the.45 slug into the gunmetal chamber. He flipped it back and gave it a spin.

He looked at the gun, at its intricate design, at the golden finish that shined in the midmorning sun, giving the impression of a holy aura about the weapon. Nick thought of the Arabic lettering upon the bullet casing, May you be forbidden from paradise, hoping that the phrase had some magical property of actually weighing down the soul so it could be dragged into hell.

He laid the gun against Dance’s head.

“You’re going to kill me to avenge a murder I haven’t even committed yet?”

Nick drew back the hammer, clicking it into place.

Dance stared up helplessly into Nick’s eyes.

As Nick looked at the bloodied cop, a man who had shot his wife, had killed his best friend, killed Paul Dreyfus and Private McManus, set in motion the crash of Flight 502, Nick realized he was looking into the heart of evil, looking at a man who saw humanity as his pawns, a man who was without morals or compassion.

And then a crushing realization coursed through his body, as if the three sisters of fate were holding him back. For none of those things, none of those deaths had yet occurred, they were all in the future, a future that was no longer fixed but left to chance.

But as Dance’s eye burned up at him, Nick saw the coldness, the lack of a soul and knew this man would visit darkness upon others throughout his life.

“You can’t do it, you can’t pull that trigger, can you?” Dance said.

Nick’s eyes softened.

“You know what, if I killed your wife in the future-” Dance paused as if he was about to apologize, but that possibility quickly passed as a mirthless smile creased his lips “-she probably deserved it.”

With those words burning in his ears, with all reason gone from his mind, Nick wrapped his finger about the antique pistol and…

… pulled the trigger.

SHANNON STARED UP at Randall and Arilio standing next to the Chrysler Sebring, watching Paul Dreyfus wrap a makeshift tourniquet about Sam’s leg. The two dirty cops exchanged whispers.

Shannon sat up against his Mustang next to Nash. He had quietly dragged the zip-tie against the blacktop, shaving it, compromising its integrity. He took a glance at the far side of the parking lot where he saw Nick and Dance begin to fight. Without further delay, Shannon drew his arms apart, twisting, stretching the zip-tie, ignoring the pain as the plastic cut into his skin, until it finally broke.