life. Hope had focused him; his love for Julia had driven him.
He soaped up, rinsed quickly, and was out of the shower in less than two minutes. He realized that he literally had no time to waste, he had only eight hours left to figure out a way to stop Julia's killer, and the only way he was going to be able to do that was by finding out why he was after her in the first place.
"Care to explain?" Julia stood in the open doorway as she pointed at the muddy and bloody clothes on the floor.
Nick wrapped a thick white towel around his waist.
"My God, what happened?" she said as she saw the burns and the cut on his cheek.
"No big deal." Nick tried to slough it off.
"No big deal? It looks like someone made a big deal about your face."
"You should see the Mets fan in the baseball cap."
"What happened to you?"
"Car accident."
"Car accident? Whose car?"
He had no idea how to answer as he glanced out the window at her car in the driveway. Life was running backward, everything was resetting timewise, but as he felt the ache with his movement, he knew everything was resetting except him.
"I stopped to help someone who dumped their car in a ditch; I slipped a bit."
She looked deep into his eyes, not buying a word he said.
He quickly walked by her to his closet. "Tell me again, why weren't you on the plane?"
"You're changing the subject."
Nick threw off his towel as he quickly put on a pair of briefs and Levi's 501 jeans. He was amazed to find his wallet on his dresser. It had been taken by the police at 9:00 P.M. , but here it was now, four hours earlier, where it had been for most of the day before he grabbed it at 5:30 in order to get a credit card number. He shook off the warped deja-vu moment and turned to Julia with the most serious of looks. "Julia, I need to know what pulled you off that plane."
Julia stared for a moment, though she finally relented, annoyance coloring her voice. "I got on the plane this morning; I had to run up to Boston for a short meeting. I had settled into my seat and gotten lost in a conversation with a lovely old lady." Julia paused with a sudden realization. Her angry tone vanished, replaced with the sound of sorrow. "Her name . . . her name was Katherine and she was going to see her husband, who was sick. She didn't say it, but I think he was dying. And despite her hardship, the pain she was in, she asked about me, my life, with such sincere interest, with such green, honest eyes."
Julia paused, tears welling up. Nick gently laid his hand on her face, stroking it, pulling her into a reassuring hug as she began to sob.
"All those people. They all sat on that plane with such hope in their eyes," Julia said, her voice cracking. "Heading off to see friends and family; a business trip that they promised their kid they'd hurry back from; people going on vacation. None of them ever imagining they would all soon be . . ."
"Julia," Nick gently said, trying to bring her back to the moment. "Why did you get off the plane?"
"There was a robbery." She looked up at him.
"A robbery? What kind of robbery?"
Julia pulled away from Nick. She briefly went into his bathroom, returning with a tissue, dabbing her eyes, wiping away her grief.
"There's a large colonial home over on Maple Avenue called Washington House. It belongs to a man by the name of Shamus Hennicot. It's been in his family for three generations. He's at least ninety so, as you can imagine, it's rather old. The outside has that white clapboard New England look with the black shutters, wood shake roof--"
"I know the house, Julia." Nick said, trying to hurry her along.
"Well, it's a bit more than some colonial remnant. They have kept the insides updated and reinforced with concrete and steel. While it is Hennicot's home, it also contains not only his office but a rather elaborate storage and display warehouse on the lower level."
"Warehouse for what?"
"The Hennicots have been clients of Aitkens, Lerner, & Isles since 1886. Shamus's grandfather, Ian Hennicot, was
He soaped up, rinsed quickly, and was out of the shower in less than two minutes. He realized that he literally had no time to waste, he had only eight hours left to figure out a way to stop Julia's killer, and the only way he was going to be able to do that was by finding out why he was after her in the first place.
"Care to explain?" Julia stood in the open doorway as she pointed at the muddy and bloody clothes on the floor.
Nick wrapped a thick white towel around his waist.
"My God, what happened?" she said as she saw the burns and the cut on his cheek.
"No big deal." Nick tried to slough it off.
"No big deal? It looks like someone made a big deal about your face."
"You should see the Mets fan in the baseball cap."
"What happened to you?"
"Car accident."
"Car accident? Whose car?"
He had no idea how to answer as he glanced out the window at her car in the driveway. Life was running backward, everything was resetting timewise, but as he felt the ache with his movement, he knew everything was resetting except him.
"I stopped to help someone who dumped their car in a ditch; I slipped a bit."
She looked deep into his eyes, not buying a word he said.
He quickly walked by her to his closet. "Tell me again, why weren't you on the plane?"
"You're changing the subject."
Nick threw off his towel as he quickly put on a pair of briefs and Levi's 501 jeans. He was amazed to find his wallet on his dresser. It had been taken by the police at 9:00 P.M. , but here it was now, four hours earlier, where it had been for most of the day before he grabbed it at 5:30 in order to get a credit card number. He shook off the warped deja-vu moment and turned to Julia with the most serious of looks. "Julia, I need to know what pulled you off that plane."
Julia stared for a moment, though she finally relented, annoyance coloring her voice. "I got on the plane this morning; I had to run up to Boston for a short meeting. I had settled into my seat and gotten lost in a conversation with a lovely old lady." Julia paused with a sudden realization. Her angry tone vanished, replaced with the sound of sorrow. "Her name . . . her name was Katherine and she was going to see her husband, who was sick. She didn't say it, but I think he was dying. And despite her hardship, the pain she was in, she asked about me, my life, with such sincere interest, with such green, honest eyes."
Julia paused, tears welling up. Nick gently laid his hand on her face, stroking it, pulling her into a reassuring hug as she began to sob.
"All those people. They all sat on that plane with such hope in their eyes," Julia said, her voice cracking. "Heading off to see friends and family; a business trip that they promised their kid they'd hurry back from; people going on vacation. None of them ever imagining they would all soon be . . ."
"Julia," Nick gently said, trying to bring her back to the moment. "Why did you get off the plane?"
"There was a robbery." She looked up at him.
"A robbery? What kind of robbery?"
Julia pulled away from Nick. She briefly went into his bathroom, returning with a tissue, dabbing her eyes, wiping away her grief.
"There's a large colonial home over on Maple Avenue called Washington House. It belongs to a man by the name of Shamus Hennicot. It's been in his family for three generations. He's at least ninety so, as you can imagine, it's rather old. The outside has that white clapboard New England look with the black shutters, wood shake roof--"
"I know the house, Julia." Nick said, trying to hurry her along.
"Well, it's a bit more than some colonial remnant. They have kept the insides updated and reinforced with concrete and steel. While it is Hennicot's home, it also contains not only his office but a rather elaborate storage and display warehouse on the lower level."
"Warehouse for what?"
"The Hennicots have been clients of Aitkens, Lerner, & Isles since 1886. Shamus's grandfather, Ian Hennicot, was
Similar Books
