the 13th Hour Read Online Free PDF Page B

as truth, if he accepted the time as being 8:15, then maybe . . .
No matter how impossible it all had sounded, no matter how insane his mind had gone, he realized that if there was truth to the letter, truth to the watch, he just might be able to save her.
    T HE DOOR SUDDENLY opened. Marcus Bennett's large frame filled the doorway. Wearing gray pin-striped pants, a blue Hermes tie, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up, he was the epitome of style worn upon a tough, lumberjack-thick build. He held a crystal glass in each of his large, pawlike hands as he walked into the room.
Neighbors for six years, he and Nick were more than the usual drive-by-and-wave friends. Sharing a love of hockey, they had become each other's excuse for catching 90 percent of the Rangers' home games. They were passionate in their fandom, both having played in high school but neither rising to the level their overconfident self-image thought they deserved. To compensate for their unrealized aspirations, to prolong the dream, to extend the revelry of youth, they played in a men's league every Wednesday night; Nick was goalie, Marcus his ever-present defenseman.
At thirty-nine, Marcus was seven years Nick's senior. An attorney by schooling, he had bypassed the law for the field of mergers and acquisitions. Highly successful, he had amassed a fortune by the age of thirty-two but had since seen it dwindle as the result of multiple divorces and never-ending alimony payments, though he still was one of the wealthiest men in town. His expert vision for vulnerable firms to be taken over and exploited was not matched by his selection of female companions. Nick wasn't sure if Marcus was blinded by lust or beauty, but there was no doubt that Marcus's insight into woman paled next to his business acumen: three marriages, three divorces, six years.
With each failure, Marcus buried himself in work, swearing off women, even drunkenly threatening to become a priest as his momentary hatred of the female sex blinded him to all logic. But blind hatred would inevitably dissolve and be replaced by a new blind love.
As a result of his failures of the heart, he was close not only to Nick but also to Julia. She was the voice of reason, of comfort. She was the sister that Marcus never had, helping him through his emotional journey. She watched as he rode the roller-coaster of emotions from sorrow, to anger, to utter confusion. With Marcus, the love he thought eternal always flamed out more quickly than his latest Bentley lease.
Currently, Marcus was on to his latest conquest. Sheila was a former spokesmodel, though no one could figure out who she spoke for or if she ever actually had a real modeling credit to her name. Stunningly beautiful, with thick black hair and deep chestnut eyes, she was the physical antithesis to redheaded Blythe, his third wife, the pale beauty who hung on to the brass ring for all of eighteen months and walked away a ten-million-dollar prize winner.
His premature gray hair having receded to nothingness, his off-kilter nose broken three times on the ice, Marcus was far from handsome. He had never been known for his looks, possessing one of those faces that was lost in a crowd, forgotten by most. But his wallet and warm sincere smile always led his charge into the battles of love, attracting many and helping him to overcome any insecurity caused by his prior nuptial failures.
Marcus remained silent as he handed Nick a glass. There were no words exchanged, the moment hanging heavy with grief as Marcus's brown eyes filled with anguish.
Nick stared silently at the glass, his mind briefly lost in the tawny color and smell of the scotch.
"I know you're not a drinker." Marcus's voice was deep and commanding. "But all rules are lost now."
Nick lifted the glass and took a long sip.
Marcus thrust his hand forward, opening his palm to reveal two Xanax. "They're Sheila's. She's got three bottles of them. If you prefer Valium, she has that, too."
Nick shook his