Not Even Past (33 page)

Martin pulled back from the edge of the roof and looked toward Donne.

“You’re just in time, kid,” he said. Then he turned back to the gun.

“Don’t do this, Bill.” Donne strode across the roof, stopping a yard from Martin. Donne didn’t have many options. If he tried to grab or tackle his former partner, there was a good chance they’d both topple off the roof. Plus, with his shoulder weakened, Donne didn’t expect to win any fights.

Not even with an old guy.

Talking was his only way out of this. Maybe, just once, he could get Bill Martin to listen to him. To trust him.

“You pull that trigger, Bill,” Donne said, “and you’re going to destroy your life.”

Martin’s shoulders flinched. “Yeah. That’s what I’m worried about.”

Henry Stern was talking about the glories of both universities. His speech was highlighting the science departments of both schools and the developments they’d made in neuroscience. Once they combined their forces, they could be one of the top private research units in the country.

“You think they won’t track this back to you?”

“I have that covered,” Martin said. His back went up slowly as he took a long breath. Then back down again.

Donne took a step forward. Bill Martin pulled the trigger. There was a single
pop.
Martin stood up, turned, and tossed the rifle at Donne. Instinct took over and Donne caught it. An instant later, the screams of the crowd carried to them.

“Got him,” Martin said, looking over the edge of the roof.

Donne looked at the rifle in his own hands. Then dropped it. He took two steps back.

Martin walked past him over to a baseball equipment bag. For the first time, Donne noticed the gloves on Martin’s hands. He dashed over to the edge of the roof to look at the crowd. The members of the press had pushed forward toward the stage and were all shouting. On the platform, Donne could make out Stern’s legs as two men in suits hovered over him. One of the chancellors had slumped over in his seat.

There were two other men in suits running toward the building. One of them was Luca. The bodyguard looked up toward him and yelled something. It wasn’t help. It wasn’t a one-syllable word.

Donne whirled toward Martin, who now held a pistol. It wasn’t pointed at Donne yet.

“Why did you do this, Bill?”

“You know why. For her.” Martin shrugged. “For me too.”

Donne shook his head, while still keeping an eye on the pistol. It looked familiar. “She didn’t want this.”

Martin laughed. “Of course she did. Now she’s truly free.”

“They’re going to track this back to you, Bill. You don’t know these people. They’re going to track it back to Jeanne too. You screwed up.”

Martin shook his head. “Nah. I tried to stop you.”

Donne felt the breeze at his back. The words Martin said didn’t register with him. Something wasn’t right. Maybe he misspoke.

“First shot. Even with my hands shaking.” Martin laughed. “I never was able to get true revenge on you, Jackson. Never really torture you the way I wanted.”

“You shot me. You took Jeanne from me.”

Now there were sirens in the air. More than one. Over Martin’s shoulder toward the beach, Donne could see cop cars and an ambulance careening toward the campus.

“And you still survived. You didn’t die. You didn’t crumble. You put your life together. Meanwhile, I have nothing. I’m sick. Jeanne’s gone. Eileen. And I don’t have a job.” Martin lifted the gun from his side. “I have nothing left.”

“Bill …” Donne put his hands in the air. He heard the door to the building open and slam shut.

“This is yours,” Martin said, holding the gun out. “You left it at the hotel room.”

Donne’s stomach did a swan dive to his ankles. His throat closed.

“I came up here to try to stop you. I’m a cop. That’s what I do.” Martin turned the gun. “But you were too quick. You shot me.”

“Bill, don’t.” Donne fumbled for words. “Ballistics. Evidence.”

“Yeah, because cops have always loved you. I’m sure they’re going to work real hard.”

“Don’t—”

“If you ever see her again,” Martin said. The gun was aimed at his own chest. His thumb was through the trigger guard. “Tell her I always loved her.”

The gunshot made Donne flinch. Martin fell backward as a red splotch formed at his chest. A cloud of dust arose as his body hit the ground. The gun skittered away.

Donne rushed to his side and knelt. Martin’s breaths came in wet gasps. Donne touched his chest and felt the wet warmth run over his hand. Martin’s eyes were wide and unfocused. He seemed to be looking at the sky.

Donne said Martin’s name. Martin coughed and spat blood from his mouth. One more hard gasp.

Then nothing. His eyes glazed over, and his lungs stopped working.

Donne checked for a pulse, but it was too late. He fell back on his ass and rested his hands on his knees. He looked at the specks of blood on his wrist and wondered how much of it was from his mouth and how much of it was Martin’s.

He could hear shouting in the corridor. Luca was close.

Then one word popped into Donne’s head.

Run!

D
ONNE BOLTED
toward the door, only to be met by Luca and two other men. Air came in heaves and gasps, his chest tightening as he watched Luca survey the scene. The two men walked over to Martin. One knelt and put his ear next to the body’s nose and mouth. Seconds later, he shook his head.

Luca looked Donne up and down, slowing his gaze at the bloodstains. He stepped in, nose-to-nose.

“What the hell happened?”

Donne opened and closed his mouth, trying to find words. They wouldn’t come.

“You did this,” Luca said. “You waited for Bill to come here? You told me he was already dead.”

Donne looked at his hands and saw the blood that covered them. He wiped them on his shirt. Sounds were echoes, and everything was far away. The waves from the beach were loud, however, like someone messed with the balance in his ears. Too much bass, not enough treble.

Luca’s voice faded into static. His lips were moving, but Donne couldn’t understand him over the rush of the waves. Pressure was pushing on his temples. He opened and closed his sticky hands.

A hand was in Donne’s face. Luca was reaching for him. Donne’s heart went into overdrive.

Donne ran. Luca whirled as Donne passed him, and Donne’s hearing came back.

“Hey! Wait!”

Donne didn’t stop. He hit the stairs and skittered down them, leaping to reach each landing. His knees jarred with each landing, but he kept pushing downward. The taste of copper returned to his mouth.

He hit the front door and busted out into the sunlight. The sirens were all-encompassing now, along with the screech of brakes and footsteps. People were shouting, others were crying, someone was still screaming. Donne ran through the quad, heading back toward the staging area. He could see people taking pictures and two news stations trying to set up live feeds.

The cops hadn’t set up a perimeter yet. They were still assessing the situation. Some rushed the stage. Toward the student union, a group of cops huddled next to an ambulance with whirling lights.

Donne hung a hard right and headed toward the parking lot. The metal detectors were knocked over. Some of the crowd must have fled in a panic. Donne hopped the blockade and sprinted out on to asphalt. He pulled his keys and started to press the unlock button.

He looked over his shoulder midsprint and saw Luca following him. Luca wasn’t running hard, but was instead jogging and signaling toward the cops. Air caught in Donne’s throat, but he pushed forward. He kept pressing the unlock button.

Donne found his car and used the hood to stop his momentum. Vibration from the impact drove up through his wrists like he’d just hit a fastball on the inside part of a bat. He pulled open the door and got in. Through the windshield, he saw Luca picking up speed. Two cops were sprinting in his direction as well.

After starting the car, he put it in gear and peeled out of the parking lot. His brakes squealed as he turned on to the main road, aiming away from the beach. Behind him, two squad cars tore out of the lot as well. Their sirens were blaring.

Donne needed to make it to the Parkway before they closed the entrance down. If he could hit the highway, he’d have a little more freedom to breathe.

Unless they unleashed a helicopter.

It was only then he realized the folly of his choices. By running, he played right into Bill Martin’s hands. He looked guilty, even if he wasn’t. Even though he tried to stop Martin. Donne’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He ignored it.

One of the cop cars turned into the lane of oncoming traffic and accelerated. Before Donne could floor it, the car was next to him. Cops cars really had good pickup nowadays.

“Pull over!” The speaker on the cop car was loud.

Donne floored it and pulled away from the cruiser. It wheeled back into his lane, nearly clipping Donne’s fender.

“Come on, come on,” Donne said. He was doing eighty-five down a Jersey Shore town side street. The traffic light he headed toward turned red.

Donne gripped the steering wheel tight, but didn’t brake. He cut through the intersection, and one of the cops behind him made it too. But the second cruiser slammed into a crossing car. The crunch of metal and smash of glass was almost inaudible over the hum of his engine.

At the next intersection, Donne turned right. He thought he was going to lose traction, as the car almost hit two wheels. The turn must have surprised the cop behind him, who kept going straight through the intersection.

Donne exhaled. He could see the Parkway up ahead. The relief wasn’t enough for him to let up on the accelerator, though.

Again, his cell phone buzzed. Had his name made the news already?

The cop who’d been following him must have known a shortcut. Three blocks down the road and about two blocks in front of the Parkway, the cruiser pulled out at the intersection and blocked the road. Instinct made Donne release the accelerator. The engine RPMs wound down, but he still fired ahead at nearly seventy miles per hour.

His car could not withstand a straight-up ramming through the police stop. Hell, he’d probably go through the windshield.

And if anyone was in the passenger seat of the cruiser, they were screwed too.

Didn’t matter though.

Jackson Donne put the metal to the floor. He could feel gravity press him back into the seat just slightly. His skin tightened over his knuckles and he held the wheel tighter.

“STOP THE CAR.” The speakers of the cruiser roared.

Donne gritted his teeth.

One block.

“STOP THE CAR NOW!”

Two blocks.

Donne screamed.

Three blocks.

Donne swerved left onto the parking lot. A trashcan slammed into his hood and then rolled over the roof. A coffee cup splashed against the glass. The cop car was unharmed. His car had made it around. He drove another block on the sidewalk.

Two civilians had to dive out of the way.

The Parkway entrance was up ahead. He checked the rearview mirror and could see the cop car backing up and straightening out on the road to continue pursuit. Donne imagined they were radioing ahead to state troopers as well. But if Donne played it right, he only had to make it ten miles on the highway.

The
whup whup
of helicopter blades could be heard overhead. Donne peeked through his sunroof and could see the state trooper chopper following him. Of course.

Donne picked Parkway north and kept the pedal on the ground. He was pushing 120 mph, and two cars had to swerve out of the way of his merge. An overpass loomed up ahead, and Donne thought it could work to his advantage. The state cops hadn’t caught up yet. Procedure meant the locals had to stop at the entrance to the highway. His only worry was the chopper.

As he neared the overpass, Donne weaved on to the shoulder. The rumble strip pounded against his ears. He slammed on the brakes and came to a stop just under the pass. Donne counted to twenty as the chopper passed above him. He just needed them to get far enough away that it was hard for them to turn around.

The
whup whup
faded and Donne accelerated. He merged in at the speed limit, mixing in with traffic. Ahead he could see the tail of the chopper as it slowed in the air. The next exit was less than half a mile away. With a helicopter in the air, he’d never make it the ten miles he’d planned. He’d have to be more creative.

He was pulling off the exit before the chopper had made its way back in his direction.