Not Even Past (27 page)

D
ONNE FIDDLED
with the radio as he drove. Phone callers complained about the Yankees, pop radio repeated the same songs over and over, and the news droned on. He turned the radio off and stared ahead at brake lights. His fingers tingled and his seat belt felt too tight across his chest.

He shifted in the driver’s seat to try to loosen the belt, but it wouldn’t budge. The wound didn’t ache too much, but he remembered being stuck in the bed, just after his escape attempt. They didn’t tie him down, but he was so exhausted, he couldn’t get back up. It felt like there was a band across his chest.

Henry Stern touched his good shoulder. Donne blinked sweat from his eyes, and tried to sit up. His abs ached in protest, and he was forced to remain prone.

“You need to rest,” Stern said.

The room was hot and the air was heavy. Donne’s skin felt like it was on fire.

“You tried to do too much, and now you have a fever.” Stern’s voice was like cold water. “Don’t worry. We’re going to bring you back.”

“I have to go,” Donne said.

Somewhere behind him, he could hear Luca talking. The words were hard to make out—something about blood and ice.

“Remember,” Stern said. “We’re helping you. You’re going to get better.”

“Jeanne,” Donne said.

Stern shook his head. “She’s not trying to help you. She tried to destroy you. Her and her cop friend. They don’t want you around.”

Donne swallowed. His saliva felt like rocks and it stabbed his esophagus.

“Is this the life you want to live? Chasing down ghosts and dying because of it? I’ve been there, Jackson.”

“You aren’t helping.” Donne’s own voice seemed far away. He wasn’t as healed as he thought.

Not even close.

Stern nodded. “You and I are very much alike. Jeanne Baker tried to ruin me too. I never thought I’d see her again, but when she showed up at my office—it felt like I lost it all.” Stern tilted his head. “I am saving your life. Your ‘friends’ shot you, abandoned you. Left you to bleed out on a warehouse floor, just another casualty. We have the same enemy, Jackson. Bill Martin killed my friends too.”

Stern stood up and walked away. Donne stared at the ceiling. The walls seemed to be moving, blurring together and forming one dark blob. Donne leaned his head back deeper in to the pillow and closed his eyes.

“You were only sent here as a sacrificial lamb, Jackson. You were supposed to die.”

Donne didn’t speak.

“You know who the real enemies are. Jeanne Baker and Bill Martin—”

“Tried to kill me,” Donne hissed.

He opened his eyes and saw Stern hovering over him again. A smiled crossed the senator’s face.

“Yes,” Stern said. “They’re in this for themselves.”

“I can help,” Donne said. He pictured Bill Martin facedown, blood dripping from his lip. Jeanne crying while kneeling over him.

“You can. You will.”

Donne’s eyes sagged. Before he could ask any more questions, he was asleep.

T
HE TRAFFIC
broke up just before Clinton, and Donne was able to settle into an easy drive.

He put his blinker on and took the exit, seeing the motel in the distance, hovering over the highway like a beacon.

Stern was right. He couldn’t trust Martin, and he couldn’t trust Jeanne. The thought had pierced his brain once Stern started explaining everything to him. Three weeks lying in a bed, trying to heal, and each day the senator talked about revenge. How his “friends” weren’t anything close to that.

Each day, Donne began to agree more and more. Each day he replayed the image of Bill Martin shooting him as Jeanne draped herself over him.

There was only one thing on his mind. The word Stern has used over and over each day.

Revenge
.

Bill Martin and Jeanne couldn’t go on. They couldn’t start a new life together. That wasn’t fair. They thought he was out of the picture?

Not a chance.

Donne pulled into the motel parking lot and parked. As he reached into the console for his gun, he felt like he was back in the church. His heart was hammering, and he was sweating so much, he thought he might have been rained on.

He hefted the gun and again put it in his pocket. Then he got out of the car and headed past the pool toward the lobby.

It was time.

D
ONNE WALKED
into the lobby past the coffee stand to the front desk. The woman behind the desk was whispering on the phone and held up a finger to Donne, asking him to wait. She smiled as she did so, and when she stopped talking she lip-synched an apology to him. Donne smiled back and shrugged.

He went over to the coffee stand and poured himself a cup. As he was stirring in cream, the receptionist asked if she could help him.

Taking his cup with him, he approached the desk.

The receptionist smiled. “Maybe you should have gotten a water instead.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re sweating.”

“Oh, I—” The gun felt heavy in his pocket. “It’s warm out there.”

The weather was still October-like.

She shrugged. “Summertime. What can I do for you?”

“I understand a woman is staying here. Her name is Jeanne Baker.” Donne wished he had a picture. “I need to see her.”

The receptionist said, “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t help you. Motel policy.”

“Please, I’m her fiancée. I know she’s here.”

“You’re not the only person to be asking about her today. I’m going to have to call management.”

For an instant, the words didn’t register. Then Donne reached across and put his hand on the phone receiver before she picked it up.

“Sir, please.”

“I’m sorry. There was another man here, wasn’t there? Salt-and-pepper hair. Claimed to be a cop?”

She didn’t answer, but her eyes gave away the affirmative.

“Are they together now? Which room?”

“I’m going to have to call the police.”

“No,” Donne said. “You’re not.”

He removed his hand from the phone and dropped it into his pocket. The handle of the pistol was ridged and he could feel the bumps on his fingertips. He pulled the weapon an inch, so it cleared the top of his pocket.

“Oh my god. Please leave,” the receptionist said. “Now. I’m going to call the cops.”

“Where
are
they?” Donne shouted. The receptionist flinched.

“They’re not here!” she screamed. “They’re not here. I don’t know where they are. The other man came and went this morning.”

The receptionist snatched the phone receiver and pressed three buttons. Donne didn’t need to see to know which ones. His heart was racing, and he heard buzzing. Taking a step, he knocked over the cup of coffee. As it splashed against the ground, some of the liquid singed his ankles.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Tears were in the receptionist’s eyes. Donne turned and ran from the lobby. He got into his car, started it, and peeled out of the parking lot, praying no one caught a license plate.

He drove ten minutes back toward New Jersey on the highway before pulling over to catch his breath. Sweaty palms, heart thumping, and shortness of breath. His chest felt tight, and his vision blurred. He thought he could hear his own heartbeat.

Counting to ten, Donne took a deep breath. Exhaled. Then another. Exhaled. Both hands on the steering wheel and focus on the horn. He stared at the Honda logo while he breathed. His heart rate was dropping back to its regular rhythm. The air-conditioner felt good on his arms.

He cruised back into New Jersey and hit the Parkway south. He had another destination in mind.

T
HE
B
AKERS
were listed.

Donne had done what was asked of him the past two years and stayed away from them. He didn’t drive past their house, he didn’t call, and he didn’t look out for them. But, apparently, the Bakers were extremely old-fashioned. And when Donne ran their name into a search engine, their address pulled up.

They’d moved down the shore.

The drive was a quick one, Donne pushing the needle to eighty-five on the clear highway. He made his way through town, winding through damaged neighborhood after damaged neighborhood before his GPS took him to their home.

Donne took the gun out of his pocket and placed it in the glove compartment His temples throbbed, and he almost put the car back into drive. Instead, he turned the key and shut the engine down. As if his mind was outside his body, he floated across the street, and the next thing he knew he was ringing the doorbell.

The door opened seconds later, and Sarah Baker stood in front of him. She didn’t blink and didn’t speak. She nodded slowly and then stepped out of the way. Donne walked in, turned left, and almost expected to see Jeanne standing there.

Instead it was Leonard. He put his iPad down, took off his glasses, and sat back in his chair.

“Hi,” he said.

“I’m looking for her.”

Leonard let out a long wet cough, one that racked his shoulders. Once he finished, he wiped his lips and stared at the carpet while he caught his breath. Donne looked for Sarah, but she was nowhere to be found.

The clink of dishes and the sound of a running faucet came from another room.

“How are you, Jackson?”

He didn’t expect the question, and his hand immediately went to his chest. He could feel the scar through his shirt, a hard piece of skin that pressed against the fabric.

“It’s been a long month,” he said.

Leonard nodded. “The last time I saw you, I bailed you out of jail. I told you to stay away from my wife and me.”

“And I did.”

“But you’re here.”

Donne walked over to the empty couch and sat. Leonard let out another wet hack. He sat back and stared at the ceiling, gasping for air. Out of the corner of his eye, Donne saw Sarah edge up to the doorway, clutching a towel. Leonard caught his breath again.

“That doesn’t sound too good,” Donne said.

Leonard shook his head. “Nope.”

“Where’s Jeanne?” Donne asked.

“Let her go, Jackson. She’s safe.”

The water in the kitchen started up again. Donne listened to it for a moment. Sarah was humming a tune he didn’t recognize.

“That’s not why I want to find her.”

Blinking, Leonard said, “I don’t understand.”

Donne patted his empty pocket. The move was becoming second nature. He missed the weight of the gun and wished he hadn’t left it in the car.

“Six years, Leonard. Six years she’s been alive. My life, my whole life the last six years revolved around that. And now, just as I’m getting it back, getting myself where I want to be, she comes back. Beaten and battered, but she’s back. And I’m just supposed to jump back in and save her. I finally moved on.”

Leonard spread his hands, but didn’t speak.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Leonard?” The ropes in Donne’s neck tightened, pressing against his skin. He balled his hands into fists. “How could you let me live like this?”

Leonard’s face went pale and he brought his hand to his lips as if he was about to cough again, but held it back. “Because it wasn’t about you. It never was.”

Donne slammed his hand on the tabletop. The iPad bounced off it and clattered on the floor.

“Where is she?”

“Go home, Jackson.”

“Where?” Donne’s throat burned as the words tore from him.

“You helped her enough. She’s free and gone.” He reached over to touch Donne’s arm. Donne snatched it away. “You did your part.”

Donne shook his head. “No. Not yet.”

He turned to leave, while Leonard sat back down. As he walked, he opened and closed his hands, digging his nails into his palm. Behind him, Leonard must have picked up and opened his iPad, because Donne heard the familiar click. He stopped.

An iPad.

Donne turned on his heel. “It was you.”

Leonard looked up.

“When Bill and I went to that bodega—we were … I saw your Skype name.” The images and information were mangled in his brain, and he couldn’t put it all together. “We were supposed to be looking for an iPad, but we found a desktop computer. One that had your Skype name on it.”

“Jackson, you’re not making sense.”

“What did you do?” Donne growled.

“You’re being crazy.”

“How are you involved? Is this about you?”

Leonard started to speak, but Sarah appeared at the kitchen door again.

“Tell him,” Sarah said.

Leonard wiped his face. Donne looked from him back to Sarah. She was drying her hands with a kitchen towel. He couldn’t read the expression on her face because there wasn’t one.

“She came back because I’m dying,” Leonard said. “Cancer. I don’t have much time. I gave up chemo.”

Donne felt cold.

“Sarah needed Jeanne. She’s getting old. Can’t do what she used to do. So we asked her to come back. But Jeanne—you remember. Stubborn. Went to see the senator, and he took her.”