Gone Too Far Read Free

now. So why were his eyes suddenly filling with tears?
    “Don’t chug it,” Einstein told him.
    Roger nodded, taking little sips of water and gritting his teeth until the worst of the urge to throw himself onto the office floor and cry had passed.
    “Mr. Gaines’s grandfather is coming to pick him up,” York told Roger. “He’s offered to drive you home, too. I think you boys have had enough school for one day.”
    Roger looked up at that. Holy shit. Enough school . . .?
    “Or you could come over to my house and have something to eat,” Einstein said quietly, as if he somehow knew the only thing in the cabinet at Roger’s house was that last box of stale cornflakes.
    Roger nodded. “Thanks,” he said again.
    “We’ll wait for my grandfather out front,” Einstein told Mr. York. Told him. Not asked.
    It was amazing. They were going home early, but they weren’t in trouble.
    Roger followed Einstein to the bench out in front of the school’s lobby. “Whatever you told him . . . thanks,” he said.
    Einstein’s eyes were a light shade of brown behind his glasses. “I told him the truth. I’m Noah, by the way.”
    “Sorry about, you know, puking like that. I hope I didn’t spray your shoes. I was just, you know . . .”
    “It was really gross,” Noah told him. “Luke’s leg, I mean.”
    Roger laughed. “No shit.”
    They sat in silence for a moment, then Noah said, “I couldn’t have done what you did.”
    What could he say to that? “Sure you could’ve.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Well, I do.” When it came down to it, Noah hadn’t run away. Roger was still surprised about that. He was either stupid or brave. And with a nickname like Einstein, chances were he wasn’t stupid.
    “You like Italian food?” Noah asked, kicking at a crack in the sidewalk with the toe of his sneakers.
    “You mean, like spaghetti and meatballs?” Roger countered.
    Noah laughed. “Sort of, but much better. My grandfather spent some time in Italy during World War Two and he learned to cook while he was there. He’ll make us something good to eat.”
    Something good to eat. It sounded too miraculous to be true. “You don’t have to invite me over, you know,” Roger said. “You don’t even need to drive me home. I can walk.”
    Noah nodded. “I know.” He stood up as a station wagon—a shiny new one in a really nice shade of blue—approached.
    The black man behind the wheel was huge. It seemed impossible that scrawny little Noah was related to him. He had a broad, handsome face and a full head of thick black hair despite the fact that he was old. And he had the warmest, friendliest smile Roger had ever seen.
    “Hail, the conquering heroes,” the man said in greeting, his voice a booming bass, his accent one that Roger couldn’t place. He wasn’t from Texas, that was for damn sure. “You must be Roger. Climb in, young man. I’m Walter Gaines and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
    Noah got into the front. Roger hesitated only a fraction of a second before he climbed into the backseat of that car.
    After all the blood and shouting that had gone down just a short time earlier, it seemed like a very quiet choice. An unremarkable, nothing-much kind of decision.
    But getting into that car was, without a doubt, the pivotal moment of Roger Starrett’s young life.

    CHAPTERONE
    SARASOTA, FLORIDAMONDAy, JUNE 16, 2003
    Roger “Sam” Starrett’s cell phone vibrated, but he was wedged into the rental car so tightly that there was no way he could get the damn thing out of the front pocket of his jeans.
    At least not without causing a twelve-car pileup on Route 75.
    He had the air-conditioning cranked—welcome to summer in Florida—and the gas pedal floored, but the subcompact piece of shit that had been one of the last cars in the rental company’s lot was neither cool nor fast.
    It was barely a car.
    Feeling trapped in an uncomfortable place had been pretty much SOP for Sam ever since he rushed