Death Before Facebook

fury.
    They were almost at the door. Her tongue was tight against her teeth, every muscle tensed, in her own body’s absurd effort to make sure no one got hurt.
    Someone opened the door, and Skip got a glimpse of what was outside—police cars, a dozen at least. And it looked like more coming. Cole stopped dead. “I need a nurse. Now!”
    There was scurrying behind them, and Lirette, the nurse from Kit’s floor, approached warily.
    “I want you to step outside,” said Cole, “and tell them to send in an unarmed man.”
    The nurse disappeared. Skip stood in the middle of the corridor, the gun snug against her temple, every muscle tight against every other one. She ached to flay the son of a bitch alive. She was surprised at the hatred in her. She had never felt so much fury at a suspect.
    An officer came in, but not the man Cole had asked for. “I’m Sergeant Sylvia Cappello.”
    Cappello’s hands were up. Skip felt her throat tighten; she’d never seen Cappello helpless.
    “Sergeant Cappello, you let us out of here or Officer Langdon’s dead. You send those cops home, and those police cars home; but you stay. And you let us walk out of here quietly, peacefully, with no fuss.”
    “We can talk about that. Just let Officer Langdon go and we’ll talk about whatever you want.” Even at fifty paces, Skip could see the distress in Cappello’s brown eyes; she’d never seen Skip helpless either.
    “Don’t be absurd.”
    “Nothing is impossible. You just need to let Officer Langdon go and we can talk.”
    Skip wondered if officers were pouring in other doors. She imagined they were, but maybe not. It didn’t seem like such a hot idea in a hospital.
    Cole, apparently deciding he’d get nowhere with Cappello, looked around, rotating his head quickly; nervously, Skip thought. His cool might be starting to crack.
    “See that elevator over there? Let’s go.” He walked her over. “Push the Up button.”
    Skip wished she could catch Cappello’s eye—this was her chance to break away, with another officer to help her. Almost as if Cole had caught her thought, he spun her around, pulled up on her arm so that she nearly gasped with the pain, and pushed her out to arm’s length, so she couldn’t get a kick in. He was staring Cappello straight in the eye. “Don’t either of you move.”
    He was smarter than she’d thought, and that bothered her.
    When the elevator came, it was empty.
    “’Bye, Sergeant.” If he’d lost his cool, he’d now regained it.
    Still holding Skip in a death grip, he took her to the fifth floor and they walked from there to the roof, not easy the way he was holding on to her arm.
    He took her to the edge and stared over. The hospital was surrounded by police. Someone with a megaphone was preparing to shout up at him.
    “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said. “Do you think a helicopter could land here?’
    “What do you want, Cole? Do you really think you can get out of this one?”
    “Well now, that depends, doesn’t it? On how much your fellow officers want to save your neck.”
    “Oh, I don’t think so.”
    “Don’t you?”
    She smiled to herself. It wasn’t about to come to that. She was either going to be long dead before, or he was. It was the first time in her life she’d ever really wanted to kill someone.
    This was no place to start a fight—right on the edge of a roof, but he wouldn’t move away, not with an audience down there. She had to do it now. Her foot came up sharp to his groin just as her free elbow whammed him in the kidneys.
    She heard the breath go out of him, but he tightened his grip on her. She relaxed for a moment, knowing he couldn’t hold her. The pain would be too much. She whacked him again and twisted away, grabbing his gun hand. He went down on his knees.
    She had both hands on his forearm, trying to get him to drop the gun. With his free hand, he grabbed her hair and pulled.
    “Pull it out, you bastard!” She slammed his arm against the low railing of the roof, but still he held the gun.
    He let go of her hair and punched her face. Furious, she tried to throw him off the roof. It was easy; she simply twisted more, and his weight shifted toward the railing. His back bent over it, but his arms pushed against her.
    “Die, you bastard. Go off the roof. I don’t care if I kill you.”
    His fingers opened. The gun fell.
    And her anger started to dissipate. She kicked him. “Get up.”
    He came up swinging, but she swung back, both