Chapter 13

Reacher slept, but lightly. Part of his subconscious remained active, on the alert for the slightest sign that somebody was trying to pick the lock. Or tamper with the bathroom window. He was disturbed at one point by noises from room 19, next door. Someone must have checked in while he was at the diner. He listened for five minutes, then dismissed the threat. It was just aimless voices. A couple of guys settling in for the night. Then he was woken finally a minute after 6:00 a.m. by a knock at the door. It was loud and confident and it was followed by a woman's voice. It said, "Mr. Austin? Room service. I have your breakfast."

Reacher pulled the Glock out from beneath the pillow, stood up, and tucked it into his waistband. He rolled up the pillow to make it more rigid and carried it to the door. He moved to the right-hand side and lifted the pillow until the top was covering the peephole, in case someone was standing on the other side with a gun, waiting to pull the trigger when the little lens went dark. A second crawled by. Two. There was no gunshot. No shattered wood or shredded fabric. Reacher risked a quick glance. He saw a woman. She was slim. Maybe five feet eight. She had dark brown hair, tied back away from her face, and she was wearing an apron over her clothes. It was the kind he had seen the waitresses wearing at the diner the day before, but with no name tag. The woman was carrying a rectangular tray with a coffee mug on it alongside a plate that was covered with a silver metal lid. But she was only supporting the tray with one hand. Her left. Her right arm was tucked in tight against her side and her hand was hidden behind her thigh.

Reacher said, "I didn't order any breakfast."

The woman said, "You did. Kind of. You told Hannah May that you would be coming in but she's gone off shift now. She asked me to take care of you. She's sweet on you, for some reason. So I thought I'd go the extra mile. Bring your food to your room."

"What did you bring me?"

"Coffee, obviously. She told me you like it. Only one mug, but I can get you a refill anytime. Plus I got bacon, eggs, and some toast."

Reacher assumed that this was the next step in the attempt to lure him outside. He guessed a couple of guys, minimum, would be waiting, hidden from view on either side of the doorway. He decided to test the theory. He said, "OK. Sounds great. Bring it in."

Reacher started to open the door. He moved it slowly and when it was two-thirds of the way through its arc he heard the clink of crockery on the other side. He slammed the door back the other way. He put all his weight behind it. The leading edge smashed into the tray. Then the woman. Then it crashed into its frame. The wood shuddered. The handle rattled. Reacher pulled the door open again. He did it fast this time. He saw the woman on the ground, sprawled on her back. A gun was lying four feet from her head. The mug had shattered. Brown liquid was pooling on the ground. The plate had landed upside down. But there was no sign of any other people. Reacher grabbed the woman by her foot and dragged her into the room. Then he stepped past her, ducked down, leaned out, and scanned to the left and the right. There was still no sign of anyone lurking near his room. He retrieved the fallen gun, shut the door, and turned to check on the woman. She had moved. She was on her feet. Her arms were out in front, fingers extended liked claws, and her body was taut, like a cat about to pounce on its prey.

She said, "Found you at last, you son of a—oh. You're not…" She dropped her arms and stepped back.

Reacher waited for a moment, then said, "I'm not what?"

The woman looked down at the floor. Then she raised her eyes to meet Reacher's and said, "You're not the man who killed my father."

—

Vidic barely got any sleep. He lay awake on one of the couches in the cave for most of the night, cursing Reacher for not having a cellphone. He could have sent him a text silently. But he couldn't call. Not from inside. Not with Kane stretched out on another couch. And he couldn't risk going outside, even if he pretended to need the bathroom. Fletcher was there. Spending the night in his Cadillac. Maybe asleep. But maybe watching.

Fletcher came back into the cave at a quarter after six. He slammed the door behind him and said, "Big day today. Who wants breakfast?"

Kane stretched and said, "Me. I'll have a burrito."

Vidic said, "Croissant. Coffee."

Fletcher said, "I want sausage and biscuits. Paris?"

Paris shrugged. "I'm not very hungry. Maybe some yogurt. A little fruit."

Fletcher grimaced. "Sounds gross. But hey, your funeral. You heard what everyone else wants?"

Paris nodded.

"Good. Now go fetch. Be quick."

Paris shot daggers at Fletcher, hauled herself off the couch, and made for the door. Vidic waited until she was out of sight then jumped up and went after her. He looked at Fletcher as he hurried past and said, "Changed my mind. I want a pain au chocolat instead."

—

The woman's gaze dropped to Reacher's motel room floor. She said, "This is really embarrassing. Clearly I made a mistake. Now if I could just get my weapon back, I'll leave you alone. I won't disturb you again."

Reacher said, "I don't get it. Do I look like the man who killed your father?"

"Like I told you. I made a mistake. This isn't on you. I should have checked you out more carefully."

"Did your father live around here?"

"Look, assuming the ground won't open up and swallow me, which believe me I'm praying for right now, I just want to go. I'm mortified. And I'm wasting time. So please, give me my weapon. I'll get out of your hair. You'll never see me again."

The woman held out her hand. Her fingers were trembling. Her eyes were red. She wasn't telling the whole story. Reacher was certain of that. But he didn't believe she was lying. And he didn't see her as a threat. He hit the catch to release the magazine from her gun. Thumbed out the bullets and slipped them into his pocket. Checked that the chamber was empty. Reassembled the weapon. And handed it to her. He said, "The man who killed your father? I hope you find him."

—

Vidic slipped between his Jeep and Paris's Land Rover and ducked down so that he wouldn't be visible from the cave's entrance. Paris had been about to start her engine but instead she rolled down her window. She said, "What are you doing? Are you trying to get us caught?"

Vidic said, "Don't move. Give me a minute. If Fletcher comes out, stall him. Cover for me."

Vidic pulled out his phone and dialed the number for Reacher's motel. The call rang. And rang. Vidic pictured the clerk asleep in the back office. He imagined her waking up. Stretching. Remembering where she was. Recognizing the ringing sound. Then strolling to the reception counter like she was moving in slow motion. He was struggling to catch his breath. His heart was beating so hard he could hear it. Finally the clerk picked up. Vidic asked for room 20. There was a pause, a click, some more ringing, then Reacher's voice came on the line.

Vidic said, "Reacher? Listen. I've got to be quick. Two things. One, Fletcher's last job will be tomorrow morning, 4:00 a.m. , so you and I are going to hit his stash this afternoon. Maybe around 2:00 p.m. I'll call when I'm on my way to pick you up. Two, Fletcher has called in extra muscle. Four guys. Kane's buddies, so undoubtedly psychos. They've checked in to your motel. They have your description. So it's even more important than ever that you keep the drapes closed and don't leave the room. Understood?"

"Why did Fletcher bring in these extra guys? Because of Gibson? Or what happened in the kitchen, yesterday?"

"Neither. When Bowery disappeared Fletcher got twitchy. Turns out he was worried about getting jumped at the job, tomorrow. He had Kane call them a couple of days ago."

There was silence on the line for a moment, then Reacher said, "What does Kane look like?"

"What?"

"Describe Kane."

"I don't have—"

"Describe him."

"He's big. Scary-looking. Six-six. Three hundred pounds. Mad eyes. Hair kind of like yours."

"What's his first name?"

"Zach. Why?"

"No special reason."

"You…forget it. I've got to go. You, rest up. Be ready for this afternoon."

—

Reacher tucked the two guns into his waistband and left his room. This time he turned left, away from the motel office. He looped around the back of the building and continued for the full width of the diner so that when he emerged he approached its door from the opposite direction. He stepped inside. The woman who had tried to trick her way into his room was sitting in the nearest seat. The one with the view of the first nineteen motel rooms. Just as he had expected. She was wearing black leather boots with low heels. Jeans. A fitted black T-shirt. A tan leather jacket. And she had a small purse hanging from its shoulder strap across the back of her chair.

Reacher took the seat facing hers. He said, "Zach Kane."

The color drained from the woman's face. She said, "Who?"

"Zach Kane killed your father."

"Who told you?"

"No one. I joined the dots."

"How?"

"Four guys checked in to the hotel yesterday evening. They're Kane's associates. You followed them, hoping they'd lead you to him. You saw me. Apparently Kane looks similar. You jumped to the conclusion."

"The fact you beat the living…whatever out of some random lowlife and threw his body in the pig swill might have had something to do with that."

Reacher shrugged.

The woman thought for a moment. "Now I get it. You're looking for Kane, too. Are you a PI?"

"Yes, I'm looking for him. No, I'm not a PI. My name's Reacher." He held out his hand.

"Jenny Knight." She gave his hand a firm shake. "So why are you looking for him?"

"I'll come to that. But first, we have two problems."

"Only two? My luck must be improving."

"We can't go after him separately. There's too much chance of tripping each other up. Do that at a vital moment, one of us might not live to tell the tale."

"True. So what do you suggest?"

"Kane is only of peripheral interest to me. It's his boss and the rest of his crew I really want. Let me handle this. Stay out of my way. And I'll give Kane to you when I close their operation down."

Knight frowned. "I'll think about that. What else?"

"You were a cop?"

"What makes you think that?"

"The phone call from the clerk in the middle of the night. You put her up to that?"

"What if I did?"

"That's a classic cop trick. You thought Kane was in my room. He has a history of violence. You were trying to make him bolt. Run to a vehicle. Flee on foot. Whatever. You just wanted him out in the open. To gain the element of surprise. And reduce the risk to yourself. Because you have no one backing you up. You're too young to be retired. You don't seem like a quitter. You don't have a line-of-duty disability. Which means you were fired."

"You're wrong."

"Am I?"

"Absolutely. Because I wasn't fired. I'm on suspension. I'm a detective out of Phoenix, Arizona."

"You're on suspension because of Kane?"

Knight nodded. "My father was a cop. He was retired from the job and working security at a private gallery in Tempe. One night it got hit. He took a bullet in the chest. Got taken to the Emergency Room, unconscious. He came around for two minutes, a couple of hours before he died. I was there. He told me Kane was the shooter. He recognized him from his time on the job. Kane has a jacket two inches thick but nothing has ever stuck. Another detective caught the case but Kane disappeared off the map. Just vanished. The detective tried to get the Feds involved but they blew hot, then cold. In the end they wanted nothing to do with it so I ran with the case myself. Evenings. Weekends. Every spare minute I could find. My LT didn't like it. He said it was a conflict of interest. A distraction from other investigations. He told me to stop. I didn't, and here I am."

"I can't blame you. So what will you do when you find Kane?"

"I expect you want me to say something banal like make sure justice is done, or promise to turn him over to the local cops, unharmed. But you know what? I can't do that. What I'm going to do when I get my hands on the miserable son of a bitch is make sure he knows who I am, then shoot him in the gut and watch him die. Slowly. And in agony. That's the truth, but you're probably horrified now. In which case, so be it."

"I'm not judging." Reacher thought about his own response when someone murdered his brother. He was many things, but he wasn't a hypocrite. He said, "It's something else."

"Such as?"

"What if I told you that the FBI could be investigating Kane, after all? And they maybe lost a guy along the way?"

Knight leaned forward. "What makes you think that?"

"I'll explain in a minute. But until I know if it's true I'm not going to do anything that could spook these guys. I'm hoping that as a cop you'll respect that. Agree to do the same."

Knight took a moment. "Why should I trust you? You know a lot about cop tricks. Maybe a few have been used on you?"

Reacher shook his head. "Not used on me. Used by me."

"You're a cop? I don't believe it."

"Was. A military cop. For thirteen years."

"Get out of town. Where were you based?"

"Pretty much everywhere in the world the army has a presence."

"What rank?"

"Terminal at major."

"OK then." Knight nodded like she was acknowledging some kind of kinship. "So how are you going to find out if the FBI thing is true?"

"I know a guy at the Bureau. He's looking into it. I should hear pretty soon."

"That's good. But I'm not going to do nothing while you sit around waiting for an email from this buddy of yours. Assuming you can even trust what he says. Assuming he won't change his tune in ten minutes' time."

"We can trust him. He won't be emailing. And I won't be sitting around."

"Then what will you be doing?"

"Learning more about Kane and whoever he's in bed with. Making sure they don't hurt anyone. Making sure none of them vanish. Then if the FBI thing turns out to be bogus, I'll close them down."

"I can get behind that. On one condition."

"Go on."

"I'm not going to wait on the sidelines while you do the heavy lifting. We'll do it together."

"No."

"Yes. Look at you. Your arm is in a cast."

"That makes no difference."

"Of course it does. Listen. Finding Kane? I want to succeed. I have more skin in the game than you, I'm sure. But I'm not too proud to say I stand a better chance if I work with a partner. I'm hoping that as a former military cop you'll respect that. And admit you're in the same boat."