Page 46 of In Too Deep

And saw Reacher leaning against the wall.

—

Fletcher’s uninjured lefthand darted toward his waistband.

Reacher pushed away from the wall and said, “Stop.”

Fletcher’s hand was in limbo, hovering an inch above the grip of his Ruger.

“Use your thumb and finger only. Take it out. Drop it. Kick it away.”

“You’re not in a position to give orders.”

“Aren’t I?”

“No. For a start, you don’t have a gun. I do.”

“Does that help you?”

“Obviously.”

“Remember last time we met? You had two guns. I was cuffed to a table. How did that work out for you?”

“Fool me once…”

“I’d fool you a hundred times if I could stand your company.”

Anger flashed across Fletcher’s face. His hand moved. His fingers closed around the Ruger’s grip. Reacher stepped forward. He pinned Fletcher’s hand, still holding the gun, with his left hand. But then he was short of options. He couldn’t hit Fletcher with his right, because of the cast. He couldn’t headbutt him because of the concussion. So he drove his right knee up into Fletcher’s abdomen. It was an inelegant move. But it was effective. It rocked Fletcher up onto his toes for a moment and forced all the air out of his lungs. He gasped for breath. Gravity took over and dropped his heels back onto the floor. Reacher let go of Fletcher’s hand, dodged around behind him, and smashed the side of his foot into the back of Fletcher’sknees. The joints jackknifed and he crashed down, then flopped forward. Reacher stepped around and kicked him in the side of his head.

The endgame was the same as when they first met. And it had the same result. Fletcher, facedown on the ground, still as a fallen tree.

Reacher pulled Fletcher’s arms up behind his back and secured his wrists with a set of plasticuffs he had taken from the improvised crime scene kit in the trunk of Knight’s Toyota. He secured Fletcher’s ankles, then checked his pockets. The pickings were slim this time. There was no new wallet. No cash. Just a phone and one key. It was on a leather fob with a Cadillac dealer’s contact information embossed in gold leaf. Reacher dropped it on the floor and retrieved Fletcher’s Ruger. He released the magazine, put it in his pocket, and worked the slide to make sure the chamber was empty. Then he moved to the door. Checked that the corridor was clear. And made his way to the first room on the opposite side of the staircase.

—

Vidic wasn’t eventrying to match the labels on the crates in his room with the list Fletcher had given him. He had no interest in the sculptures that were packed inside them. He didn’t care about their value, or the ease of selling them. He had no intention of taking any with him. All he cared about was finding a crate that was a suitable weight and size. He needed one that was light enough to carry in front of his body, supported with just his left hand, and large enough to conceal the gun he would be holding behind it in his right. He would identify the crate then listen to Fletcher’s progress. Let him make two or three trips down the stairs and back up, hauling boxes of jewelry or diamonds or whatever he had set his sights on. Then, when he figured Fletcher would have settled into the routine and his edge would have dulled, he would follow him downstairs. Staybehind him as he approached the front door. And wait for him to lean down and add his current armful to his pile of spoils.

What happened next would depend on Kane. If he was in the hallway at the same time, Vidic would shoot him first. He was the bigger threat. That was for sure. But if Kane wasn’t there, Vidic would put a bullet in Fletcher’s chest, then wait. Kane would hear the sound and come rushing in to investigate. A target so big in a space so enclosed, at such short range—it would be the easiest shot Vidic had ever taken. It would be impossible to miss. After that he would just have to stage the scene, which wouldn’t be difficult. He would have to take a bullet from each guy’s gun, assuming their magazines were full to start with, place the weapons in their hands, and make sure they were in a position to have shot each other. Two minutes’ work. Three, tops. Then he would have plenty of time to get to the motel and collect Reacher. Take him to the cave. And open the safe.

Vidic smiled. He had been dismayed when he realized that the huge stranger had survived the car wreck. And now the guy was going to gift him two million dollars. God truly does move in mysterious ways.

Vidic heard a sound behind him. It was soft. High pitched. Metallic. A door hinge opening. He spun around. Fletcher interfering wasn’t something he had anticipated. They had worked a couple of jobs together recently and the M.O. had been the same. Their roles were agreed in advance. They carried them out. They left. The only exceptions he’d heard about had been when something went catastrophically wrong, like when O’Connell had been shot by a security guard. But there were no security guards here. Vidic was certain about that.

“What…” he started to say, then a sudden realization stilled his tongue before he could form another word.

Reacher moved to within an arm’s length before he spoke. “This is the part where you swear that it was all Fletcher’s idea. He sprunga change of plan on you at the last minute. You tried to tell me. You couldn’t, through no fault of your own. But there’s no need to worry because you’ll find a way to hold up your end. I’ll get what you promised and we’ll all live happily ever after. Right?”

Vidic’s jaw was slack. His mouth sagged open but he didn’t speak.

Reacher said, “But here’s the problem. I don’t have the stomach for any more of your bullshit.”

Reacher raised his right arm. Vidic instinctively leaned away. He started to lift his left hand, ready to attempt a block. Then Reacher pulled his right shoulder back and swung his left fist out and around, accelerating all the way through its arc until it crashed into Vidic’s temple. Vidic cartwheeled sideways, tumbling over a waist-high stack of crates, crushing another, and landing, crumpled, pressed up against an enormous jade Buddha that had been nestling inside.

Reacher moved to the side of the door and listened. No footsteps came racing up the stairs. Not heavy. Not light. He waited another minute to be sure, then crossed back to Vidic and checked his pockets. The contents were standard fare. Keys. Phone. And wallet. The only thing that interested Reacher was the stack of driver’s licenses tucked away in a section designed for coins. There were five. Reacher spread them out on the ground. Each had an identical photo of Vidic, a gentle smile on his face, taken straight on to soften the distinctive shape of his head. Each was issued in a different state. One was from Michigan. One from Alabama. Washington. Nevada. Rhode Island. And each had a different name. Cameron Archer. Daniel Ings. Dean Saunders. Dalian Atkinson. And Kevin Richardson. Reacher examined each in turn. He was no expert but he figured they looked pretty authentic. He gathered the IDs up, then replaced them. He figured the FBI would be interested when they finally showed up. They might have questions about where the licenses had come from. And they would definitely want to know what else they’d been used for.

Reacher secured Vidic’s wrists and ankles with plasticuffs, took the bullets from his gun, then left the room. He drew his Glock and started down the stairs. Two down, two to go, he figured. Kane and Paris were still unaccounted for. According to the floor plan in the presentation he had seen, two other rooms were designated for storing valuable contraband. The dining room, for wine. And the living room, for paintings. If the other information was correct, the wine wouldn’t be there yet, and the paintings were the most valuable category. So it made sense that Kane and Paris would be working together in the living room.

Reacher decided to clear the other rooms first, to be safe. He started in the kitchen. The room was empty. There were no people. No crates stacked up on the floor. No appliances parked on the countertops. No dishes lined up, waiting to be washed. The only thing not fixed to the wall or the floor was a wooden rack hanging from the ceiling above an island counter. A bunch of copper pans was attached to it with S-shaped hooks. Reacher had seen similar collections before. He had never been sure if they served any purpose. The fact that these had been left behind when the rest of the kitchen clutter had been taken away made him think they were just for decoration.

---