Page 58 of In Too Deep

Knight closed her eyes and nudged him with her elbow.

There was still no response.

Knight jabbed harder. She held her breath and moved her face closer. She saw that Bowery’s chest was still rising and falling. He was alive, but consciousness had finally deserted him.

—

Knight realized thatthe ride had become smoother. The van’s heading was straighter. It was no longer careening around bends or racing over sudden crests. She was growing used to Bowery’s stench. She risked sitting up. Her stomach felt more settled. So she raised her hands. Started to run them along the metal fins that lined the walls. She just needed one stretch with a jagged edge. She didn’t know that the guys who were up front, driving, were the ones Bowery had described with the aprons and the scalpels. Not for sure. But she had a strong suspicion, and no desire to have it confirmed.

—

Paris parked onthe gravel driveway outside her home. She took her favorite spot. The one she always used except for when Kane got to it first. He knew she liked it so he blocked it whenever he could, just to annoy her. She wasn’t going to miss that kind of nonsense. But she was going to miss the house. This was going to be the last timeshe set foot in it. Maybe Fletcher had been onto something about the way nostalgia gets triggered.

Paris turned and took her laptop from a tote bag wedged behind the passenger seat, then climbed down. She crossed to the door, unlocked it with the keypad, and led the way inside. She climbed the stairs and paused outside her room. She looked at Reacher and said, “Sorry. You can’t come in. Not for a minute.”

Reacher said, “Why not?”

“My ledger is hidden. No one can see where.”

“You’re leaving this house. You’re never coming back. Why would it matter if I see your hiding place?”

She glared at him. “Fine. Come in. But stay back. Don’t get in the way.”

Reacher stood by the door while Paris dropped her laptop on the bed and then rolled up her rug. She closed straight in on the loose floorboard and pried it up. Leaned into the cavity. Retrieved the notebook. Crossed to the bookshelf. Took down the third volume from the left on the top shelf. It was a book on military strategy from Rome to Vietnam. Then she collected her notepad and pen from the table and returned to the bed. She sat down, cross-legged. Flipped the ledger over to its back cover. Opened it. Checked the groups of digits in one of the columns she had created. In its second row. And cross-referenced them with pages of the book. Reacher watched closely. He realized she was picking atypical entries. Tables, mainly, plus a few sets of chapter endnotes. Which meant she wasn’t selecting whole words. Just numbers and letters. The kind of things you need if you want to re-create an email address, he guessed.

When Paris was done she opened her laptop and selected her email program. She began a new message. Entered the address, then typed rapidly for a couple of minutes. She read what she’d written then turned the screen so that Reacher could see.

Reacher shook his head and said, “No. I’ve changed my mind. There’s a problem. If the property guy sees this he’ll talk to his hired help. They’ll realize that we’re bluffing.”

“We’re not. If they don’t let Ivan go I’ll send that document out in a heartbeat. I’ll dig up more dirt and send that, too.”

“Not about that. About the timing. Our goal is obvious. We want our people back. Releasing the material is a means to that end, not the end in itself. They’ll see that. So if they demand twenty-four hours to comply, what can we do? Forty-eight hours? We’d have to agree. Which would give them plenty of time to set up an ambush, like they must have done with Bowery.”

“So are we giving up?”

“No. We’re streamlining. I want you to send them something simpler. A picture of the snippet of information that we have with your phone number splashed across it.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“Why?”

“The lack of context will imply a question. Humans are hardwired to seek answers. So he’ll call the number. I’ll talk to him. Convince him of the urgency.”

“You sure that will work?”

Reacher nodded. “One question first. Is it possible to preset an email to send at a certain time in the future?”

“Of course.”

“OK, then. Put the image together.”

Paris turned back to her keyboard and trackpad and after a couple of minutes’ work she showed Reacher the screen again. This time he said, “Good. Go ahead. Send it.”

Paris hit a key. “Done. Do you think he’ll call?”

“He will. In the meantime, here’s another question. The little iconsyou get on computer screens that represent documents. Can you name them anything you want?”

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