Page 27 of In Too Deep

“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 gazedropped 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 betweenhis 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, 4:00a.m., so you and I are going to hit his stash this afternoon. Maybe around 2:00p.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 thetwo 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?”

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