Page 21 of The Secret

“The hell was that?” the guy spluttered.

Reacher said, “Training.”

“What?”

“Like with a dog.”

“You’re saying I’m a dog?”

“I read somewhere, you have a dog and it misbehaves, you do something it doesn’t like. Then it’ll learn to mend its ways. Now, you’re clearly not as smart as an average dog. Probably not as smart as a stupid dog. Probably a dog that started out really dumb and then had half of its brain removed is still smarter than you. So maybe I should stick around. Become your personal trainer. Put this tub to work whenever you act like a jackass.”

The guy frowned and shook his head. Droplets of water flew in a wide circle like he was a poodle that had been caught in the rain. He was quiet for a moment. Then his frown turned into a scowl. “Enough,” he barked. “I’m going to kill you. I’m going to crush every bone in your body.”

“You think?” Reacher was holding the tub low in front, base toward him, angled at about forty-five degrees.

“I know.”

Reacher glanced down at the tub then ghosted across about a foot to his left. “You sure you’re not going to break your own hand?”

“No. I’m going to break your face.”

“Are you?” Reacher took a half step back and said, “Are there any bookies in the house? My money’s on the lobotomized dog. That’s for sure.”

The guy flung himself forward and launched a punch straight at Reacher’s face. No technique. No finesse. Just a whole lot of weight and momentum and fury. In some circumstances, that could have served him well. But not that night. Because Reacher stepped aside. Away from the unlit iron pipe he had been standing in front of. The guy’s fist slammed right into it. His knuckles shattered. His fingers broke. All kinds of little bones in his hand and wrist and forearm were smashed. Tendons tore. Ligaments ripped. And this time he didn’t make a sound. The pain took care of that. It caused him to faint, right there on the spot. His knees buckled. His legs folded. He flopped backward and landed on the ground with his head six inches from the little umbrella that had fallen from the drink he had made the waiter spill a few minutes earlier.

Reacher carried the tub back to the bar and set it down.

The bartender said, “No charge.”

Reacher didn’t let go of the tub right away. He was thinking about a similar situation that had led to him getting busted back to captain. He said, “Anyone asks, who hurt that guy?”

“No one. He hurt himself.”

“Correct answer.”

Chapter9

Michael Rymer ate breakfast onthe deck behind his house, alone, as usual. He didn’t hurry. He had no need. His hurrying days were behind him. He was retired. Happily so. He had no family. No one to mold his days around. Not since his fourth wife had left him nearly a decade ago. All he had to do was soak up some early-morning sun along with his oatmeal and coffee then make his way down to his boathouse and unmoorPegasus. His pride and joy. A day’s fishing in the lake lay ahead of him, followed by a bottle of wine and a movie on his VHS player to fill his evening. It hadn’t always been this way. Far from it, in fact. But these days life was treating him well. He was under no illusions about that.

Rymer was halfway to his favorite spot to drop anchor—where he could be sure the largemouth bass would bite and the view of the Rockies never failed to take his breath away—when he saw something he wasn’t expecting. Another boat. A forty-footer. The owners of the other half-dozen properties scattered around the lakeshore generally only used their houses—and boats—in the summer, andoccasionally for the holidays. The rest of the year he could pretty much guarantee he would be alone on the water. The way he liked it. He considered changing course. Finding a more secluded spot. But something about the other boat bothered him. The way it was moving. It seemed to be drifting aimlessly. Not under way. And not at anchor. For a moment he wondered if it could somehow have broken loose from a neighbor’s dock during the night and been blown all the way out there by the wind. Then a person appeared from its wheelhouse. A woman. She started waving. But not in a friendly way. Both arms were windmilling wildly over her head. She was clearly in some kind of trouble. Rymer leaned on the throttle and moved in to investigate.

As he drew closer, Rymer recognized the boat.The Duchess. It belonged to a couple from Denver. He had never bothered to learn their names. He thought they might be doctors. But he didn’t recognize the woman who was on board. She looked like she could be in her late twenties. She was slim, like she kept herself fit, and her dark hair was pulled back in a practical, no-nonsense style. A relative of the doctors, maybe? Or a family friend? Presumably someone who had permission to be there, anyway. Rymer had gotten caught up in a lot of crazy things in his life but he’d never heard of anyone joyriding in a leisure boat on a mountain lake that was so remote it was virtually impossible to find unless you already knew where it was. He dropped a row of fenders over the gunwale, tied them to the cleats, and easedPegasusup alongside the stricken vessel.

Rymer called out, “Everything OK?”

The woman clutched her head in her hands. She said, “Oh my goodness, I’m so embarrassed. I don’t know what to do. The engine just stopped and I can’t get it to start again and I don’t know howthe anchor works and the boat keeps floating around all over the place. Can you help me? Please?”

“You’re out here on your own?”

The woman nodded. “Claudia and Andreas are letting me use their house for a couple of weeks. They said I could takeThe Duchessout anytime I wanted. But then they also said it was easy to drive. I feel like a total idiot.”

“Don’t worry.” Rymer took a coil of line from the bow ofPegasusand tossed it so that it wound up lying across the raised prow ofThe Duchess. He took another from near the stern, handed it to the woman, jumped over, and landed next to her. He took the rope and secured it to a cleat, then did the same with the line at the bow. “I’m sure it’s no big problem. We’ll get you up and running in no time.”

The Duchesswas older thanPegasus.It had probably started life as a fishing boat, hauling in loads of lobsters or crabs in shallow coastal waters. Now its wooden hull was painted white with blue stripes here and there and comfy chairs had been added to the open section behind the wheelhouse where the catch would have been carried. A red life buoy stood out against the bright paint near the wheelhouse door and a mess of ropes and lines was strewn around all over the deck. Rymer shook his head at the chaos and took a step toward the trapdoor that covered the engine compartment. Then some of the ropes started to move. They seethed across the shiny surface like they were alive. Wrapped themselves around his feet. Whipped up around his ankles and cinched in tight. His ankle bones ground together. He almost lost his balance. He recovered. But a moment later he crashed down onto his back. Something had heaved on the rope, hard. It felt like he’d somehow gotten hitched to a stampeding horse. Most of the breath was knocked out of his body. He struggled to lift his head and saw it wasn’tsomethingthatwas in control of the rope.It wassomeone.Another woman. Almost identical to the one who had asked for his help, but maybe two or three years older. She must have been crouching on the far side of the wheelhouse.

The new woman moved in close, gripped the rope with both hands, and heaved Rymer’s legs off the deck. The first woman leaned down and slid her hands under his armpits. She lifted his torso. Moved him around so that his head was pointed away fromPegasus.Rymer was struggling for air. He didn’t understand what was happening. Then the women bundled him toward the vacant side of the boat. The original woman hauled his head a little higher then dumped him down with his shoulders on the gunwale. She rolled him so that he was facing down, staring at the water. And both women pushed and jockeyed and shoved. He slid across the wooden rail until it reached his waist. Then he pivoted forward, slamming his palms against the outer hull to avoid smashing into it face-first and winding up with the top of his head an inch above the water line.

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