Die Trying Read Free Page B

youth. She met his gaze. Held it for a long moment. Then she stuck out her cuffed right hand, which jarred his left wrist, but it was an encouraging gesture. He reached around and shook her hand and they smiled brief ironic smiles together at their mutual formality.
    â€œHolly Johnson,” she said.
    She was assessing him carefully. He could see her eyes traveling around his face. Then they flicked down to his clothing, and back up to his face. She smiled again, briefly, like she had decided he merited some kind of courtesy.
    â€œNice to meet you,” she said.
    He looked back at her. Looked at her face. She was a very good-looking woman. Maybe twenty-six, twenty-seven. He looked at her clothes. A line from an old song ran through his head: hundred-dollar dresses, that I ain’t paid for yet. He waited for the next line, but it didn’t come. So he smiled back at her and nodded.
    â€œJack Reacher,” he said. “Pleasure’s all mine, Holly, believe me.”
    It was difficult to speak, because the truck was cruising noisily. The sound of the engine was fighting with the roar from the road. Reacher would have been happy to sit quiet for a time, but Holly wasn’t.
    â€œI need to get rid of you,” she said.
    A confident woman, well in control of herself. He made no reply. Just glanced at her and glanced away. The next line was: cold, cold-blooded woman. A dying fall, a sad poignant line. An old Memphis Slim song. But the line was not right for her. Not right at all. This was not a cold-blooded woman. He glanced over again and shrugged at her. She was staring at him. Impatient with his silence.
    â€œYou understand exactly what’s happening?” she asked him.
    He watched her face. Watched her eyes. She was staring straight at him. Astonishment on her face. She thought she was stuck in there with an idiot. She thought he didn’t understand exactly what was happening.
    â€œIt’s pretty clear, right?” he said. “From the evidence?”
    â€œWhat evidence?” she said. “It was all over in a split second.”
    â€œExactly,” he said. “That’s all the evidence I need, right? Tells me more or less what I need to know.”
    He stopped talking and started resting again. Next opportunity to get away would be the next time the truck stopped. Could be some hours away. He felt he could be in for a long day. Felt he should be prepared to conserve his resources.
    â€œSo what do you need to know?” the woman said.
    Her eyes were steady on his.
    â€œYou’ve been kidnapped,” he said. “I’m here by accident.”
    She was still looking at him. Still confident. Still thinking. Still not sure whether or not she was cuffed to an idiot.
    â€œIt’s pretty clear, right?” he said again. “It wasn’t me they were after.”
    She made no reply. Just arched a fine eyebrow.
    â€œNobody knew I was going to be there,” he said. “I didn’t even know I was going to be there. Until I got there. But it was a well-planned operation. Must have taken time to set up. Based on surveillance, right? Three guys, one in the car, two on the street. The car was parked exactly level. They had no idea where I was going to be. But obviously they knew for sure where you were going to be. So don’t be looking at me like I’m the idiot here. You’re the one made the big mistake.”
    â€œMistake?” the woman said.
    â€œYou’re too regular in your habits,” Reacher said. “They studied your movements, maybe two or three weeks, and you walked right into their arms. They weren’t expecting anybody else to be there. That’s clear, right? They only brought one set of handcuffs.”
    He raised his wrist, which raised hers too, to make his point. The woman went quiet for a long moment. She was revising her opinion of him. Reacher rocked with the motion of the vehicle and smiled.
    â€œAnd you