Get Back Jack Read Free Page B

enough.
    Gaspar turned the knob, pushed O’Donnell’s office door open and entered the interior lobby with Kim three steps behind.
    A middle-aged woman, maybe about seventy, give or take a decade, was seated behind the reception desk. She glanced up from her computer screen and peered over the bright, orange-framed readers perched on her nose. The readers magnified her flawless complexion. Her eyes rounded and she hesitated a moment too long, shooting a quick whiff of discomfort through Kim.
    The woman cleared her throat. In a voice that seemed to croak from disuse or maybe nerves, she said, “May I help you?”
    Kim nodded. “We’d like to see Mr. O’Donnell, please.”
    “Do you, uh, have an appointment?” Her left hand trembled as she reached to the side of her desk, maybe feeling for a calendar that wasn’t there.
    “No,” Gaspar said.
    “I’m afraid Mr. O’Donnell isn’t available.” The more she talked, the more Southern her accent became.
    “No problem. We’ll wait,” Gaspar said, settling himself into the closest chair and adopting his usual waiting posture. Legs outstretched, crossed at the ankles, hands clasped over his flat stomach, eyelids sinking, if not yet closed. He wasn’t sleeping, but if he sat there more than five minutes, he would be.
    The secretary cleared her throat again. “He, uh . . . .”
    “I’m sorry,” Gaspar said, glancing lazily around her desk, as if he were looking for a nameplate or a business card. “I didn’t catch your name. Mrs. . . . ?”
    Curiously, she didn’t fill in the blank. Maybe she’d noticed they hadn’t offered their names, either. Instead, she replied, “If you could just leave your contact information, that would probably be best.”
    Gaspar said, “Glad to wait. Go ahead with your work, Mrs. Droptini.” His eyes settled closed.
    Startled that Gaspar had somehow discovered her name, she said automatically, “Mrs. Droptini is my mother-in-law.”
    Gaspar grinned. “You prefer Myra Dale, then?”
    Myra Dale shifted uncomfortably in her chair and turned her attention to Kim, who smiled blandly as if she, too, was content to wait for O’Donnell’s appearance.
    Kim glanced around the small lobby, ignoring Myra Dale Droptini even as she could feel the woman watching her.
    Something was not right with the woman. Or the situation. Kim’s discomfort level rose as the Boss’s early morning warning about Reacher resurfaced. But at the moment, she saw very little out of the ordinary.
    What did she need to learn here? She didn’t know. Her entire assignment had been contained in a single thin file. Too thin. O’Donnell could fix that. He’d known Reacher reasonably well back in the day. O’Donnell could add some color, if nothing else, to her black-and-white knowledge.
    But would he? After the first few questions she’d prepared for him, she’d follow wherever the interview led. She expected to have plenty of time and to exhaust everything O’Donnell knew, even if he didn’t realize he knew it.
    Was it possible that Myra Dale Droptini knew anything useful about Reacher? She seemed like a woman who would know what was going on in her boss’s business. Kim made a mental note to ask Myra Dale after she questioned O’Donnell.
    O’Donnell’s private office down the interior hall was likely more spacious than the lobby, which was little more than an anteroom outfitted with two sets of armless chrome and black leather chairs separated by 12-inch glass-topped pedestal tables. There might be a small conference room, maybe another smallish space somewhere for a coffee pot. She sniffed. No coffee aroma floating around. Too bad.
    Kim had no access to banking records so she didn’t know how successful O’Donnell’s business actually was, but he seemed to be doing all right.
    The office suite was large enough for a solo private investigator in the nation’s capital. Class A space was notoriously pricey in DC; she didn’t hold it against him that