Make Me Read Free Page A

He’s doing it block by block.”

Chapter 3
    The diner was clean and pleasant and attractively decorated, but it was above all else a working place, designed to swap calories for money as fast as possible. Reacher took a two-top in the far right-hand corner, and he sat with his back to the angle, so he had the whole room in front of him. About half the tables were taken, mostly by people who seemed to be fueling up ahead of a long day of physical labor. A waitress came by, busy but professionally patient, and Reacher ordered his default breakfast, which was pancakes, eggs, and bacon, but most of all coffee, first and always.
    The waitress told him the establishment had a bottomless cup policy.
    Reacher welcomed that news.
    He was on his second mug when the woman from the railroad came in, alone.
    She stood for a second, as if unsure, and then she looked all around, and saw him, and headed straight for him. She slid into the empty chair opposite. Up close and in the daylight she looked better than the night before. Dark lively eyes, and some kind of purpose and intelligence in her face. But some kind of worry, too.

    She said, “Thanks for the knock on the door.”
    Reacher said, “My pleasure.”
    She said, “My friend wasn’t on the morning train either.”
    He said, “Why tell me?”
    “You know something.”
    “Do I?”
    “Why else get off the train?”
    “Maybe I live here.”
    “You don’t.”
    “Maybe I’m a farmer.”
    “You’re not.”
    “I could be.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Why not?”
    “You weren’t carrying a bag, when you got out of the train. That’s about the polar opposite of being rooted to the same patch of land for generations.”
    Reacher paused a beat and said, “Who exactly are you?”
    “Doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is who you are.”
    “I’m just a guy passing through.”
    “I’m going to need more than that.”
    “And I’m going to need to know who’s asking.”
    The woman didn’t reply. The waitress came by, with his plate. Pancakes, eggs, and bacon. There was syrup on the table. The waitress refilled his coffee. Reacher picked up his silverware.
    The woman from the railroad put a business card on the table. She pushed it across the sticky wood. It had a government seal on it. Blue and gold.
    Federal Bureau of Investigation.
    Special Agent Michelle Chang.
    Reacher said, “That’s you?”
    “Yes,” she said.
    “I’m pleased to meet you.”

    “Likewise,” she said. “I hope.”
    “Why is the FBI asking me questions?”
    “Retired,” she said.
    “Who is?”
    “I am. I am no longer an FBI agent. The card is old. I took some with me when I left.”
    “Is that allowed?”
    “Probably not.”
    “Yet you showed it to me.”
    “To get your attention. And for credibility. I’m a private investigator now. But not the sort that takes pictures in hotels. I need you to understand that.”
    “Why?”
    “I need to know why you came here.”
    “You’re wasting time. Whatever else your problem is, I’m just a coincidence.”
    “I need to know if you’re here to work. We could be on the same side. We could both be wasting time.”
    “I’m not here to work. And I’m on nobody’s side. I’m just a passerby.”
    “You sure?”
    “Hundred percent.”
    “Why would I believe you?”
    “I don’t care if you believe me.”
    “Look at it from my point of view.”
    Reacher said, “What were you before you joined the Bureau?”
    Chang said, “I was a police officer in Connecticut. A patrol cop.”
    “That’s good. Because I was a military cop. As it happens. So we’re brother officers. In a way. Take my word as a gentleman. I’m a coincidence.”
    “What kind of military cop?”
    Reacher said, “The army kind.”
    “What did you do for them?”

    “Mostly what they told me to. Some of everything. Criminal investigation, usually. Fraud, theft, homicide, and treason. All the things folks do, if you let them.”
    “What’s your