He had his own key to her lobby, and he went up in the elevator and knocked on her door. The peephole went dark and light again and the door opened and she was standing there, in jeans and a shirt, tall and slim and vital. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. But she wasn’t smiling at him.
“Hey, Jodie,” he said.
“There’s an FBI agent in my kitchen,” she replied.
“Why?”
“Why?” she repeated. “You tell me.”
He followed her into the apartment, through to the kitchen. The Bureau guy was a short young man with a wide neck. Blue suit, white shirt, striped tie. He was holding a cell phone up to his face, reporting Reacher’s arrival to somebody else.
“What do you want?” Reacher asked him.
“I want you to wait here, sir,” the guy said. “About ten minutes, please.”
“What’s this about?”
“You’ll find out, sir. Ten minutes, is all.”
Reacher felt like walking out, just to be contrary, but Jodie sat down. There was something in her face. Something halfway between concern and annoyance. The New York Times was open on the countertop. Reacher glanced at it.
“OK,” he said. “Ten minutes.”
He sat down, too. They waited in silence. It was nearer fifteen minutes than ten. Then the buzzer from the street sounded and the Bureau guy went to
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answer it. He clicked the door release and moved out to the hallway. Jodie sat still and passive, like a guest in her own apartment. Reacher heard the whine of the elevator. He heard it stop. He heard the apartment door open. He heard footsteps on the maple floor.
Alan Deerfield walked into the kitchen. He was in a dark raincoat with the collar turned up. He was moving energetically and he had sidewalk grit on the soles of his shoes and it made him loud and invasive.
“I got six people dead in my city,” he said. He saw the Times on the counter and walked over and folded it back to reveal the headline. “So I got a couple questions, naturally.”
Reacher looked at him. “What questions?”
Deerfield looked back. “Delicate questions.”
“So ask them.”
Deerfield nodded. “First question is for Ms. Jacob.”
Jodie stirred in her chair. Didn’t look up.
“What’s the question?” she said.
“Where have you been, the last few days?”
“Out of town,” she said. “On business.”
“Where out of town?”
“London. Client conference.”
“London, England?”
“As opposed to what other Londons?”
Deerfield shrugged. “London, Kentucky? London, Ohio? There’s a London somewhere in Canada too, I believe. Ontario, maybe.”
“London, England,” Jodie said.
“You got clients in London, England?”
Jodie was still looking at the floor. “We’ve got clients everywhere. Especially in London, England.”
Deerfield nodded. “You go by the Concorde?”
She looked up. “Yes I did, as a matter of fact.”
“Real quick, right?”
Jodie nodded. “Quick enough.”
“But expensive.”
“I guess.”
“But worth it for a partner on important business.”
Jodie looked at him. “I’m not a partner.”
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Deerfield smiled. “Even better, right? They put an associate on the Concorde, got to mean something. Must mean they like you. Must mean you’ll be a partner real soon. If nothing comes along and gets in the way.”
Jodie said nothing in reply.
“So, London,” Deerfield said. “Readier knew you were there, right?”
She shook her head. “No, I didn’t tell him.”
There was a pause.
“Scheduled trip?” Deerfield asked.
Jodie shook her head again. “Last-minute.”
“And Reacher didn’t know?”
“I already told you that.”
“OK,” Deerfield said. “Information is king, is what I say.”
“I don’t have to tell him where I go.”
Deerfield smiled. “I’m not talking about what information you give Reacher. I’m talking about what information I get out of a situation. Right now I’m getting he didn’t know where you were.”
“So?”
“That should have worried him. And it did worry him. Right after he got to Quantico, he was trying to get you on the phone. Office, home, mobile. That night, same thing again. Calling, calling, calling, couldn’t get you. A worried man.”
Jodie glanced up at Reacher. Concern in her face, maybe a little apology.