bridge and took two rooms in the boarding house. Then they
headed for the grocery store to get dinner ingredients. The sun
was gone and the temperature was below freezing. There was
377
snow in the air again. Big feathery flakes were drifting around,
reluctant to settle. They swirled and hung in the air and rose
back up like tiny birds.
The breakfast counter was all closed down, but the woman in
the store offered to microwave something from the freezer
cabinet. She seemed to assume Reacher and Neagley were
a Secret Service advance detail. Everybody seemed to know
Armstrong was expected at the service. She heated up some
meat pies and some slushy vegetables. They ate them at the
darkened counter. They tasted as good as field rations. The
woman wouldn’t take money for them.
The rooms in the boarding house were clean, as advertised.
They had walls panelled with pine boards. Rag rugs on the
floors. One single bed in each, with flowery counterpanes
washed so many times they were nearly transparent. There was
a bathroom at the far end of the corridor. Reacher let Neagley
take the room nearer to it. Then she joined him in his room
for a spell, because she was restless and wanted to talk. They
sat side by side on the bed, because there was no other furniture.
‘We’ll be going up against a prepared position,’ she said.
qhe two of us against two bozos,’ Reacher replied. ‘You
worried now?’
‘It’s gotten harder.’
I’ell me again,’ he said. ‘I’m not making you do this, am I?’
‘You can’t do it alone.’
He shook his head. ‘I could do it alone one-handed with my
head in a bag.’
‘We know nothing about them.’
‘But we can make some kind of an assessment. The tall guy in
Bismarck is the shooter, and the other guy watches his back
and drives. Big brother, little brother. There’ll be a lot of
loyalty. It’s a brother thing. This whole deal is a brother thing.
Explaining the motivation to somebody who wasn’t close would
be hard. You can’t just walk up to a stranger and say hey, I want
to shoot a guy because his dad threatened to put a stick up my
ass and I had to beg him not to.’
Neagley said nothing.
‘I’m not asking you to participate,’ Reacher said.
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Neagley smiled. ‘You’re an idiot. I’m worried about you, not
me.’
‘Nothing’s going to happen to me,’ Reacher said. ‘I’m going to
die an old man in some lonely motel bed.’
Fhis all is a brother thing for you too, isn’t it?’
He nodded. ‘Has to be. I don’t really give a damn about
Armstrong. I liked Froelich, but I would never have known her
except for Joe.’
‘Are you lonely?’
‘Sometimes. Not usually.’
She moved her hand, very slowly. It started an inch from his
hand. She made the inch last like a million miles. Her fingers
moved imperceptibly over the washed-out counterpane until
they were a fraction from his. Then they lifted and moved more,
until they were directly over his and just a fraction above. It was
like there was a layer of air between their hands, compressed
so hard it was warm and liquid. She floated her hand on the air
and kept it motionless. Then she pressed harder and brought it
down and her fingers touched the backs of his fingers, very
lightly. She turned her elbow so her hand lay precisely aligned.
Then she pushed down harder. Her palm felt warm. Her fingers
were long and cool. Their tips lay on his knuckles. They moved
and traced the lines and scars and tendons. They raked down
between his. He turned his hand over. She pressed her palm
into his. Laced her fingers through his fingers and squeezed.
He squeezed back.
He held her hand for five long minutes. Then she slowly
pulled it away. Stood up and stepped to the door. Smiled.
‘See you in the morning,’ she said.
He slept badly and woke up at five, worried about the endgame.
Complications crowded in on him. He threw back the covers
and slipped out of bed. Dressed in the dark and walked down