Die Trying by Lee Child

anything your old man ever did. He’d give his front-teeth for guts

like that. So would I. You’re way out of anybody’s shadow now, Holly.

Believe it.”

“I thought I was,” she said. “I felt like it. I really did. For a

while. But then when I saw him again, I felt just the same as I always

did. I called him Dad.”

“He is your dad,” Reacher said.

“I know,” she replied. That’s the problem.”

He was quiet for a long moment.

“So change your name,” he said. That might do it.”

He could feel her holding her breath.

“Is that a proposal?” she asked.

“It’s a suggestion,” he said.

“You think Holly Reacher sounds good?” she asked.

His turn to stay quiet for a long time. His turn to catch his breath.

And, finally, his turn to talk about the real problem.

“It sounds wonderful,” he said. “But I guess Holly McGrath sounds

better.”

She made no reply.

“He’s the lucky guy, right?” he said.

She nodded. A small motion of her head against his chest

“So tell him,” he said.

She shrugged in his arms.

“I can’t,” she said. “I’m nervous.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “He might have something similar to tell you.”

She looked up. He squinted down at her.

“You think so?” she asked.

“You’re nervous, he’s nervous,” Reacher said. “Somebody should say

something. I’m not about to do it for either of you.”

She squeezed him harder. Then she stretched up and kissed him. Hard

and long on the mouth.

Thank you,” she said.

“For what?” he asked.

“For understanding,” she said.

He shrugged. It wasn’t the end of the world. Just felt like it

“Coming?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“No,” he said.

She left him on the shoulder of US 93, right there in Idaho. He

watched her all the way back to the Night Hawk. Watched her climb the

short ladder. She paused and turned. Looked back at him. Then she

ducked up and in. The door closed. The rotor thumped. He knew he

would never see her again. His clothes tore at him and the dust

swirled all around him as the helicopter took off. He waved it away.

Watched it until it was lost to sight. Then he took a deep breath and

looked left and right along the empty highway. Friday, the Fourth of

July. Independence Day.

Saturday the fifth and Sunday the sixth, Yorke County was sealed oft

and secret army units were moving in and out around the clock. Air

artillery squads recovered the missile unit. They took it south in

four Chinooks. Quartermasters went in and recovered all the ordnance

they could find. They collected enough for a small war.

Medical corpsmen removed the bodies. They found the twenty men from

the missile unit in the cave. They found the skeletons Reacher had

crawled through. They found five mutilated bodies in another cave.

Dressed like workmen. Like builders or carpenters. They took Fowler

out of the command hut and Borken from the road in front of the

courthouse. They brought Milosevic down from the mountain bowl and

Brogan out of the small clearing west of the Bastion. They found

Jackson’s rough grave in the forest and dug him up. They laid eighteen

dead militiamen and one dead woman side by side on the rifle range and

helicoptered them away.

One of Garber’s military investigators flew in alone and took the hard

disk out of the financial computer and put it on a chopper for

transport to Chicago. Engineers moved in and dynamited the mine

entrances. Sappers moved into the Bastion and disabled the water

supply and tore down the power lines. They set fire to the huts and

watched as they burned. Late Sunday night, when the last of the smoke

was rising, they marched back to their choppers and lifted away

south.

Early Monday morning, Harland Webster was back in the oft-white parlor

inside the White House. Ruth Rosen was smiling at him and asking how

his holiday weekend had been. He was smiling back at her and saying

nothing. An hour later, the morning sun was rolling west to Chicago

and three agents were arresting Brogan’s girlfriend. They grilled her