Die Trying by Lee Child

railing. The ugly driver took three steps nearer and started smiling,

staring at her breasts again. She felt naked and revolted under his

gaze.

“Your choice, bitch,” the leader said.

She heard Reacher moving in his stall.

“No, it’s your choice,” she heard him call to the guy. “We need to be

a little mutual here. Co-operative, right? You want us to get back in

your truck, you need to make it worth our while.”

His voice was calm and low. Holly stared across at him. Saw him

sitting there, chained up, unarmed, facing a loaded automatic weapon,

totally powerless by any reasonable definition of the word, three

hostile men staring down at him.

“We need some breakfast,” Reacher said. Toast, with grape jelly. And

coffee, but make it a lot stronger than last night’s crap, OK? Good

coffee is very important to me. You need to understand that. Then put

a couple of mattresses in the truck. One queen size, one twin. Make

us a sofa in there. Then we’ll get in.”

There was total silence. Holly glanced between the two men. Reacher

was fixing the leader with a calm, level gaze from the fiQ

floor. His blue eyes never blinked. The leader was staring down at

him. Tension visible in the air. The driver had torn his gaze away

from her body and was looking at Reacher. Anger in his eyes. Then the

leader snapped around and nodded the other two out of the barn with

him. Holly heard the door locking behind them.

“You eat toast?” Reacher said to her.

She was too breathless to answer.

“When they bring it, send it back,” he said. “Make them do it over.

Say it’s too pale or too burnt or something.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

“Psychology,” Reacher said. “We need to start getting some dominance

here. Situation like this, it’s very important.”

She stared at him.

“Just do it, OK?” he said, calmly.

She did it. The jumpy guy brought the toast. It was just about

perfect, but she rejected it. She looked at it with the disdain she’d

use on a sloppy balance sheet and said it was too well done. She was

standing with all her weight on one foot, looking like a mess, dung all

over her peach Armani, but she managed enough haughty contempt to

intimidate the guy. He went back to the farmhouse kitchen and made

more.

It came with a pot of strong coffee and Holly and Reacher ate their

separate breakfasts, chains clanking, twenty feet apart, while the

other two guys hauled mattresses into the barn. One queen, one twin.

They pulled them up into the back of the truck and laid the queen out

on the floor and stood the twin at right angles to it, up against the

back of the cab bulkhead. Holly watched them do it and felt a whole

lot better about the day. Then she suddenly realized exactly where

Reacher’s psychology had been aimed. Not just at the three kidnapers.

At her too. He didn’t want her to get into a fight. Because she’d

lose. He’d risked doing what he’d done to defuse a hopeless

confrontation. She was amazed. Totally amazed. She thought blankly:

for Christ’s sake, this guy’s got it ass-backward. He’s trying to take

care of me.

“You want to tell us your names?” Reacher asked, calmly. “We’re

spending some time together, we can be a little civilized about it,

right?”

Holly saw the leader just looking at him. The guy made no reply.

“We’ve seen your faces,” Readier said. Telling us your names isn’t

going to do you any harm. And we might as well try to get along.”

The guy thought about it and nodded.

“Loder,” he said.

The little jumpy guy shifted feet.

“Stevie,” he said.

Reacher nodded. Then the ugly driver realized all four were looking at

him. He ducked his head.

“I’m not telling you my name,” he said. “Hell should I?”

“And let’s be real clear,” the guy called Loder said. “Civilized is

not the same thing as friendly, right?”

Holly saw him aim his Clock at Reacher’s head and hold it there for a