mountains, and the truck wasn’t laboring up any grades. Could be in
Nebraska or South Dakota. Maybe he was going to pass right by Mount
Rushmore, second time in his life. Could have kept on past
Minneapolis, into North Dakota. Eight hundred miles from Chicago,
anywhere along a giant arc drawn across the continent.
The light coming in through the pellet holes had been gone for hours
when the truck slowed and steered right. Up a ramp. Holly stirred and
turned her head. Looked straight at Reacher. Questions in her eyes.
Reacher shrugged back and waited. The truck paused and swung a right.
Cruised down a straight road, then hung a left, a right, and carried on
straight, slower. Reacher sat up and found his shirt. Shrugged
himself into it. Holly sat up.
“Another hideout,” she said. This is a well planned operation,
Reacher.”
This time it was a horse farm. The truck bumped down a long track and
turned. Backed up. Reacher heard one of the guys getting out. His
door slammed. The truck lurched backward into another building.
Reacher heard the exhaust noise beat against the walls. Holly smelled
horse smell. The engine died. The other two guys got out. Reacher
heard the three of them grouping at the rear of the truck. Their key
slid into the lock. The door cracked open. The shotgun poked in
through the gap. This time, not pointing upward. Pointing level.
“Out,” Loder called. The bitch first. On its own.”
Holly froze. Then she shrugged at Reacher and slid across the
mattresses. The door snapped wide open and two pairs of hands
IftQ
seized her and dragged her out. The driver moved into view, aiming the
shotgun straight in at Reacher. His finger was tight on the trigger.
“Do something, asshole,” he said. “Please, just give me a damn
excuse.”
Reacher stared at him. Waited five long minutes. Then the shotgun
jabbed forward. A Clock appeared next to it. Loder gestured. Reacher
moved slowly forward toward the two muzzles. Loder leaned in and
snapped a handcuff onto his wrist. Looped the chain into the free half
and locked it. Used the chain to drag him out of the truck by the arm.
They were in a horse barn. It was a wooden structure. Much smaller
than the cow barn at their previous location. Much older. It came
from a different generation of agriculture. There were two rows of
stalls flanking an aisle. The floor was some kind of cobbled stone.
Green with moss.
The central aisle was wide enough for horses, but not wide enough for
the truck. It was backed just inside the door. Reacher saw a frame of
sky around the rear of the vehicle. A big, dark sky. Could have been
anywhere. He was led like a horse down the cobbled aisle. Loder was
holding the chain. Stevie was walking sideways next to Reacher. His
Glock was jammed high up against Reacher’s temple. The driver was
following, with the shotgun pressed hard into Reacher’s kidney. It
bumped with every step. They stopped at the end stall, farthest from
the door. Holly was chained up in the space opposite. She was wearing
a handcuff, right wrist, chain looped through the spare half into an
iron ring bolted into the back wall of the stall.
The two guys with the guns fanned out in a loose arc and Loder shoved
Reacher into his stall. Opened the cuff with the key. Looped the
chain through the iron ring bolted into the timber on the back wall,
looped it again, twice, and relocked it into the cuff. He pulled at it
and shook it to confirm it was secure.
“Mattresses,” Reacher said. “Bring us the mattresses out of the
truck.”
Loder shook his head, but the driver smiled and nodded.
“OK,” he said. “Good idea, asshole.”
He stepped up inside and dragged the queen-size out. Struggled with it
all the way down the aisle and flopped it into Holly’s stall. Kicked
it straight.
Tin
The bitch gets one,” he said. “You don’t.”
He started laughing and the other two joined in. They strolled away
down the aisle. The driver pulled the truck forward out of the barn