Die Trying by Lee Child

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

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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.

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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