to do, as well. He glanced across at her in the gloom and saw her
looking steadily at him. A quizzical stare, calm, in control, faintly
superior, faintly disapproving. The confidence of youth. She met his
gaze. Held it for a long moment. Then she stuck out her cuffed right
hand, which jarred his left wrist, but it was an encouraging gesture.
He reached around and shook her hand and they smiled brief ironic
smiles together at their mutual formality.
“Holly Johnson,” she said.
She was assessing him carefully. He could see her eyes traveling
around his face. Then they flicked down to his clothing and back up to
his face. She smiled again, briefly, like she had decided he merited
some kind of courtesy.
“Nice to meet you,” she said.
He looked back at her. Looked at her face. She was a very
good-looking woman. Maybe twenty-six, twenty-seven. He looked at her
clothes. A line from an old song ran through his head: hundred dollar
dresses, that I ain’t paid for yet. He waited for the next line, but
it didn’t come. So he smiled back at her and nodded.
“Jack Readier,” he said. “Pleasure’s all mine, Holly, believe me.”
It was difficult to speak, because the truck was cruising noisily. The
sound of the engine was fighting with the roar from the road. Reacher
would have been happy to sit quiet for a while, but Holly wasn’t.
“I need to get rid of you,” she said.
A confident woman, well in control of herself. He made no reply.
Just glanced at her and glanced away. The next line was: cold,
cold-blooded woman. A dying fall, a sad poignant line. An old Memphis
Slim song. But the line was not right for her. Not right at all. This
was not a cold-blooded woman. He glanced over again and shrugged at
her. She was staring at him. Impatient with his silence.
“You understand exactly what’s happening?” she asked him.
He watched her face. Watched her eyes. She was staring straight at
him. Astonishment on her face. She thought she was stuck in there
with an idiot. She thought he didn’t understand exactly what was
happening.
“It’s pretty clear, right?” he said. “From the evidence?”
“What evidence?” she said. “It was all over in a split second.”
“Exactly,” he said. That’s all the evidence I need, right? Tells me
more or less what I need to know.”
He stopped talking and started resting again. Next opportunity to get
away would be the next time the truck stopped. Could be some hours
away. He felt he could be in for a long day. Felt he should be
prepared to conserve his resources.
“So what do you need to know?” the woman said.
Her eyes were steady on his.
“You’ve been kidnaped,” he said. “I’m here by accident.”
She was still looking at him. Still confident. Still thinking. Still
not sure whether or not she was cuffed to an idiot.
“It’s pretty clear, right?” he said again. “It wasn’t me they were
after.”
She made no reply. Just arched a fine eyebrow.
“Nobody knew I was going to be there,” he said. “I didn’t even know I
was going to be there. Until I got there. But it was a well planned
operation. Must have taken time to set up. Based on surveillance,
right? Three guys, one in the car, two on the street. The car was
parked exactly level. They had no idea where I was going to be. But
obviously they knew for sure where you were going to be. So don’t be
looking at me like I’m the idiot here. You’re the one made the big
mistake.”
“Mistake?” the woman said.
“You’re too regular in your habits,” Readier said. They studied your
movements, maybe two or three weeks, and you walked right into their
arms. They weren’t expecting anybody else to be there. That’s clear,
right? They only brought one set of handcuffs.”
He raised his wrist, which raised hers too, to make his point. The
woman went quiet for a long moment. She was revising her opinion of
him. Reacher rocked with the motion of the vehicle and smiled.
“And you should know better,” he said. “You’re a government agent of