When the captain announced they’d begun the initial descent, she stashed her electronics, tightened her seatbelt, and gripped both armrests, prepared, as always, for the worst.
Twenty minutes later, the plane descended through the clouds and set down on the foggy tarmac, on schedule and without mishap, which was always a miracle to her. Flying was one of her least favorite activities. She was always relieved to have her feet firmly on the ground.
As the plane taxied to the gate, her mind returned to the job at hand.
Reacher’s contact back then had been the local sheriff, Elizabeth Deveraux. She was now the mayor. She was also expecting Kim to show up in her office on time tomorrow morning. Kim glanced at her watch. So far, so good.
She’d flown into Memphis before and had been stuck there a couple of times. The terminal was easily navigable and cleverly decorated with music themes. She knew exactly where to go.
After she disembarked, she rolled her travel case and laptop past an oversized guitar painted with tigers toward the rental car desk where she picked up her keys.
In the rainy parking lot, she found the Lexus SUV easily enough, stowed her bags, adjusted the seat and mirrors, and picked up US Highway 72 outside the airport toward Carter’s Crossing, which was about ninety miles east.
She’d arrive long before her scheduled meeting with Mayor Deveraux. Which meant she’d have time for a nice dinner, maybe even a glass of wine or two, followed by a solid night’s sleep. So far, this trip was shaping up to be better than she’d expected.
Plenty of time on the foggy route to Carter’s Crossing to think about the contents of the files on that jump drive. Plenty of time once she got there to figure out how she’d approach Deveraux in the morning.
She picked up her personal cell phone and called Gaspar. The Boss would be listening to the conversation, but she didn’t care. Gaspar was a man she could trust. She still thought of him as her partner in the hunt for Reacher, even though he’d retired from the FBI. He’d made it clear that he would continue to help her with the case as much as he could, and anything else he could assist her with, within reason.
He answered on the third ring. “What’s happening, Suzy Wong? How’s the weather in Detroit?”
She could hear the smile in his voice and it eased her anxiety, as it always did. “It was okay when I left. Spring has sprung, the birds and the bees are birthing their young, and all that. But it’s warm and clammy and I’m dodging rain showers here.”
“Here at Scarlett Investigations, the weather is always perfect. The work’s interesting, too. You should join us,” he teased, deadly serious. When she didn’t reply, he asked, “How’s John Lawton doing?”
“Haven’t talked to him much.” Kim frowned. “He’s still on medical leave. Will be for a while.”
Gaspar paused a moment, then picked up with the easy question. “Where are you headed?”
“Carter’s Crossing, Mississippi.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Exactly. It’s somewhere between Sweet Home Alabama and Heartbreak Hotel, I guess.”
“What are you talking about?” Gaspar said, peeved now. She imagined his scowling face and grinned. It was too easy to wind him up.
“You’re a music fan, Chico. You should know this. Not far east from Memphis, in which I am not walking, as enjoyable as that might be. Just west of Alabama where, today, the skies most definitely are not blue,” she said, watching the dreary road ahead.
The traffic was mostly nonexistent, but every now and then, a pair of headlights broke through the gray in the westbound lanes across the median to her left.
“Let me guess. Cooper has you charging after Reacher in one of those small American towns where Reacher likes to mix things up?” He paused, and then his tone turned deadly serious. “And I take it you’re alone.”
“Bingo.” She slowed for an eighteen-wheeler entering the foggy road ahead from a gas station on the corner. They probably had hot, black coffee for sale in there. She was tempted to stop, but she didn’t feel like making an effort. So she gave the place a longing glance as she whizzed past.
Once the trucker righted the big rig on the asphalt, he began to pick up speed. She let him get several lengths ahead. The last thing she needed was to rear-end his trailer out in the middle of nowhere.
How long would it take to get a tow truck out here in the middle of nowhere, USA, she mused briefly.
“You been following the murder of that North Korean diplomat? Crazy stuff, isn’t it? Reads like a spy novel.” Gaspar was making conversation while he manipulated the keyboard. When she didn’t reply, he said, “So besides keeping track of where you are at all times, which I’m happy to do, how can I be of assistance to you?”
She raised the corner of her lip in a quick, mirthless grin. In all the ways that mattered, Gaspar was more reliable than the Boss any day of the week. Every time she went into the field, she missed his steady presence.
Kim understood why he’d retired. He’d been shot during a mission gone bad long before she met him. He simply couldn’t do the job. He was in constant pain and could barely walk around.
Putting his life on the line every day when he had five kids and a wife to consider didn’t make sense.
So he’d taken a big paying job in the private sector.
Smartest thing for him to do under the circumstances.
Not so great for her.
Even with his physical limitations, no one had her back like Gaspar. Since she’d been doing this job solo, the risk factors had pushed her anxiety into the red zone and kept the needle hard against the peg.
Nothing to be done about losing her secret weapon.
So she pressed on.
She squared her shoulders and peered into the gloom. Gaspar’s physical skills were weakened by his on-the-job injuries. But his background gave him the ability to think like Reacher. She’d relied on that skill to save lives more than once, including her own.
Kim didn’t plan to let Gaspar go as long as he was willing to serve.
She shook off the melancholy. Because it didn’t matter now.
Gaspar had retired and she was out in the middle of the fog on her own, chasing Reacher once again.
“Talk to me, Otto.” Gaspar’s far-away voice came through the speaker and she realized she’d left him hanging on for a while.
“Yeah. Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “Okay, you can track my phone, no problem. How about this SUV?”
“Already got it. I see you inside the vehicle on the dashcam. I’ve located you on the map. I can probably pull up a visual of the exterior of the SUV from one of the satellites if I need more context,” he reported as he worked through the issues. “The bigger problem is getting help to you if you need it. Scanning the area, there’s no help anywhere near Carter’s Crossing that I can see. No FBI Field Office closer than Memphis. No big towns nearby for civilian emergency services. Does the place even have a police department?”
She heard a motorcycle engine revving in the distance and glanced in the rearview mirror to see him approaching fast behind her.
The rider was leaning forward, encased in black leather from fingertips to toes. His head was completely covered by a glistening black helmet with a face shield. His entire body, and his sporty red motorcycle, were glossy and slick from the pelting rain.