by Diane Capri
Kim pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside.
“We meet again, FBI Special Agent Kim L. Otto,” Deveraux said, reading from the business card Kim had provided to her assistant out front. Deveraux’s accent was local, and her voice was clear, quiet, firm. “You might have told me who you were last night. Why didn’t you?”
She didn’t stand up or offer to shake Kim’s hand, but she gestured toward one of the chairs on the other side of her desk. An invitation. Almost, but not quite, an order.
Elizabeth Deveraux was a tall woman, maybe fifty. But she looked younger. She had a fabulous head of long, curly dark hair she’d bunched into an unruly ponytail at the back of her neck. Her makeup was minimalist but artfully applied to emphasize and conceal in equal proportion.
The total effect suggested that no matter what happened, Mayor Deveraux would stay cool, calm, and collected through it all. And maybe discover some way to find something in it to make her smile.
The moment Kim laid eyes on the mayor in her element, her gut confirmed that Deveraux and Reacher had been lovers. She’d met enough of Reacher’s women now to recognize his type. Strong female, usually involved with law enforcement, definitely able to take care of herself, often the head woman in charge.
Reacher’s women were all pretty, too. This one was beautiful enough to grace the cover of every major fashion magazine cover around the globe.
Kim was no psychologist, but in this instance she didn’t need to be. It was apparent that Reacher’s type was a gorgeous, independent woman—who didn’t need him. Her assumptions were safe enough. Reacher never stuck around anywhere long enough to prove or disprove her theory.
Gaspar had agreed with Kim’s assessment. His view was that the Boss had chosen Kim precisely because she, too, was Reacher’s type. He said the Boss was using Kim for bait, to lure Reacher from hiding so that he could be approached.
There was more to Gaspar’s idea, but Kim shook it off at the time. Over the past few weeks, she’d come to wonder whether Gaspar might be right after all.
Deveraux folded slender hands with tanned sinewy fingers and rested them on her desk. She wore no jewelry on those fingers. Which suggested she hadn’t remarried after her split from Sheriff Greyson.
Deveraux didn’t have a gun in a holster on her hip at the moment. But she could no doubt defend herself when the situation called for it.
“How can I help you, Agent Otto?” she asked in a slightly amused way as if she’d considered the situation and decided Kim was friendly enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Thursday, May 12
Carter’s Crossing, Mississippi
10:30 a.m.
Kim relaxed a bit. So far so good. No reason to believe she and Deveraux had to be enemies. At least, not yet. But the mayor had set a formal tone, and that suited Kim just fine. Distance, both physical and psychological, from the subjects she interviewed about Reacher was usually an asset.
“Thanks for your time, Mayor Deveraux. I’m assigned to the Special Personnel Task Force. I’m conducting a background investigation,” Kim settled more deeply into her chair and her cover story. “The subject of my inquiry is being considered for a classified assignment. It’s my job to fill in the blanks in his personnel file since he left the army fifteen years ago.”
Deveraux cocked her head in the general direction of the army base. “A lot of guys come and go through Kelham in fifteen years. I don’t even meet most of them, let alone know anything about their backgrounds.”
Kim nodded. “You met this one. He was an officer.”
“Okay. Fewer officers pass through here. But fifteen years is still a long time.” Deveraux’s cadence slowed and her eyes danced with a bit more life than before.
“It’s an important job we’re filling. We need to know the candidate is mentally, physically, and financially fit for it. So we’re being especially thorough.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.
But it wasn’t the whole truth, either. Not by a mile.
Deveraux nodded. Not wary yet. “What’s the subject’s name?”
Kim paused. This was always a tricky moment when interviewing Reacher’s known associates. Things could go quickly downhill from here.
Reactions to Reacher’s name had been varied and unpredictable and ranged from outrage to curiosity and all the emotions in between.
Kim took the calculated risk that Deveraux wouldn’t attack her here in Carter’s Crossing Town Hall. She leveled her voice and said, “The candidate is Jack Reacher. No middle name. Major Jack Reacher, when you knew him.”
Deveraux’s smile broadened and lit up her face all the way to her eyes. She wasn’t distressed in the least. Her reaction was something closer to learning she’d won the lottery.
“Really? Reacher? I figured he’d have retired or died long ago.” She shook her head slowly while thoughts of Reacher ran through her head.
“Actually, he did. Retire, I mean.”
“Not surprised.” Deveraux smiled again as if she remembered everything about Reacher fondly. “The army was so bloated back then. The world had changed and fighting changed with it. All branches of the military were getting rid of people left and right. Reacher said he’d be one of those that got pushed out before he wanted to go.”
Kim nodded and remained silent. Whatever spell Deveraux was under at the moment was causing her to talk about Reacher. Which was something Reacher’s women rarely did. Kim’s plan was to ride the wave as long as it lasted.
“What can I tell you about Reacher? He was…talented. He had skills, sure. But he also had a brain. He was clever. He could work things out. Not much of a heart, though,” she said, which made her laugh.
“What do you mean, he didn’t have much of a heart?”
She said, “I guess that’s not exactly true. His sense of justice was well-honed. I guess that shows he had a heart. Of sorts.”
“What do you mean?” Kim asked again to keep her talking.
“Reacher was a military cop. I understood him because I’d been a military cop, too. He knew the law. And he knew the rules. It’s not exactly that he didn’t care about them. He just…didn’t trust the law and the rules to get the job done, I guess.” Deveraux’s smile had left her lips but still brightened her eyes. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Yeah, that’s as good a way to describe it as any. Reacher trusted himself above everything else. He did whatever he felt was right.”
“There’s a word for guys like that, Mayor Deveraux,” Kim said flatly.
“Call me Liz. Everyone I like does,” she replied comfortably. “And yes, there’s several words for guys like that, and some of them are not so flattering, which is what you mean. Any law enforcement officer worth her salt would call Reacher a killer. Criminal. Outlaw. But anyone who really knew Reacher would say he both was and wasn’t any of those things.”
Kim cocked her head. “What would you call him, then?”
“It’s complicated. And simple at the same time. A paradox of sorts, I guess.” Deveraux grinned and shook her head easily. “I’d call him an old-fashioned vigilante. He was then, and he probably still is. In my experience, people don’t change all that much. They just grow into older and more finely honed versions of themselves.”
“And you were the sheriff. Sworn to uphold the law.” Kim narrowed her gaze as if she was trying to figure things out. “It didn’t bother you that Reacher didn’t give a damn about that?”
“Not in the moment, no,” Deveraux said softly. “I’ve been a law and order type my whole life, Agent Otto. What I know for sure is that sometimes the bad guys deserve what they get. And the law isn’t always good enough. The law can’t always make sure the bad guys don’t do something worse the next time.”
Kim nodded as her understanding dawned. She’d run into this reaction before. She knew precisely what it was. She called it The Reacher Effect. “Reacher charmed you. You think he’s some kind of hero.”
Deveraux’s smile widened,
showing perfectly whitened teeth. “I guess you could say that. He was charming enough. But it was really him, you know? Who he was. Not some sort of con.”
“And you know that how?”
Deveraux’s eyes crinkled when she smiled again. “Another time. I’ve got a television appearance in about five minutes, and I have to get outside. Carter’s Crossing has been dealing with some scary sinkholes over the past few months. People here are worried about it, and I’m the mayor. So I’ve got to go calm them down.”
“How are you going to do that? Sinkholes are acts of God, aren’t they?” Kim asked.
“Mostly. In our case, the experts tell me there are some other things in play. Things we can fix.” Deveraux paused as if considering something, and then she said, “Come by Libby’s Diner tonight. We’ll have dinner. And I’ll tell you all about it. How’s that?”
Without waiting for a response, Deveraux stood up and left her office. Watching her retreating back, Kim noticed again how tall she was.
Reacher was six feet, five inches tall. The top of Deveraux’s head reached past his chin. Kim briefly wondered what it would be like to stand so tall and look down on everyone around you. Something she’d never know. At just under five feet, many ten-year-olds were taller than Kim.
She waited a few moments, looking around the office at the framed certificates and photos of Deveraux doing the things mayors do. Ribbon cuttings, speeches, grip-and-grins with other politicians and celebrities. A few awards littered the bookshelves, too.
Tangible proof that Deveraux was a formidable woman in many ways.
Which might have made Kim wonder what the former small-town sheriff’s relationship to Reacher had been, exactly.
Except she was fairly sure she already knew. Deveraux and Reacher had been lovers. Deveraux still harbored some affection for him, after fifteen years. At dinner tonight, she’d get Deveraux to confirm her suspicions. But what more did Deveraux know about Reacher? Did she know where he was now?
Kim waited a couple of minutes and then headed outside into the warm sunshine. At the top of the stairs, she made another quick survey of Main Street. A big magnolia tree covered most of one corner of the courthouse grounds. Leaning casually against its massive trunk, watching the exit door, was Captain America.
The image of her brothers’ boyhood favorite superhero flashed into her mind and she grinned. The brown-haired guy could have been the comic book character’s stunt double.
He was about six feet tall. Well-worn jeans, boots, and a brown leather flight jacket over a black T-shirt. Fit and trim and squared away in the style that military men often projected.
That much of the Captain America persona was spot-on. He was military, one way or another.
Which wasn’t surprising.
Military types, past, present, and future were fairly thick on the ground in Carter’s Crossing. Not including Sheriff Greyson and Mayor Deveraux, she’d seen at least a dozen of them walking around town already.
But she figured this one was standing by the big tree waiting specifically for her, and she saw no reason to keep him cooling his heels.
Kim hustled down and he walked over to meet up at the bottom of the courthouse steps.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Thursday, May 12
Carter’s Crossing, Mississippi
11:05 a.m.
“I’m Lincoln Perry,” he said, pulling off his aviators to reveal startling baby blues. “You’re Kim Otto, aren’t you? Gaspar told me to look you up.”
“That’s right. He mentioned you to me, too.” Kim gave him a friendly smile as she shook his hand and sized him up.
Three feet away, he looked even more like Captain America than he had from across the lawn. Clean cut. Close shaven. He smelled like Old Spice. Even the aviators reinforced his wholesome middle-America-farm-boy image.
Perry looked so much like Captain America that she imagined he must have attended costume parties dressed as the comic book hero. The mental picture broadened her grin. She almost asked him where he’d stashed his vibranium shield.
He replaced his aviators and extended his arm, palm toward Main Street, “Buy you a coffee? There’s a diner four blocks down. Should be a good place to talk.”
Kim inhaled the sweet fragrance of the magnolia tree’s blooms. “Sounds great.”
She fell into step beside him. The sun was high and hot overhead now. She found her oversized sunglasses in her pocket and slid them onto her face.
The sidewalk wasn’t busy. Only a few pedestrians strolled here and there. Shops hadn’t been open long, and it was too early for whatever lunch rush Carter’s Crossing normally enjoyed.
“How’d you find me?” she asked as they waited at the first corner for the traffic light to change.
“Sheriff Greyson told me you had a meeting with the mayor. You had to come out eventually. And it’s a nice day, so I hung around outside. No reason not to take advantage of the sunshine,” he replied.
Kim gave him a side-eye from behind the sunglasses. “So last night when Sheriff Greyson told me the army had an undercover man in town, he meant you?”
He shrugged. “Can’t read his mind. But as far as I know, I’m the only army undercover here. Then again, there could be others and I wouldn’t know about them. That’s the whole point of being undercover.”
She ignored the sarcasm. “What rank are you?”
“Major.”
“Should I salute?”
“Only if you want to,” he replied with a smile that revealed nicely whitened teeth.
“What’s your home base?”
“Varies. I was attached to the 110th Investigative Unit for a while. Now I’m 46th MP, Criminal Investigations,” he said, with more than a touch of pride.
Kim nodded. Reacher had worked both units back in the day. He’d been a major, too. Twice. In fact, he was a major when he showed up in Carter’s Crossing fifteen years ago. Or, as he might put it, he’d been terminal at major.
The coincidence didn’t mean anything, necessarily. But she was more wary of Perry than she had been five minutes ago.
In a friendly tone, she said, “And you’re not really undercover, are you? I mean, you’re walking around town. I see the bulge of your gun in that holster under your arm. You’re telling me who you are and why you’re here. And you also told the sheriff. Who else have you shared all this intel with?”
Checking in with the locals, letting them know he was in town, was a professional courtesy. Nothing wrong with it. She’d done the same herself. She didn’t expect him to argue the point.
But she wanted to know how well he could keep a secret before she considered confiding anything in him. Gaspar liked him, so that was a step in the right direction. She didn’t trust the guy all the way to home base, though. Gaspar wasn’t infallible.
Perry shrugged again and rested his arms easily at his sides. “What I meant was that I’m not the official army investigator of record on the Nightingale case. He’s out at Kelham. We’re working separately on this.”
“Seems like a lot of manpower for a single civilian murder victim,” Kim said.
The traffic light turned green and they crossed the intersection, resuming their pace. He walked along the curbside of the sidewalk, leaving her a safer position closer to the buildings.
She gave him points for courtesy.
“Not too much manpower yet. Because we don’t know who killed her,” Perry said. “Wasn’t necessarily one of ours. Her throat was cut. But lots of people around here know how to do that.”
“Uh, huh.”
“The county is full of ex-military and hunters. Could have been anybody. Just a guess at this point,” Perry said as easily as if he’d practiced the speech in front of the mirror so he could deliver it believably.
“And if you find out it was one of your guys, then what?” she asked when they reached the end of the second block. She glanced at the traffic light, which turned red just as they stopped at the corner.
A dirty old pickup truck growled halfway down the block as it accelerated toward the intersection. One of the headlights had been smashed. The whole thing was covered in dried mud as if they’d gone two-tracking in yesterday’s rainstorm.
The truck had been cherry red, once upon a time. The paint was faded and scratched, and the body sported a few rough Bondo patches, suggesting more than one serious wreck during its lifetime.
The driver pulled up to the curb and slammed on the brakes. The truck’s front end rolled onto the sidewalk and stopped directly in front of Kim and Perry, blocking their path.
Kim recognized the three beefy rednecks who stumbled out of the cab. Unshaven, greasy gray ponytails, furry arms, bad tattoos. One was holding a baseball bat.
McKinneys. The same ones she had seen in the bar last night after she’d watched the real midnight train.
Mentally, she dubbed the one with the baseball bat resting on his shoulder Slugger. He stood on the left, offering her a menacing stare. He bared his teeth like a rabid dog.
If his expression weren’t so deadly serious, she’d have laughed. As it was, she quickly calculated the reach of his bat. If he came at her, she’d need more room to move.
The McKinney on the right wore a black leather vest over his dirty white T-shirt. He outweighed the other two by a thirty-pound gut overhanging his belt. The stench of alcohol surrounded him like a noxious cloud. He smelled like he’d chased last night’s liquid dinner with breakfast beer. He was unsteady on his feet. A hard shove at the right time could knock him out for a dozen hours.
The guy in the middle was the leader, clearly the alpha dog. He stood like an old-fashioned gunfighter, arms down but away from his sides as if he sported a belt with invisible Colts at his waist.
A lit cigarette dangled from his mouth, dangerously close to catching his wild beard on fire. Which would be worth watching.
