Every Storm Breaks (Reachers Book 3)

by L E Fitzpatrick

  When Adams pulled the kid from the work camp it had been an entirely selfish act. The Institute were on his back, and he was beginning to feel too isolated to keep working cases in London. He knew he needed backup and a sounding board he could bounce ideas off, someone that would appreciate the shit hours and worse pay. He also knew he would have to justify whoever he brought in to the Institute. Mark Bellamy, scorned by a Reacher and unfairly convicted of her crimes, was a perfect fit. It helped that he was a cop with an otherwise exemplary record.

  But for Adams there was more to it than an obedient, grateful minion. Mark had been in love with a Reacher, and, although she killed his partner, she never hurt Mark. It was important those working in PCU had the opportunity to see Reachers for what they really are: just everyday people with extraordinary abilities. He had hoped Mark would recognise the lies in the propaganda, but Adams had misjudged him. The kid was still reeling from a broken heart, and if he didn't see sense soon, Adams was going to have to cut him loose.

  “You look as troubled as I feel.”

  Adams turned to greet the sheriff. The lawman's eyes were heavy and red. However bad Adams' week had been, it was nothing compared to this man's. He handed Adams a sheet of coffee-stained paper.

  “What's this?”

  “List of rental properties in the area. Three of them were rented out this month. Names of the tenants at the side.”

  Unsurprisingly, there was no Curtis among them. Adams scanned the names again, and something jumped out at him. “This one. Says 'Thomas (Solomon).' ”

  “Yeah, thought you'd ask about that one. The landlord says it was rented under Thomas, but he recognised the guy from the convoy that travels around these parts. Guy called Solomon leads it. Odd bunch of religious nutters. They tend to keep to themselves. Sometimes they come into town, usually before the winter. They rented a house a couple of years ago when the winter was at its worst. Otherwise they don't much bother us.”

  Solomon. The name carried more meaning than anyone in Blackwater could imagine. The man was a legend—a Reacher with his own followers; a dangerous man, a powerful man.

  Adams hopped from his stool and barely felt the revolt in his knees. “This is the place,” he said, tapping a nicotine-stained finger against the name.

  “You're sure?”

  “Positive. My partner is chasing up a lead, but if you can give me some men—”

  “I wish I could,” the sheriff said, rubbing at his weary face. “I got a phone call an hour ago. London took away the army to fight the riots, now they've called all my available hands to protect the train line.”

  Adams frowned. London had to be desperate to ask an independent town like Blackwater for help. “What's on the train?”

  “Something valuable, I expect. Probably weapons or aid from Scotland. Either way, I've got thirty men waiting to board, bound for London. They're going to be gone at least two days, and for what they're being paid I doubt you'll get them to change their minds.”

  Adams fished his cigarettes out of his pocket. “Okay. I'll go alone. If he's there, I'll talk to him. From what I've learned, he might give himself up willingly.”

  The sheriff glared. “You're joking, right?”

  “I can try.”

  “And if you don't come back?”

  Adams smiled as he pressed his cigarette between his yellow teeth. “Then by all means, Sheriff, come and find me.”

  33

  Mark hurried downstairs. He pushed open the back door, dropped to his knees, and vomited. His hands were shaking. They were carrying his Rachel out, and he would never see her again. His stomach heaved, his whole body shuddered, and he let out a desperate cry.

  “Mark, are you okay?” Scarlet was behind him, her voice filled with everything but concern.

  He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, his heart thumping so loudly he was sure she could hear it. Slowly, he dared himself to face her. There was something about her, something he hadn't seen before. Beneath the red hair, the perfect complexion, the alluring eyes, was a calculating, uncompromising predator. She would kill him if the mood took her, and he was only alive now because she willed it. The flirting, the connection he had with her were manufactured. She'd duped him—far worse than Rachel ever had done—to get him onside. And, like a jealous fool, he had fallen for it.

  The next few moments were crucial. He could hurt her, and maybe he'd get as far as the singer before he was shot down. Or he could hope she was too preoccupied to be suspicious. “Yes, sorry. I just… I've never killed a man before. Rachel… she… I just feel so guilty. I think she got to me… again. I'm sorry.”

  The answer seemed to satisfy her. She pressed her hand against his shoulder, and he fought against the urge to pull away. In the hallway he could make out the last of the guards preparing to leave.

  “It won't last long. You did very well today, Mark. I'm going to speak to my superiors. Things are going to move quickly, and you're going to be rewarded for all you have done today.”

  He couldn't say anything. All he had ever wanted was being offered to him, but… without Rachel nothing would ever be right. He should be trying to rescue her, and yet he was fixed to the spot. Like a coward.

  She turned, leading him back through the house. “Wait here,” she said when they reached the stairs. As she went up, he caught a glimpse of the old man, dead in the front room. It felt wrong to leave him there in the empty house. Mark covered the body with a bed sheet—it was the least he could do. When he made it back out into the hall, he could hear Stone talking upstairs.

  “And you remember what you tell them?”

  “Yes. The train. He's on the train.”

  “With who?”

  “With Rachel.”

  “Good. You do it right and you'll survive this. Do you understand?”

  When Mark heard footsteps, he headed onto the porch. The van containing Rachel was already sealed. The rest of the convoy was packing up. He realised then that the other Reacher girl must still be upstairs. And when he looked again he could see Dr Curtis sitting in the back of one of the vehicles, unrestrained: a passenger, not a prisoner. The doctor looked at him, and it made Mark's stomach lurch. He took a step back, walking into Scarlet.

  “Sorry,” he said, lowering his head in submission.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Yes, I am. Where's the girl?”

  Scarlet was distracted, more interested in the vehicle containing the doctor than Mark. “The girl is staying here.”

  That didn't make sense. “But she's a Reacher.”

  This time she looked at him, her eyes wide with excitement. “And a very ineffectual one, grade two if that. Although she has her uses. The brothers will come here looking for Rachel, and the girl will make sure they go exactly where we want them to.”

  Mark licked his lips. “I could stay too, and help bring them in.”

  She patted his cheek. “Mark, if you stay here they'll kill you. But they won't harm her, you've already seen how they fall over themselves for defenceless Reacher girls. She will direct them to Curtis, and I will have an army waiting to bring them in when the time comes.”

  “Are you just going to leave Curtis like that?”

  Stone paused, regarding him with a hint of suspicion.

  “He should be handcuffed or something. He's dangerous.”

  “Don't worry. We've got everything under control.”

  34

  Night claimed the countryside in an aggressive, almighty sweep. Dusk became darkness, the temperature dropped, and a sudden tension gripped the atmosphere as the nocturnal predators came out to stalk the land. The brothers' customised off-roader rolled eastward along the dirt track, lights off, wits sharp. Its driver made shapes out of the shadows, somehow navigating them across the hostile terrain.

  Cutting through the blackness was a solitary light. It hovered in the distance: a beacon, a trap. It marked the place they believed Dr Curtis was. The small shelter in the middle of nowhere
was a perfect hiding place. Charlie just hoped the others would be with him too. Rachel was resourceful, he reminded himself. Even if she had walked into a trap, it didn't mean she couldn't turn it to her advantage.

  “Take it slowly,” Charlie said, more to himself than to John. His brother had barely spoken since they left Blackwater. They'd both fucked up, and now their friends were in trouble. What else was there to say? Charlie toyed with the mechanism on his leg, hoping it gave him the edge he so desperately needed.

  The road to the house cleared, and the building was exposed. The house itself had survived amid the conflicts of middle England, but nature was starting to claim her victory. The paintwork was fading, the windows being overtaken by thick ivy. And, although the driveway was open, there was a sense of the surrounding foliage readying itself to swallow the bricks and mortar.

  John pulled up at the edge of the driveway. They weren't alone. A second vehicle was waiting close to the house, its engine still running. The man in the driver's seat opened his door and clambered out. Charlie nudged his brother and followed.

  “Evening, Agent,” Charlie said, getting out of his car.

  John got out too, but held back, his weapon poised and ready to take out Adams should it be required.

  “I don't think that's needed,” Charlie said. “Is it, Agent?”

  “I bloody hope not,” Adams said, keeping his hands visible.

  The two men met in the centre of the driveway. “What brings you out this way?”

  “There's been more killings, and I've got reason to believe this might be where our killer has been hiding out. What about you?”

  “A similar story, although your killer may well be harbouring some of our friends. Is there anyone inside?”

  Adams put his hands on his hips and surveyed the house. “I haven't seen any movement yet, but I've only just arrived.”

  “Okay, wait out here while we secure the house?”

  “I was going to suggest you wait while I go in.”

  Charlie flashed him a warning look. “With a dangerous Reacher inside? Trust me, Agent, it's best you wait out here. If he's still in there, you don't want to face him alone.”

  Adams conceded, shuffling back to lean against his car. Charlie nodded to his brother, and together they moved towards the house. John took the back, Charlie went for the front. The contraption on his leg kept him upright and steady, but stealth was out of the question. He twisted the front door handle, knowing John was already inside. It was locked. He reached for the mechanism with his mind and got the door open. Charlie dared a step into the building and flicked on the light. Nothing.

  He moved deeper into the house, meeting his brother in the hallway. John shook his head and gestured to the door on their right, a heavy orange glow seeping through the cracks.

  Charlie pushed the door open sharply, then got clear so his brother could take a shot. It wasn't needed. The room was empty save for a bed against the far wall. A silent medicom slumped beside it, having clearly failed at keeping the body under the blanket alive. John dashed to the far side of the room, ready to strike if anything should try and take them by surprise. Charlie moved more slowly. He reached for the blanket.

  His breath hitched when he exposed the dark, bald head of his mentor and friend. Darcy's body was cold. His once-vibrant dark skin had faded to grey, his eyes already clouding over now his spirit had gone. A stray tear started to slip down Charlie's face. He looked to his brother for some kind of answer John wouldn't have. Darcy was ageless, but they'd known he wasn't going to live forever… and yet neither of them had prepared for a death like this. Darcy was supposed to go in comfort. He should have been in an armchair, sipping rum and enjoying the warmth of an open fire. Not this. Charlie and John should have been with him.

  Carefully, Charlie retrieved a small silver crucifix from Darcy's neck. Sarah had given it to him on the day of Lilly's christening. Charlie pushed it into his pocket and covered up the old man. He thought about saying something, but that wasn't how they did things. A stoic silence fell on the brothers as they both said their goodbyes in their own way. One with sadness; the other, fury.

  Charlie looked to John. A scraping on the ceiling above stole his words. John was already moving. Movement meant life, and there was nothing but death for them downstairs. There were two rooms on the first floor. One open and empty. The other locked. John stepped aside, and Charlie pushed his hand against it. He nodded at his brother and opened the door.

  Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't what he saw. A girl crouched in the corner by a solar lantern. She was younger than Rachel, and, making herself as small as possible, she looked younger still. Charlie frowned. There were no signs of anyone else. Where the hell were Rachel and Roxy?

  He stepped closer and she whimpered.

  “Don't hurt me.”

  “Nobody is going to hurt you,” he said. “I promise.”

  The girl dared a look up and saw John. She drew back even further against the wall. Charlie reached out, his fingers brushing her shoulder. They tingled with a familiar knowingness at the contact. She was a Reacher. Clearly the girl that Rachel had followed, but why was she here alone?

  “John, check the rest of the house.”

  His brother took a step backwards out of sight, but Charlie knew he wouldn't be far away.

  “What's your name?”

  Without John watching her, she relaxed a little. “M-Marie.”

  “Hey, Marie. My name is Charlie.” He touched her hand, and the contact drew her closer to him. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting.”

  “Waiting for who?”

  She pressed her thumb to her mouth, chewing on the nail in a frenzy.

  “A man called Sol?”

  She glanced away, but it was enough to confirm his suspicions. This girl was one of Sol's expendables. Another obedient follower to his ruthless cause. Had he left her here to die because he couldn't put a bullet in her head? Charlie rubbed his face. There were so many questions he didn't even know where to start.

  “Can you tell me what happened to the old man downstairs?”

  “He died when she came. We couldn't save him,” Marie whispered.

  “She?”

  “Rachel, another Reacher.” Marie gripped his hand. “The machine stopped working. He didn't want to live, so they didn't fix it.”

  “Where is Rachel now, Marie?”

  “Gone. Gone with Janus. I think she is trying to save him, but she won't. He's too powerful.”

  He helped her to her feet, and she seemed keen to keep hold of his hand. He could sense she was afraid, and she had a right to be. If she was one of Sol's girls, he could only imagine what she had been made to do.

  “What does Sol want with Janus?”

  “To change the world. It's our time. It's time the world sees what we can do. Janus is going to show them. He's going to show everyone, and the world will change because of it.”

  He'd heard bullshit like that before. Usually before a lot of people were killed. “How? How is he going to do it?”

  She held up her hand and pressed it to his head. He caught a fuzzy impression, nothing compared to what Rachel could show him, but it was enough. Janus Curtis was going back to London, and his attack would create mass panic. Charlie swallowed. Rachel was with him and hell-bent on trying to stop a madman on a crusade.

  “Was there a guy with Rachel? Long hair, grubby-looking, smokes a lot?”

  Marie nodded. “The other man killed him. They all came together. The other man shot the long-haired man. After that they locked me in here and all left together. I was supposed to go with them, but Rachel wouldn't let me.”

  The words hit Charlie in blows. He stared at the girl, unable to take in what she had said. “Wait, what other man?”

  “He was a cop. Young.”

  Mark Bellamy. Charlie closed his eyes and swore under his breath. “And you're saying he shot Roxy?”

  She nodded. “He tried to ru
n. The cop shot him out in the field. I thought he was going to kill me too.” And she started to cry.

  Charlie felt his head grow heavy. First Darcy, now Roxy. He pressed his hand against the wall, trying to steady his breathing. In desperation, he reached out for her. “It's okay now, we'll keep you safe. Nobody is going to hurt you.” And he realised that was what he should have been telling Rachel, but she was on her way to London and there was nothing he could do to save her.

  John stood in the doorway. He'd heard everything, and he was impossible to read.

  “Where's the body?”

  Marie swallowed, squeezing Charlie tighter. “Out in the field at the back. He was too heavy to move.”

  “Show me.”

  She wouldn't let go of Charlie as he led her down the stairs. The first rumble of thunder raged through the night sky as they hit the ground floor. She tensed in Charlie's arms. He held her tighter. The front door was still open, and he could just make out Adams in the driveway. But the agent was tense too, his hands held up in surrender. He wasn't alone. Charlie stepped closer to the door, sensing John was already moving to a better vantage point out of view.

  “Stay close to me,” he whispered to Marie as he made his way onto the porch.

  A flash of light struck the sky, illuminating the grounds. He saw Adams clearly. He saw the worry in his face. And then he saw—

  “Well, you boys took your bloody time. Good job I wasn't bleeding out or anything,” Roxy said from behind Adams' car. He was pointing a gun at Adams—Adams' gun, if Charlie wasn't mistaken.

  “Fucking hell. Roxy? I thought you were dead.”

  “The way I feel, I'm not sure I'm not,” Roxy said, but he didn't lower his gun. Instead he pointed it at the girl. “Game's up, sweetheart. Move away from my friend and I'll consider not killing you.”