The Man Who Walks Away

by Dan Ames

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  Book One in The JACK REACHER Cases

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  The Jack Reacher Cases (The Man Who Walks Away)

  Dan Ames

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  Copyright © 2019 by Dan Ames

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  The Jack Reacher Cases

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Also by Dan Ames

  About the Author

  The Jack Reacher Cases

  (THE MAN WHO WALKS AWAY)

  * * *

  BY

  * * *

  DAN AMES

  1

  They approached the abandoned farmhouse just before dawn.

  Dawkins went left, to the rear of the structure. Blatch went right, flanking the target.

  Which left the team’s leader, Nash, front and center.

  A cool, chilling breeze slipped down from the mountains and somewhere a hawk called out.

  Nash gathered himself, brought his mind into the kind of hyper focus required by the battlefield. It was his team, his mission, his tactics. If they failed, it would be his responsibility. If any of his team didn’t make it out, it would be a burden he would have to shoulder for the rest of his life.

  And he had no intention of emerging from the operation with anything but resounding success.

  With the rest of the team in place, Nash approached the house’s front door, not running, but moving swiftly without making a single sound. He had moved slightly to his right and stayed low, making him practically invisible from any viewpoint within the building.

  Not that anyone was watching.

  Nash and his men had put the enemy force under surveillance for the past week and knew that they’d gotten sloppy, neglecting to set up perimeter security, even going so far as failing to securing the doors and windows.

  They’d gotten complacent.

  Felt safe.

  Overconfident.

  That was all about to change, Nash thought.

  He kicked in the door and leveled his weapon at the building’s occupants, who erupted in a state of panicked, sleepy confusion.

  At the same time, Dawkins barreled through the back door, his weapon also aimed at the group who realized they were caught in the worst possible way.

  “No!” the enemy’s leader shouted at Nash. “Please.”

  Nash saw unbridled panic in the man’s eyes. He couldn’t help but feel disappointment. He preferred adversaries who were brave, who put up a good resistance. The fact that he was facing a cowardly enemy made Nash feel the mission was somehow diminished, not exactly a waste of time, but not something he would describe with pride one day to his grandchildren.

  “Shut up,” he said.

  The man begin to blubber, almost incoherent.

  “He said to shut your mouth,” Dawkins boomed from the back of the room. Nash glanced at him. Dawkins could be a little difficult to control at times. The man had seen the worst of the worst overseas, especially in the caves of Afghanistan and Nash knew he could easily come unhinged. But as the team’s leader, it was his job to keep Dawkins in check.

  Behind him, he heard footsteps and knew that Blatch had entered the structure as well. No one had attempted to flee.

  So far, so good, he thought.

  “I have good news and bad news,” Nash said to his new captives. “The good news is, if you cooperate, you’ll be transferred to a military prison, do some time, and eventually be released back to your own country. The bad news is, if you don’t cooperate, you won’t be going anywhere.”

  “Please,” the man said again. He was dark-skinned and stocky. Behind him were three more enemy combatants, none of whom were saying a word. They hadn’t even tried to reach for their weapons.

  Cowards, Nash thought.

  “All we want to know is when Zotz will be arriving, and where,” he said. “Tell us that, and everything will be fine.”

  “Who?” the man asked. “I don’t know this person you call Zotz.”

  Nash sighed.

  “Answer the question, you son of a bitch,” Dawkins boomed. Nash looked at him and saw rage on the big black man’s face. Nash quickly realized he had to take control and move quickly. Dawkins pulled a knife from a sheath on his belt. It was a huge blade and Nash knew it was razor sharp.

  “Tell us when and where you’re planning to make contact with Zotz. Zotz is who we want,” Nash said, his voice calm and under control. To his right, Blatch quietly stepped into view, a .45 automatic in his hand.

  “Tell them,” a shrill voice shouted from behind the man facing Nash.

  It was a female.

  A woman’s voice.

  Oh no, Nash thought. From the corner of his eye, he saw Blatch step forward, eagerness in his eyes.

  As dangerous and prone to unhinged violence as Dawkins was, Blatch could be worse.

  Much worse.

  But only when women were involved. Nash had never seen anything firsthand, but there were rumors about Blatch and female combatants. The kind of rumors that were whispered only when neither Blatch, or anyone in charge, was around.

  Nash knew he was about to enter some very dangerous territory.

  The woman stood up and things went from bad to worse.

  Because she was strikingly beautiful, with a lean body, large breasts and long, black hair.

  “Hello,” Blatch said, a grin on his face. “Jackpot.”

  Recognition dawned upon the enemy leader and he made a break for the door but Dawkins had seen the move coming and was on the man before he’d taken more than two steps. Dawkins raked the long blade across the man’s throat and blood geysered onto the wall. Dawkins rode him to the ground and thrust the enormous knife into the man’s body over and over and over again.

  Just as quickly, Blatch was on top of the woman, ripping her blouse with one hand, choking her with the other. Blatch dragged her from the room, through the back door, outside.

  He wanted privacy to unleash his darkest fantasies on the woman under his control. Nash knew the mission had gone to hell. They weren’t going to get any information on Zotz.

  But they a
lso couldn’t leave any witnesses.

  Nash had no choice but to raise his weapon and fire into the forms of the two other enemy combatants, who were sitting, unarmed, with blank expressions on their faces. They were much younger than the man and the woman, but it didn’t matter to Nash.

  Oh well, he thought. I tried.

  2

  Lauren Pauling stared at the number of zeroes in her bank account.

  She had never been a greedy person, never been one to place more emphasis on material belongings than on the truly important things in life. Friends, family, inner peace and happiness.

  At the same time, it was a shock to realize she was now a fairly wealthy woman.

  When she had decided to sell her private investigative firm to a large corporate competitor, she’d done her homework. Pauling already had a financial advisor, but she’d added a few more professionals to her personal finance team. Now, even after they’d taken the one large sum and broken it up into several different chunks to make the tax hit less severe, Pauling found it hard to believe the accounts were hers.

  There was a regular checking account with more money than she could spend in years. There were also various investment accounts holding stocks, bonds, money markets and CDs.

  There were also a whole host of other investment vehicles, including an account for real estate acquisition, which she intended to use in the next year or two.

  For now, she would keep her co-op in Manhattan, but a country house somewhere, maybe Italy or France, was something she might be interested in.

  Patience, she told herself.

  Pauling reminded herself of data showing that most lottery winners go on to regret winning – that their lives were far worse after they’d gotten the money.

  Pauling knew the comparison wasn’t a good one. She’d worked years building her company, putting in long hours and planning ahead, plus, she’d already been doing fairly well financially running a successful company. This was no out-of-the-blue lucky strike.

  This was the result of hard work, dedication and no small amount of entrepreneurial zeal.

  Still, when it was all said and done, she had to be careful about the sudden infusion of massive amounts of cash and not wind up a few years from now, broken, wondering what the hell happened.

  The best way to prevent that from happening was to simply take her time.

  Starting with right now.

  Pauling snapped her laptop closed, slid it into her leather messenger bag and carried it into the bedroom. She had two suitcases on the bed – one big and one small.

  Her goal had been to fit everything into the small one, but it hadn’t worked. She was now transferring everything to the big one, and adding clothes as she went.

  Her mind, for some reason, turned to Jack Reacher.

  Talk about polar opposites.

  Here she was with more money in the bank than she knew what to do with, loading a big suitcase. She was living in the same upscale condo she’d had for years, and thinking about acquiring more real estate down the road. Not to mention an investment account that would rival that of a top CEO.

  Reacher was somewhere, hiking down the highway, with nothing but freshly bought clothes on his back, an ATM card and a toothbrush. Finding adventure and then, at the end of it all, being the man who just walks away.

  Somewhat embarrassed at her sudden reflections on a former lover, she put everything back in the smaller suitcase, and rolled the bigger one back into her closet.

  She was going to see Michael Tallon.

  It might be better for both of them if she arrived with minimal baggage – in every sense of the word.

  Pauling laughed.

  Patience, she thought again.

  And that applied to more than just money.

  3

  “What the hell were you thinking?” Nash barked at Dawkins. The black man was covered in blood. He had gone berserk stabbing the enemy soldier, culminating in a crescendo of slashing, cutting and butchering.

  “The man had his chance to cooperate,” Dawkins explained, his voice calm, in stark contrast to the blood that covered his dark, heavily muscled torso.

  They were back at base camp, a portable trailer with two vehicles and several covered trailers loaded with gear. Inside the main HQ, the men were showering and cleaning their weapons, but Nash was upset.

  He’d lost control of his team.

  He glanced over at Blatch.

  “And you? What’s your excuse?”

  Nash had seen Blatch drag the woman behind the farmhouse and heard her subsequent screams. Blatch had been back there with her for nearly an hour and when he’d returned, alone, he too was covered in blood.

  “She had it coming to her,” Blatch said softly. He was a lean mean, built like a greyhound, with red hair and a red beard. His fierce blue eyes flashed from the sea of red like searchlights failing to see anything in the distance.

  Nash shook his head. He knew they were going to have to report what had happened on the mission to their superiors, and they wouldn’t be happy. He’d be lucky if he still had a job tomorrow. Hell, he’d feel fortunate if he didn’t wind up in some maximum security prison somewhere.

  He also knew that there was no “we” when it came to making that report. It would be his name, and his alone, on that electronic communication. The leader always bore the brunt of the actions of his men. It’s the way it had been and always would be.

  Either way, he knew the report would not go over well, which was an enormous understatement.

  He set his weapon down and began to break it apart. He’d fired dozens of rounds back at the battle scene, and would have to clean his weapon thoroughly.

  “I ought to have both of you court-martialed,” Nash said. “I will not allow this to ever happen under my command again.”

  Dawkins and Blatch stood shoulder to shoulder.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” Dawkins said. “It’s just that I hate cowards. The man didn’t even put up a fight and then he was going to run. I’m a soldier. Killing is what I do. Do I wish we could have gotten some information from him first? Of course. All I can do is apologize and vow to be a better soldier, more disciplined.”

  “Yeah, well that’s all well and fine but now we have no idea when and where Zotz will be,” Nash said. “If he manages to infiltrate our territory, we’ll have failed. Lots of innocent people will die because we messed up.”

  Blatch shuffled his feet. “I agree with everything Dawkins said, man. I need to be more professional. I guess when I saw the woman and knew she was one of them, my instincts took over,” he explained, ruefully. “It won’t happen again.”

  Nash nodded.

  Dawkins and Blatch were the best soldiers he’d ever had under his command. They were elite.

  He was just as much to blame as they were for the massacre.

  Nash only hoped his superiors would feel the same way.

  4

  Tallon had traded in his assault rifle for a broom and a mop.

  He really wondered what in the name of God he was doing. He should have just hired someone from town to come and clean his place in preparation of Pauling’s arrival.

  The problem was, his privacy was important on both a personal and professional level. The little ranch house and compound he’d built for himself had so many parts that were “off-limits” it didn’t make sense to hire someone to come in and clean only parts of it. Hell, fifty percent of it would be “off-limits,” so what was the point?

  Plus, the little town of Independence Springs near the southern borders of Nevada and California was small, and not a lot of luxury services were available.

  Which meant he had to do it himself.

  And that was fine.

  With all of his years spent in the military, he’d gotten pretty self-sufficient and wasn’t above cleaning up after himself. The only difference was there’s “clean” for a single man, and then there’s “clean” for a woman arriving for an extended stay.

&nb
sp; So, he cleaned the place from top to bottom, making sure it didn’t smell like a “guy.”

  When that was done, he drove to the supermarket and stocked up on plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables, good wine and gourmet cheeses. He knew Pauling had a taste for some of the slightly finer things than he did, so he wanted to make sure he had some options.

  Back home, he stored the purchases and also put some fresh flowers he’d purchased in a vase.

  That done, he took a look around and felt fairly confident.

  When he’d invited Pauling to perhaps make their relationship more permanent, he wasn’t sure how she’d take it. He knew she was fiercely independent and used to being in charge of both her business and her personal life. But they’d worked together several times over the years and the relationship had grown to be something he missed on a daily basis when she wasn’t around. Which was why he made the proposition.

  He, too, knew he would have to make his own adjustments. He was used to being a bit of a lone wolf and now he would be forced to think of someone other than himself, which was fine because he wasn’t a selfish person by nature. And of everyone in the world, Pauling was the person he would want to share it with.