by Scott Blade
Li shook her head and mouthed, “Please don’t.”
Then Cameron backed away from the bar and kicked the guy square in the groin. Not full force and not too hard, but hard enough to make his point.
Chad dropped to the dirty floor, holding his groin with both hands.
Cameron looked at the bartender and said, “He’ll pay our tab.”
He took Li by the hand, and they walked past the other patrons and out into the night.
Sirens wailed behind them.
Chapter 18
CAMERON AND LI WALKED BACK TO HER CAR, and Cameron put her in the passenger seat and dumped himself down in the driver seat. He moved it all the way back, looked over at her, and asked for the keys, which she gladly handed over.
Li asked, “Where are we going?”
“Where do you live?”
“Hey. I’m not going to be that easy.”
“I can bring you home and take a cab back to the hotel. That’s what I was thinking.”
She paused a beat and thought about it. It was a logical suggestion.
Cameron said, “You can’t drive. Not tonight. So unless you want to stay in my room, then this is the best way to go.”
Li nodded and said, “Hang on.”
She dug in her purse and pulled out her cell phone. She messed with the apps on it and then showed him the screen.
“Just go here. Follow the directions.”
She had pulled up Google Maps, and it now displayed directions to her apartment.
Then Li said, “Okay. Safety belt.”
Cameron put on his seatbelt, and she put on hers. He put the keys in the ignition and fired up the car and they were off. He held the phone one-handed while he drove and glanced at it occasionally. He’d never used Google Maps while driving before but found it pretty useful.
It led Cameron and Li back to her apartment, which was about thirty minutes to drive to. And that was with light traffic.
Cameron turned onto her street, New Mexico NW Avenue, and drove a little way until he found the parking for her units. He parked on the street and got out, walked around the hood to open her door, but Li was already getting out by the time he got to her.
Li said, “Were you going to open my door for me?”
Cameron nodded.
Li said, “That’s nice. You’re a good guy. Now I really feel like shit for being such a jerk earlier.”
Cameron said, “Don’t worry about it. Understandable. It’s your career. Sorry I interfered with your plans.”
Cameron took her arm to help her walk, not that she really needed it, but that was Cameron’s way. He was, after all, from the South and had been raised by a single mother, and that meant he was always a gentleman, except when fighting. Just the way it was. They walked up a narrow stone pathway and past a matching stone sign that read Sutton Towers.
They didn’t speak until they reached the lobby, and Cameron went in with her. She walked with him to the elevators and pressed the button.
She said, “You can come up. You don’t need to leave just yet. It’s only—” Li took her cell phone out of her pocket and looked at the screen. She read the time on the screen.
Cameron said, “10:35.”
“Yeah. How’d you know that?”
“I don’t know. It’s like a habit. Sometimes, I just know the time.”
Li asked, “Do you want to come in?”
Cameron said, “Is the Pope Catholic?”
And he immediately felt stupid after saying it. It was not only the worst line he had ever used, but it was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard come out of his mouth.
Li didn’t seem to mind. She smiled and took her keys out of her purse and held them in her hand.
Cameron smiled wide because this was a good sign to him. In his experience, whenever a woman took her keys out before she needed them, it meant she was ready to go. Sometimes that could be a bad thing like if you were on a date with a girl and she did that, but not in this case. Not when they were waiting for the elevator to go up to her apartment. To Cameron, that meant she was just as excited and nervous as he was.
The elevator came, and they got on. Li pressed the fourth-floor button and stood close to Cameron as they rode up. At Li’s door, she got it open, and they went inside.
Li’s apartment was a small studio, maybe six hundred square feet. But it had updated flooring, and the kitchen was particularly nice. Granite countertops in a light color. A deep stainless steel, farmer’s sink was installed in the center of the north counter. The cabinets were painted black. The appliances were all stainless steel and matched like they were bought as a set. A big double-door fridge with a pull out freezer drawer on the bottom rested neatly in the wall. The only thing that was lacking was the lighting. Li flipped a switch, and the lights blazed on. They hung down from the ceiling on long wires just above a bar that seated three. And those seemed to be the only lights in the room besides some lamps near the sofa. No light fixture on the ceilings.
The sofa was right in front of the bed, which was made up, something that Cameron had stopped doing in the last six months. It made no sense to make the beds in the motels he slept in. What was the point in that?
He pictured Jack still making his. Military life had probably instilled that in him, but Cameron hadn’t had that life. Not the same. At least not in every way.
Cameron said, “Nice flat.”
And then he wondered why he’d called it a flat.
Apparently, so did Li because she said, “Flat?”
Cameron said, “Yeah. That’s what they’re called.”
“What is this, London?”
Cameron stayed quiet, and Li stared at him.
She said, “Never mind. Stupid joke.”
She laid her purse down on the bar top and then kicked her shoes off against the wall. She turned and slipped her coat off, hung it up in a small closet near the front door.
She asked, “Want some wine?”
Cameron wasn’t big on wine, but he didn’t think that the setting allowed for him to turn it down even though he really wanted coffee. Coffee versus a beautiful woman. This was a serious dilemma, but in the end, the woman won.
Cameron said, “Sure.”
“Take your shoes off. Just leave them near mine.”
Cameron did as she asked.
Li walked to the cabinets near the fridge and opened them and pulled out two big red wine glasses. She bent down out of Cameron’s sightline and came up with a bottle of wine. Cameron didn’t recognize the brand, but then again, he wouldn’t have recognized any brand. It looked expensive.
Li poured two glasses, pretty full, and stood near him. She placed his down on the bar top.
She said, “Can I ask you a question?”
Cameron nodded.
“Why’re you looking for Jack Reacher?”
Cameron stayed quiet.
She said, “I mean, the guy abandoned you. So why look for him?”
Cameron said, “It’s not like that. He never knew about me.”
“Yeah, but if he had, what makes you think it woulda made any difference?”
Cameron said, “Guess I don’t think about it like that. You can’t live your life based on what might’ve happened. I just have to find him. That’s all.”
“Why? Are you hoping to make up for lost time or something? You think this guy will just embrace you and all will be good?”
Cameron said, “My mom told me to get him on her deathbed.”
“Get him?”
“Yeah.”
“What does that mean?”
“She meant to find him. I never knew about him. And he never knew about me. I think we deserve the chance to know each other. Plus, it was my mom’s dying request. How can I stop now?”
Li said, “So it’s like a quest?”
Cameron nodded and said, “Something like that.”
Li took a big drink of wine.
They sat in silence for a bit at her bar, and then she sa
id, “I like you.”
Cameron said, “I like you.”
“It’s weird because we only just met, but I feel like I’ve known you longer.”
Cameron said, “Common thing, I guess. Generally, good people meet under fleeting circumstances all the time and form a bond. Like on an airplane or a train ride. You take a long trip somewhere, have no idea who’s sitting next to you, and you start talking. Small talk. Before you know it, you’ve bonded with them. It even happens with kidnappers and their captives. Happens with prison guards and inmates. Happens all over the world every two and a half minutes.”
“Two and a half minutes?”
Cameron nodded, stayed quiet.
“I guess you’re right,” she said.
Cameron said, “We’ve spent the whole night together, talking. And we made a connection. That’s life. And the world spins on.”
Li took a last pull from her wine and set the glass down.
She said, “Want to see something?”
Cameron nodded, didn’t touch his wine.
She took his hand.
She led him over to the bed and sat down on it. He stayed standing, feeling a little nervous about where she wanted him.
She said, “Sit down. It’s okay.”
Cameron sat down carefully. His weight dipped the mattress down, and she slid toward him a little and then she twisted back and bent over the bed like she was reaching down to get something out from underneath it. Her backside faced Cameron, and he wasn’t going to lie to himself—he definitely looked. It was a view he hoped to see many more times.
She came back up with a small shoebox. She opened it and pulled out a single picture which was placed on top of a pair of tiny old shoes.
“See this? Take a look,” Li said and handed him the picture.
It was a black-and-white picture. It had to be very old, or it was made to look that way.
The picture was of a woman at least ten years older than Li and a little girl. Both looked exactly like her. Exactly. The older woman was just as amazingly beautiful, and the little girl was just as adorable as Li must’ve been as a little girl.
Cameron asked, “Is this you and your mom?”
“No way! The picture is black and white! Come on!”
“Sorry.”
“It’s an old picture. I wasn’t born for another thirty-something years.”
Cameron asked, “So who’s this?”
“That’s my mom and grandmother. That picture was taken sometime before they left China. It was in November, I think. 1949.”
“Wow. The end of the Chinese Civil War. Mao Zedong had just established the People's Republic of China.”
Li looked at Cameron with a look he’d seen before. Before she even asked, he said, “I like history, and I just remember things.”
Then he decided it best not to go into greater detail. Instead, he listened.
Li said, “My mom was supposed to perform in a ballet in Shanghai at the time of the picture, but those sorts of things were risky. So my grandmother pulled her out, but my mom kept the shoes from the picture. All my mom ever wanted was to be a ballerina.”
Cameron said, “They’re both beautiful women. Look exactly like you.”
Li smiled and said, “I know. I love this picture. It’s like looking at who I was and who I will become. My grandmother was a good woman.”
Cameron said, “I’m sure that you will be even better.”
Li said nothing else. She just took the picture back from Cameron and placed it back in the shoebox and clumsily plopped the lid back on. Then she slid the whole thing off of the bed and leaned into Cameron. She put her tiny hand on his face, felt his stubble.
She smiled and said, “You need to shave tomorrow. Sean’s very professional and will expect to see you clean.”
“I don’t work for Cord.”
“I do. Do it for me?”
Cameron nodded and noticed that Li didn’t take her hand off of his face. Instead, she moved it down to his chest, ran it across his abdomen and down, then lower.
She moved in to kiss him. He kissed her back. Her lips were cool, and her tongue was warm. Their tongues danced their own private ballet. He gently caressed the back of her head with his hand. Her hair was soft and smooth.
She whispered, “Lay back.”
He did as commanded.
She got on top of him and unbuttoned her shirt but left it on, teasing him with her breasts beneath it. She wasn’t wearing a bra, something Cameron hadn’t noticed before. He could see the tan skin of the bottoms of her breasts and then knew why she didn’t wear one. She didn’t need to. They were magnificent.
She said, “I want you, Cameron.”
Cameron stayed quiet because there was nothing to say with words but a lot to say with actions. He took her and pulled her in and kissed her more. Soft at first and then harder. Passionately.
He rolled her over, underneath him.
Li whispered into his ear, “Take my skirt off.”
He reached down and slid it off. She reached out with her hands and fumbled with his belt and then the button and the zipper on his pants.
Cameron sat back up and stood off of the bed, took his pants off, and threw them on top of her skirt on the floor. Then she jumped up on her knees and grabbed the hem of his shirt. She pulled the shirt up over his head as far as she could reach, and he did the rest.
She kissed his chest and then his abs.
He pulled her shirt off completely and stared at her for a long second.
Li said, “What? You don’t like what you see?”
Cameron stayed quiet and just stared.
“Cameron? What?”
He spoke with a slight lump in his throat. He said, “Earlier, I saw your behind and thought it was the best ass I’d ever seen. Gotta be your best feature.”
“And? What?”
“Now, I think I was wrong. Your front side is just as good as your backside.”
She smiled and clawed at him and said, “Come here.”
Cameron obeyed.
He never made it back to his own hotel.
Chapter 19
HYDE’S REAL NAME WAS JOHN.
John had arrived in London by passenger plane where he met with a private investigator. The same thick man he had employed for the last year to help him find out a very important piece of information—information regarding a murder, a murder in John’s eyes at least. It was a cold case that was cold only because no one had been investigating it except for John. No cops. No other relatives.
Ten years ago, John’s younger brother had come to London with his small group of employees. These were capable men—mercenaries. They were the type of men who don’t just disappear without a trace unless that’s what they had intended, and that was not what they had intended. This John knew without a doubt. His brother had come to London looking for the man who’d killed his wife, but instead, he’d been murdered by a stranger. A drifter. Some guy named Reacher.
The private investigator’s name was Scot Heminton, and he had recounted to John the same dead end information that he’d explained to him on the phone and on Skype many times before. Information that was dead end because it led nowhere. It didn’t lead John to the whereabouts of his younger brother, and because his brother’s trail had gone cold, the only thing he could assume was that his little brother was dead.
John’s brother had several men under his command—mercs who’d do anything for him, but only because he paid them and he’d paid them well.
John had the same type of guys with the same type of loyalty. Money talks.
Two of his guys were waiting for him in the United States, one at JFK and one at a rented location paid for in cash outside of DC. It was the perfect place for his plans. Quiet. No neighbors. Just empty warehouses.
Grant was a guy who wasn’t a part of his US crew. And Grant had a very particular skill set. He was a big Scottish guy who used to be SRR, which stood for Special Reconnaissance Regiment,
a special version of the British Special Forces. These were the guys who did the covert things, the black ops, the things in other nations that involved words like disavowed and espionage. Not the kind of guys Scot Heminton was used to dealing with.
London was busy at night, like any major city, but on this particular street, it was quiet, dead quiet, all except for one basement. Heminton’s office was located on this street and above the basement he was in. The sign outside told the public that Scot Heminton was a licensed PI. He had been licensed by the British government and had a background in law enforcement, which gave him an edge over most bad guys he came in contact with, but not against guys like John and Grant.
John looked down at the blood-covered face of Scot Heminton, who was handcuffed to a pipe on the back wall of his basement. He had endured twenty minutes of pain, not the longest stretch that John or Grant had ever made a man endure. Not even close. But to Heminton, it felt like a lifetime. It felt like he was already dead.
Grant said, “Answer the question, mate!”
Grant had a pair of thick black gloves with him, but he was only wearing one of them on his left hand. His right glove was tucked into the back pocket of his trousers because he needed that hand free to hold onto the crimson-colored knuckleduster gripped tight against his fingers.
He reared his right fist back slowly, no need for speed, and swung another vicious right cross. His fist hammered into Heminton’s bloody face and shattered what was left of the bones in his right cheek.
“Careful!” John said. “He can’t talk if his jaw breaks!”
John kept his gloves on and used his gloved right hand to jerk up Heminton’s head by a tuft of his hair. He looked into Heminton’s left eye, the only eye still open. The right socket had been smashed to bits. It was swollen shut. Massive. Dark. The lashes were missing, probably embedded into the knuckleduster on Grant’s hand along with pieces of skin from Heminton’s face.
John said, “In the last year, I’ve paid you a small fortune to do one thing.” He jerked the PI’s head even harder. “Find my brother’s body! That’s it! I know he’s dead. I know one man who was involved. One name. A name that you didn’t provide me with. A name that I had to get on my own.
