Ten Two Jack

by Diane Capri

  Noble said, “Despite the great pizza and good beer, sounds like this was a wasted trip to Detroit for me.”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “A promise is a promise, though,” he said. “I don’t have much to offer that you don’t already know, but I’ll answer all your questions in the morning. For your background check.”

  “Good.” She agreed that he wasn’t likely to know anything that would help her. He’d only met Reacher once. There were other people present. Not much he could have gleaned under the circumstances.

  He nodded. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll think of something I can use to help me find Reacher or the others by then. If not, I guess I’ll move on.”

  “Works for me.” She was tired, too. She craved sleep.

  “Great.” He nodded. “It’s late and cold, and I don’t have a hotel reservation. How about I spend the night in your guest room?”

  The question jarred her. A few weeks ago, she’d been awakened in the middle of the night by an intruder. At the time, she’d suspected Reacher. Was Noble aware of that incident? Was that why he wanted to stay here tonight? Perhaps he believed Reacher would show up again.

  If he did, she’d be prepared.

  Otto shrugged. “Yeah, sure. This way.”

  She set Noble up in the guest room and left him there.

  Then she moved into her bedroom with the envelope from the Boss, laptop, personal cell phone, a glass of red wine, and her gun.

  She closed her bedroom door behind her and shot the deadbolt home, just in case Noble decided to misbehave. Although he didn’t seem the type to sneak into her room at night for any reason. She sipped the wine and set the glass on the bedside table along with her gun and tossed everything else onto the bed.

  In the bathroom, she washed her face and changed into comfortable yoga pants and sweatshirt. She returned to the bed and opened the Boss’s envelope and dumped the contents onto the comforter.

  As always, the envelope contained only one item. A burner cell phone, fired up and ready to go. She settled back against the pillows, sipped the wine, and waited. She wouldn’t need to wait long.

  The Boss was always aware of her every move unless she took steps to block electronic surveillance, which she had not done after her return from New York. Two reasons.

  She might hear from Reacher again, for one thing. He’d contacted her several times recently. He might do it again if she gave him a chance.

  And she’d discovered she liked the extra security the Boss’s constant watching provided.

  The Boss would know she was alone and available to talk.

  CHAPTER 8

  Friday, February 11

  12:55 a.m.

  Chicago, Illinois

  They’d stopped for a quick dinner before hitting the road again. Thick clouds blocked even the faint light of the crescent moon, but the city’s ambient lights were as blinding as sunlight. Head injuries coupled with exhaustion made Scorpio’s temples throb with every pulse beat. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the soft leather seat, but sleep was impossible.

  Finally, Thorn accelerated the SUV onto the interstate’s westbound ramp and merged into traffic. When the vehicle settled into a steady eighty miles an hour, he said, “Where to, boss?”

  Scorpio glanced up to meet his gaze in the rearview. He jacked his body around in the back seat, trying without success to find any comfortable position. He’d spent a long, stressful, disastrous day on the road. He couldn’t focus. His mind was too fuzzy. To solve his problems, he needed rest, a laptop, and privacy. In that order.

  None of which would be easy to find in Chicagoland tonight.

  The original plan had been simple enough. Only four parts to it. Get in, collect his property, kill the thieves, and get out. Afterward, he’d expected to sleep in his own bed back in Rapid City.

  Nothing had unfolded properly. He’d arrived too late in the day. He had not found the thieves or his property. And he was forced to leave empty-handed.

  Time to regroup. He pressed the fingers of his good right hand to his temple in a futile effort to massage the pain away.

  “We’ll be out of the metro area soon,” Thorn said. “How about a mom-and-pop motel for a few hours’ sleep?”

  It was a reasonable question. After some rest, Scorpio’s scrambled brain usually settled down. He’d be able to think straight. But sticking around so close to the city seemed foolhardy.

  With Babbling Brooke dead and blood all over the floor at the Mackenzie mansion, he imagined Chicago PD’s heat down his neck like dragon’s breath.

  How long would she remain undiscovered? If she had a family or an inquisitive boss, someone would have found her already, probably. Once they identified her, how long would it take to suspect he’d killed her?

  He’d used a fake ID to make the appointment to view the mansion. But he had not been particularly careful about surveillance or leaving DNA at the crime scene. Unlike what they show on television, he knew processing a crime scene and analyzing forensic data did not happen instantly.

  Still, Scorpio was no stranger to law enforcement. His DNA and other biometrics were available in several criminal databanks. Hell, basic facial recognition software would probably do it, if they had a clear image from a security camera at the house.

  So the bad news was that he was a dog in the road. Only a matter of time before they found him and identified him as her killer.

  Question was, how much time? Hard to say. A few hours to a few months.

  Which meant he should have twenty-four to forty-eight hours of breathing room, for sure. Sleep was a smart first step.

  Thing was, a few hours of sleep wouldn’t solve the other two problems, both of which felt urgent for some reason. The flash drive he’d found in the back of Mackenzie’s bedroom wall safe was the first big thing.

  What was stored on that flash drive? To access it, he’d need a laptop. Which he normally carried with him everywhere he went. But nothing was proceeding normally in this operation.

  Thorn had driven Scorpio’s armored Lincoln sedan from Rapid City to Milwaukee. Even with the three a.m. departure, twelve hours of drive time and thirteen hours on the road was a long day. The time zone change meant they’d arrived in Milwaukee an hour later, too.

  Thorn used a fake ID to rent the SUV at the airport rental counter and left the Lincoln in a remote off-site parking lot. Scorpio’s belongings, including his laptop, were stored in the trunk of his sedan. Thorn’s stuff was there, too.

  “You okay to keep driving?” Scorpio asked.

  “No problem. Roads are clear. No construction. So far, not much traffic. Take a nap. I’ll stop for coffee soon, and we can make it back to Milwaukee in a couple of hours,” Thorn replied, settling into his seat and setting the cruise control.

  Scorpio leaned his head back and closed his eyes again. He would not sleep. He never slept in a moving vehicle of any kind. He could barely hold onto a coherent thought, but he struggled to consider the remaining options.

  Forty-eight hours wasn’t much time. Now he had four targets instead of three, and all four were in the wind. Possibly, they were all together. More likely, they were not. Which meant he’d be forced to make choices between them.

  He wanted Reacher. Wanted him bad. Wanted him with a rage that could never be quenched as long as the guy stayed vertical and above ground. His mental images of Reacher writhing in a pool of blood, in serious pain for a very long time before he gasped his last, wrenching breaths, had sustained him through months of recovery and rehabilitation. Nothing less than reducing Reacher to a sniveling, bloodied mass would satisfy him.

  He had waited this long for satisfaction, and he could wait longer. He’d have to.

  First things first. That was the rule. Everything else depended on the return of his product. He needed the drugs back from the sisters. Without the drugs, he had nothing to build his future upon. Which meant Mackenzie and the sisters were the first problem.

&
nbsp; The empty drug packs had shown him the way. While it was possible that one of the three had received a legitimate prescription for opioids, that answer was unlikely. The serial numbers on the empty silver packs would prove his ownership if they matched his inventory list. Odds were heavily stacked in his favor on that score.

  The list of his stolen inventory was saved on his laptop. When he picked up his laptop, he would check. He didn’t have time to run down a bunch of blind alleys.

  CHAPTER 9

  Friday, February 11

  1:05 a.m.

  Detroit, Michigan

  She waited longer than she’d expected for the Boss’s call. She sipped more wine. Coupled with the day’s physical and mental exertion, the wine made her mellow and sleepy.

  “Otto,” she said when the call finally came, as she always did.

  “How was your evening?” he asked.

  The question surprised her. He didn’t normally pretend to care about her or her life. Nor did she normally feign interest in his.

  “As well as can be expected,” she replied, wondering what the hell he was up to.

  “What is your assessment of your houseguest?”

  She cocked her head and held on to her patience. “My assessment? He’s DEA. He knows Reacher. Claims to have helpful data, which he’s willing to share. What should my assessment be?”

  A quiet sigh traveled over the miles through to her earpiece. He didn’t answer her questions. Instead, he pushed his own agenda. So predictable.

  “You will find encrypted files available for download on the secure server. Your eyes only.” He paused. “Which means don’t share them with Noble.”

  Because he was the Boss, and orders were orders, regardless of how they were phrased, she was required to comply. But the orders were odd, so she asked, “What’s in the files?”

  “Everything I could dig up in the past few hours about Noble and his connection to Reacher.” He paused. “We may find more.”

  “Noble coming here was a surprise to you?” She didn’t believe that for a moment. Throughout this assignment, he’d been several steps ahead of her on every level. She’d felt constantly manipulated, intel parceled out as he saw fit, in ways that made no sense to her. Why should she believe this time was different?

  “Until he approached you in the parking garage, I had no idea he existed. We might have begun this assignment with Noble instead of in Margrave, otherwise.” He paused. “I’d have told you about Noble if I’d known. Trust me.”

  Trust him? After all he’d put her through? She almost spit red wine all over the bed. As it was, she swallowed and choked and coughed for what felt like a full minute.

  When she got control of herself, she said, “Sorry.”

  He ignored her reaction and replied, “Noble could be a problem for us. Depending on what Reacher’s involved in now.”

  “How so?”

  “There’s mounds of data on the case Noble was working on when he met Reacher. A lengthy, wide-ranging investigation into pharmaceutical opioid theft and trafficking. Noble’s area was primarily Wyoming, Montana, and South Dakota.”

  “Reacher was out west when Noble ran into him, then? Which must mean this was a while ago,” she mused.

  He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “The investigation involved several teams of DEA agents and other agencies, as well as local law enforcement in multiple states.”

  She envisioned the government’s well-deserved reputation for recording and reporting absolutely everything. The reports on such a long-term investigation could take months to read and digest. She groaned, feeling the weight of wading through reams of documents, most of which would be a waste of time.

  As he so often did, the Boss seemed to read her mind. “Don’t worry. Ninety-eight percent of the materials I’ve located so far have nothing to do with Reacher or Noble. We’ll ignore them.”

  She glanced at the clock. Fatigue overwhelmed her. She’d pulled many an all-nighter in her life, but she never got that second wind people talked about.

  Reluctantly, she set the wine glass on the bedside table.

  She found her laptop and opened it up. “What’s in the files you’ve sent me?”

  “Distilled information on the two sisters and the husband. A brief summary of Noble’s case.”

  She made the connection to his secure server and started the download. “What about the telephone calls Noble says he had with Reacher? Have you found those?”

  “Still searching.”

  “And the investigator? The guy Noble says was with Reacher? Retired FBI. Shouldn’t be too hard to find him.”

  “Terrence Bramall. He’s a licensed private investigator in Illinois. His office is in Chicago. Specializes in missing persons now. Noble is telling the truth. Bramall’s out of pocket at the moment. We tried to reach him. No luck.”

  She said, “So you think Bramall and Reacher are together. And you’re worried about it.”

  “I’m not worried,” he replied.

  “What, then? Why do we care about Noble or Bramall or the two sisters or any of this?”

  “At the moment, I can’t answer those questions,” he said.

  And wouldn’t answer, even if he could, she figured.

  She swiped a hand through her hair and shrugged. “Noble doesn’t know where Reacher is. He met Reacher once. How much can he know? My plan was to interview him for our purposes in the morning, record what he says about everything that happened with Reacher, and send Noble on his way.”

  “Sorry, Otto, but that’s not possible now. Your mission has changed. We’re short on time. We need to find Reacher. Sooner is better.” He sounded a little bit sorry, so maybe he was.

  “Why? What are you not telling me?”

  “Download the files. Read them. Then we’ll talk.” He paused again.

  She heard someone walk into his room and deliver a brief, whispered report. When he came back on the line, he said, “Call Gaspar. Bring him up to speed. I’ll send you more intel as I receive it. Forget that wine. Get some coffee. You’re going to need it.”

  Before she could accuse him of spying on her again, he was gone. He’d disconnected the call.

  She glanced at the laptop screen. The files were almost downloaded. She leaned back, closed her eyes, and sipped the wine while she waited.

  A few minutes later, Noble knocked. “Otto? Are you still awake?”

  “Just a second,” she replied. She turned the laptop screen away from his view and placed her gun within easy reach. Then she climbed off the bed, unlocked and opened the bedroom door slightly. “What’s up?”

  Still dressed in his street clothes, he glanced into the room but made no move to enter. “I got a call. I’ve got to go.”

  “Go where?”

  “Chicago. One of the missing sisters was murdered.”

  Otto widened her eyes. “Murdered?”

  “I don’t have much info yet.” His expression was weary. Deep circles under his eyes belied his fitness to travel. Maybe he was a guy who slept on planes like Gaspar did and Otto could never do. “Body was found a couple of hours ago. A helo is due here shortly to take me to the airport.”

  “You’re flying from Detroit Wayne to O’Hare?”

  “Fastest, under the circumstances.” He nodded and swiped a palm over his face. “It’ll be tight. My flight departs in less than eighty minutes.”

  Few things were less appealing to Otto than flying in a helicopter. The whirlybirds were too unstable for her liking. Night flights in a helo were even worse. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I’ll come with you to the airport. You can answer my questions about Reacher until your flight leaves. I’ll get a taxi back here.”

  “Suit yourself,” he shrugged.

  “I’ll change and meet you in my living room in two minutes.” She closed and locked the door, which was more habit than any concern about him. She was careful, not paranoid.

  The files had downloaded. She closed her lap
top and stuffed it into the case. She pulled travel clothes from her closet and headed to the bathroom to get dressed.

  She placed her gun into its shoulder holster, slipped her phone into one pocket, and lifted the Boss’s phone from the bed. A notification flashed on the screen, containing a flight number and the word “confirmed.” No destination listed, but she figured he was sending her to Chicago with Noble.

  After half a moment’s consideration, she glanced toward the corner. Her rolling travel bag waited, always packed. She stacked the laptop case atop the travel bag and headed out.

  Ten minutes later, Otto and Noble stood aside, while the helo landed on the roof. They dashed beneath the rotor wash and up the flight stairs. Noble closed the door and stowed her bags. They settled into their seats, fastened flight harnesses, and donned helmets. The pilot flashed a questioning thumbs up. Noble and Otto returned the gesture. Shortly afterward, they were airborne.

  Even with the headsets, conversation inside the helo was difficult. She’d wait until they were on solid ground again to ask her questions. In the meantime, she pulled the Boss’s phone from her pocket to check her Chicago flight details.

  When the notification opened, allowing her to read the info, she raised her eyebrows. The Boss wasn’t sending her to Chicago with Noble. Her flight was booked to St. Louis. Scheduled to depart in fifty minutes. At a departure gate half a mile from Noble’s. She’d need to jog to her gate the moment the helo set down.

  Whatever intel Noble might possess about Reacher, she couldn’t discover it this trip. As it was, she’d be lucky not to miss her flight. Her stomach churned, and she reached into her pocket for an antacid, which she chewed slowly, wondering why the hell she was headed to St. Louis.

  CHAPTER 10

  Friday, February 11

  1:55 a.m.

  Detroit, Michigan

  At the airport, Otto and Noble hurried through the special security checkpoint the Boss had arranged and parted on the other side for gates at opposite ends of the terminal. She dashed along the moving sidewalks and arrived breathless at her gate, flashed her boarding documents and her badge, and slipped into the jetway half a moment before the gate agent closed the door.