by Diane Capri
He stared into her sunglasses for a few moments more and then he turned to lean his forearms on the railing, looking out toward the spectacular views of the Hoover Dam in the distance. Vehicles passed on the bridge behind them. A few tourists walked to and fro.
Jade stayed ten feet away and waited, afraid to move any closer. Amarin was lightning fast. Her only hope of evading him was distance. The breeze had strengthened and she felt the cold wind through her hoodie.
Eventually, he began to talk as if he’d accepted her conclusions about her future. “The journey was fine for us. Until we reached the U.S., we were comfortable.”
She understood he was asking about her journey also, so she answered his unspoken questions. “We were well cared for. Our passage to America was exactly what we’d dreamed, what our families paid for. We arrived safely. All unfolded as we had been advised before we left Thailand.”
“Until you reached Montana,” he said firmly. “That’s where things went wrong.”
Jade nodded. “But even that turned out well for us. We stayed together. We were transported to Denver. We’ve made a good life there.”
He understood she was asking about his journey, too. He nodded. “We were fine. When we made it to Montana, we were divided up. The younger boys were taken away. Our brothers. We never saw any of them again.”
Amarin lowered his head and Jade did, too. Seven years later, they were older and wiser than they’d been when they excitedly boarded the boat in Thailand, headed for a better life.
They both knew now that they’d been victims of human trafficking seven years ago.
The boys were irretrievably lost, probably sold into the sex trade. Separated from each other, sent to different owners, thousands of miles apart. Some had died. Although Jade and Amarin continued to hope, there was no way to avoid the likely conclusion.
Jade sensed that he was still angry because he’d felt responsible for the boys. Jade no longer cried for them. She preferred not to think about the fate of those she could not rescue. That way lies madness and she simply didn’t have the luxury of giving in to it. She had the living to consider.
They shared a few minutes of conversation about their rural village and the people they’d left behind. Friends and distant family they would never see again. Celebrations in days gone by. The usual things old friends talk about when they’ve been separated for many years.
A passing SUV blew its horn when another vehicle swerved into its lane on the roadway behind them. The loud noise startled them both and returned them to the present.
Jade glanced behind to see vehicles passing safely. She observed tourists walking along in small groups, pointing at the lake and the dam, snapping photos or longer videos on their phones.
A lone man approaching from the Nevada side of the bridge caught her eye. He might have been a tourist exploring alone, but something about him raised Jade’s internal warning systems. She kept her wits about her these days, which was how she’d stayed alive so long.
The man strolled easily in their direction. He wore a leather jacket and dark glasses and a baseball cap pulled low on his face. One hand rested in his pocket. The other swung free and loose at his side.
“What are you looking at?” Amarin asked, turning his head to see.
A strong electrical current ran up her spine and down again, setting her nerves on fire. “That man coming toward us. Does he look strange to you?”
Amarin stared at the man and his breathing became rapid and uneven. He stepped in front of her. “Go. Get out of here. I’ll contact you again. But you can’t stay here now.”
“Why? What’s going on?” Jade asked as she tried to see around him to the man wearing the cap. “You know him?”
“He works for my boss. He’s a fixer. His name is Fredo Moretti. He’s not here to socialize,” Amarin said sternly. When she didn’t move, he said, “You’re in danger, Jade. He’s seen us. If he gets close enough, he’ll kill you. That’s what he does. There’s no other reason why he would be here. Get going. Now.”
Jade’s heart thumped rapidly in her chest. “What about you?”
“He won’t hurt me. I’m the golden ticket.” Amarin gave her a hard stare. “You’re the problem to be eliminated. Somehow, Rossi knows I came here to meet you. He’s sent Moretti to deal with you. And watch yourself. Rossi will find you again.”
Jade nodded, turned her trembling body, and rushed quickly in the opposite direction.
Six tourists were gathered at the welcome sign attempting to take a selfie photo and not having much luck getting their group into the frame.
Jade approached them offering to shoot the whole group together and they readily agreed. She took the phone and stepped back a few paces, ostensibly to compose the photo.
From this vantage point, she had a clear view of Amarin and the approaching threat. Mindlessly, she snapped several images of the group while she kept her gaze on Moretti.
When she finished the photos, she pulled her phone from her pocket and shot a burst of Fredo Moretti images, too.
Amarin and Moretti were arguing now, but the wind carried their conversation into the canyon. Jade tried using her video, hoping to capture the words. Their voices were raised in anger, but the dialogue was lost in the wind.
The argument turned physical. Moretti pushed Amarin against the railing.
Moretti’s push triggered Amarin’s fighting instincts. His lighting fast reflexes engaged.
He punched Moretti in the stomach before Moretti had a chance to deflect.
Moretti grabbed his midsection with his free hand and bent over with pain. His other hand seemed to be stuck inside his pocket.
Swiftly, Amarin lifted his leg high in the air and delivered a vicious kick.
The blow landed hard to the side of Moretti’s neck and head.
Moretti crumpled against the railing, sliding toward the concrete.
In one smooth, fast motion, Amarin bent slightly at the knees, lifted Moretti as if he were weightless, and effortlessly tossed him over the railing.
Moretti didn’t scream at all as he went into the abyss. Which probably meant he was unconscious. He had no chance to be frightened.
Jade gasped. Her hand flew to cover her mouth.
She stared at Moretti, falling rapidly down toward the river until he disappeared from view.
The scene had unfolded too quickly.
No one seemed to notice the fight or Moretti’s pitch over the railing or anything else.
Jade moved closer to the edge and leaned to see Moretti’s body as it continued to drop like an anchor all the way down.
Nine hundred feet.
By the time he hit the water, the body was a spec of darkness.
She continued to stare in horrified silence for a few moments more.
When Jade pulled her gaze away and turned toward the bridge, her brother was gone.
She sucked in a quick breath and whispered, “Amarin, what have you done?”
CHAPTER 2
Sunday, May 15
Las Vegas, Nevada
2:00 p.m.
Roberto “The Elephant” Rossi sat behind his desk in his plush office at the Snake Eyes Casino, which is where he could be found at this hour seven days a week.
The décor was mostly reminiscent of the gambling floor where Rossi had won the casino hotel from a rival years ago. Safir had been a small Lebanese with outsized ambition and annoying habits. No one mourned his passing.
The casino’s logo, a pair of shiny black dice showing a single red dot on each, adorned the walls and the glassware and the table tops. The probability of rolling snake eyes was one in thirty-six or 2.777%. In other words, not too likely.
But Rossi had always been lucky and the night he won the hotel and casino from Safir had proven it. Instantly, he became the new owner, terminated his rival, folded Safir’s businesses into his own, renamed the enterprise, and never looked back.
A year or so later, Rossi was able to eliminate
Safir’s customer, the Iranian, Mahmeini and the last of the old Duncan, Nebraska fiasco was laid to rest. Rossi moved up two places in the supply chain.
He grinned whenever he thought about the takeover. All’s well that ends with Rossi in control and alive to fight another day.
Loose ends remained. For now.
He would find the rest of his property. The product he’d bought and paid for that had been stolen from him, reducing his business and his profits for too many years.
And he would avenge his soldiers who had died in the fight.
The Elephant never forgot a slight. The time for revenge would come. He had only to remain alert to opportunity and seize the moment when it arrived. Just like with Safir and Mahmeini.
Until then, Rossi spent his days at his casino. He lived here and worked here and played here. Where else would he be?
He drained the last of his private label beer and returned the empty bottle to the tray on his desk. He opened the drawer and located the gold bottle opener embossed with the snake eyes logo. He used it to pop open a fresh bottle and added the cap to the growing collection beside him. He counted the bottle caps as the day continued. Part of his inventory management system.
Las Vegas was ground zero for Rossi’s diversified business operations, which had grown exponentially in recent years as he’d eliminated his competition. No violence that could be tied to him directly, of course. The last thing he needed was some misguided dope coming after him.
No, Rossi had done the job subtly over time and kept his fingerprints off the weapons. First the Lebanese, Safir. Then the Iranian, Mahmeini. The others fell, too, one by one.
His considerable bulk and power were at the top of the U.S. operation’s food chain now, a position he intended to defend and never relinquish.
Which was why he needed to eliminate the girl. Jade, they called her now. She was already an issue for the boxer. Initially, Rossi had wanted her gone before she became a bigger problem.
Rossi had a sixth sense for these things. He’d ignored his misgivings during that unpleasant Nebraska business seven years ago and he’d incurred heavy losses. He’d clawed his way back, better than before. Lessons learned.
After that setback, he’d made two vows.
First, to never repeat the mistakes of the past. When his gut told him what to do, he simply made it happen. No failed partners to rely upon. No messing around. No wrestling with his conscience.
No second-guessing. Ever.
His gut said the girl, Jade, was trouble. She had to go.
Seven years had passed since the Nebraska situation and so far, so good. Following his gut was working well. Why mess with success?
The second vow he’d made back then was to hunt down and kill the son of a bitch who caused him such disastrous consequences.
Jack Reacher.
The guy was as big as a bull. He shouldn’t have been that hard to find.
But he was. Seven years later, and Reacher was still at large.
He had feelers out on Reacher and sooner or later, the bastard would show up. Nobody that big and that mean could hide forever. When he surfaced, Rossi would make good on his promise. He was looking forward to it.
Meanwhile, Rossi had concentrated on rebuilding and growing his business.
Which was why he’d sent Fredo to the Hoover Dam this morning.
Rossi’s best boxer was in over his head. A sign of weakness that could cost Rossi big money. Weakness his enemies wouldn’t hesitate to exploit.
Messing around with that girl was a fast road to disaster. Rossi would not allow it.
Fredo’s orders were simple. Kill the girl. Report back.
Should have been an easy morning.
Jade was so tiny that almost anybody could kill her and throw the body into the river. Should have taken Fredo five minutes, tops.
Rossi leaned back in his oversized desk chair and thumped the buttery soft leather with his beefy left thumb. He was barely aware of the nervous habit he’d developed in childhood, but his employees and associates had noticed. Nothing good ever happened when The Elephant’s thumping reflexes ruled his reason.
He glanced again at the clock. Fredo should have returned before office hours. He hadn’t.
Rossi sighed. His gut said he’d never see him again.
Not that he cared that much about Fredo.
He was a reliable soldier. Totally expendable.
Rossi could find another Fredo with the wave of his hand. Guys like Fredo stood in line simply to serve at Rossi’s whim. He’d lost such soldiers in the past. Reacher had killed two of his best. But Rossi had dozens more waiting.
The problem wasn’t replacing Fredo.
It was much more serious.
Rossi leaned over and pressed a button on the house phone. A woman opened the door and hurried into his office, an inquisitive look on her face.
She was a Dolly Parton impersonator in the casino lounge on weekends. All lip-synch, of course. Nobody had a voice like Dolly Parton for real. But the boobs, the ass, the wigs, the long red fingernails, the makeup. He had to hand it to her. She looked like the real deal under the soft lounge lighting.
“Dolly, first send up more beer. Then call Sydney. Get him in here.”
“He’s in Los Angeles. Won’t be back until Tuesday,” Dolly said before she noticed the thumb thumping. When she saw it, she added, “I’ll call him now. Maybe he’s on his way.”
Mincing steps were all she could manage in the tight skirt and spike heels. But Dolly turned and dashed out as quickly as she’d arrived before The Elephant expressed displeasure with a deafening roar.
CHAPTER 3
Sunday, May 15
Mount Rushmore, South Dakota
3:00 p.m.
FBI Special Agent Kim Otto lay flat on her bed in the cheap hotel staring at the ceiling. It had been a harrowing morning. She’d watched dozens of replays on the screen. The question was never answered, no matter how many times she saw the plane dip into the trees before the crash.
Eye strain caused a piercing headache before Kim had closed the laptop and then closed her eyes to rest.
The video of the plane crash looped in her head repeatedly for what seemed like a thousand times.
Was Reacher dead? Possibly. He’d risen from near death in the past, but he was mortal, after all. Sooner or later, he’d succumb to the big sleep, like every carbon-based life form before and forever after.
Kim rolled over on the bed and fumbled for the burner phone that connected her directly to her former partner, Carlos Gaspar. She pressed the redial. He picked up immediately.
“Still nothing to report, Sunshine. And every time you call me, I have to stop looking for new evidence to answer the phone,” he said gently. “Cooper told you to cool your jets. I’m telling you the same thing.”
Gaspar meant Charles Cooper, the top dog at the FBI as far as she was concerned, the man she usually thought of as The Boss.
“Cooper is not God,” she said because it was something Gaspar had told her often enough.
He replied, “Let’s go at this another way.”
“Such as?” Gaspar was preoccupied. She heard the keys clacking on his keyboard. With his new high-tech security job in the private sector, he had access to whatever he needed to find. One way or another.
“We know Reacher was here. In Bolton, South Dakota. Seven years ago,” she said, kneading the sharp pain between her eyes.
“Right. Reacher stepped off a bus. Trouble ensued. People died. Reacher disappeared. The usual,” Gaspar rattled off sarcastically, laser-focused on whatever he’d been doing when she called.
She took a breath before she said, “Where did he go?”
A couple of moments of silence passed before he said, “What?”
“After Reacher left Bolton seven years ago, where did he go?”
“Why do we care?” Gaspar said, distracted.
“Someone knows. He went somewhere,” she said, speaking between the
lightning bolts striking just above the bridge of her nose every few seconds. “And that somewhere might have a record of whatever happened. Because, like you say, Reacher arrives and disaster follows, as surely as the day follows the night.”
“Uh, huh,” Gaspar said as if he wasn’t really listening.
“Here’s the thing, though. Reacher didn’t die in Bolton all those years ago. Because if he had, we’d never have been assigned to find him. The Boss would have known he was dead already,” she said tiredly.
“Yes. True. So?” Gaspar said. “Doesn’t mean he’s alive today.”
“Right, but wherever Reacher went back then, if The Boss knows, then Finlay knows…” she allowed her voice to trail off.
Lamont Finlay, Ph.D., was Special Assistant to the President for Strategy. A Harvard man. Now the second most powerful man in the government. Which for Kim, meant the third most powerful in the world, after her Boss, who hated Finlay with a smoldering anger strong enough to radiate through the cell towers whenever Finlay’s name came up.
The antipathy was mutual.
Like her Boss, Finlay knew Reacher. They’d met back in Margrave, Georgia. The experience had pushed Finlay into the limelight and shoved Reacher further off the grid. Whatever it was had also bonded the two men tighter than silver plating on a base metal.
Finlay claimed he had no idea where Reacher was or how to find him. He said they’d been out of touch since Margrave, fifteen years ago.
Gaspar didn’t believe that story for a minute.
Neither did Kim.
Nor did the Boss.
Gaspar didn’t like Finlay and he didn’t trust the man. Every time Kim mentioned Finlay, Gaspar got his back up.
“What’s your point, Suzie Wong? You’re gonna just call and ask Finlay where Reacher went from Bolton seven years ago?” he replied testily. “He’ll tell you in his typical oblique way. And then what? You know Reacher didn’t hang around there, wherever it was. You go there, wasting your time, and you get nothing.”
