Jack of Hearts

by Diane Capri

  Burke barely noticed her silence. He was way too chatty. “Does Cooper even want to find Reacher? You’ve been looking for seven months. South Dakota was the closest you’ve ever come. We know he was there. We saw him. He can’t have gone very far. Why are we squandering our chance?”

  Kim said nothing, hoping he’d wind down soon and they could get on with it.

  Gaspar wasn’t a talker. He spoke when he had something worthwhile to contribute. Which Kim appreciated, like so many of Gaspar’s attributes.

  By stark contrast, Burke’s blather was exhausting.

  Kim tuned him out.

  Intense focus was one of her superpowers. Developed over long years in school, graduate school, law school, and Quantico. Growing up in a big family and even being married to a drug addict for a while had further honed her superpower.

  Yep, she could focus like a laser beam.

  Especially when she had only one option. When there’s only one choice, it’s the right choice.

  She turned her thoughts from Burke’s issues to the matter at hand.

  Finding Reacher.

  CHAPTER 6

  Tuesday, May 17

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  10:15 a.m.

  Roberto Rossi always rose at eight, no matter what time he went to bed. He had breakfast in his penthouse on the twenty-first floor of the Snake Eyes Casino and read the newspapers until ten.

  He was a businessman. Keeping abreast of what was going on in the world had been integral to his success from the beginning. Enterprising journalists could be valuable assets for criminal enterprises like his.

  After breakfast Rossi spent two hours every morning, from ten until noon, in the plant rooms in the greenhouse on the roof.

  He’d read a series of novels years ago about a rotund genius who engaged in the rather esoteric cultivation of rare orchids. Tending orchids in a rooftop greenhouse in Las Vegas seemed like the kind of expensive and eccentric hobby a man as successful as he was could enjoy indefinitely.

  Experienced gardeners wouldn’t think of Las Vegas and orchids in the same sentence. There were ten thousand sub-species of the exotic plants, but most orchids preferred cooler temperatures, indirect light, and loads of humidity. None of which was native to the desert.

  He’d hired Siegfried, an expert in ornamental horticulture with a sub-specialty in the rarest orchids, to identify and acquire his jewels, and oversee the construction of a greenhouse where they would thrive. Oscillating misters, evaporating coolers, shaded screens, and more had created a tropical environment in the desert. Money, after all, was no object.

  Once the greenhouse was completed on the east side of the roof, the next step had been to fill it with orchids worthy of a man like Rossi. Nothing so common as phalaenopsis rested there.

  Endangered species were his most prized acquisitions. Which was why he had been on the hunt for the ten rarest orchids in the world over the past few years. Simply possessing such plants could get him charged with several crimes in multiple countries.

  Which was okay. Stealing rare plants wasn’t the only criminal activity he engaged in regularly. Wasn’t the worst, either. But it was the least profitable, which appealed to his cultivated eccentricity.

  Rossi’s enemies said his hobby was somewhat foolish. He shrugged. He had no interest in whoring or drugging. Cars and jets and yachts and villas were useless because he never traveled outside his luxury casino. A man had to spend his money somewhere.

  Siegfried had returned from hunting the beautiful and bizarre Rhizanthella gardneri in Western Australia this morning. He displayed the trophy to Rossi with the pride of a big game hunter.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Even the blooms are underground,” Siegfried marveled.

  Rossi had peered under the light shield Siegfried had created to protect the delicate orchid that was perhaps the most critically endangered in the world.

  “Only fifty known specimens exist in the outback. The five locations are kept secret because of the orchid’s rarity,” Siegfried said in awe. “No one would ever find these beauties without a knowledgeable guide and substantial resources. The astonishing price you paid for the guide alone! Oi! The trip into the outback to find this jewel was one of the most grueling experiences of my life.”

  “How did you discover my little Ella?” Rossi asked, in equal reverence and hushed tones, peering at the tiny purple blossom with the impossibly difficult name.

  “Hours of hunting on hands and knees under shrubs. Backbreaking work,” Siegfried replied, pressing a palm to his back to emphasize the pain he’d endured. “Not to mention the extra bribes it cost you to get this beauty back here. But so worth it, yes?”

  Rossi smiled as he folded his hands over his ample belly. “The challenge now is to keep Ella alive in her new habitat.”

  Siegfried nodded. “And then, to encourage her to reproduce for us.”

  Rossi was an introspective man, much wiser than his enemies believed. Not a genius, perhaps. But close enough to have amassed an unrivaled business and a sizable fortune and a cadre of competent sycophants to supply his every whim.

  For two hours, Siegfried shared the full details of his successful search for the Western Underground Orchid. Since Rossi had read about the rarest orchids in a magazine, he’d aimed to own all ten species, which Siegfried said was akin to finding the holy grail.

  Exactly the sort of goal Rossi appreciated.

  Few would pursue such an impossible quest.

  Fewer still would achieve it.

  Upon such unthinkable successes had Rossi built his reputation. “Don’t mess with The Elephant,” his enemies said. “He never forgets.”

  Rossi listened carefully to Siegfried’s story. Asking well-developed questions and gasping appreciatively at the dangerous exploits of his surrogate’s adventure.

  His display of admiration was cut short by an intruder.

  A sharp rap on the door to the greenhouse was followed by a man’s voice.

  “Rossi? Are you in here?” he called out from forty feet away. He would never dare enter the greenhouse. Only two people were permitted inside. Rossi and Siegfried.

  No one else.

  For any reason.

  Ever.

  The Elephant recognized his consigliere’s voice. A long sigh escaped from his lips. “I’m sorry, Siegfried. You get some rest. I shall return.”

  Rossi lumbered toward the doorway, moving his bulk in slow, shuffling steps to avoid jarring the delicate plants. When he reached the door, he scowled to present his displeasure fully.

  Simply because the man had permission to visit Rossi’s rooftop for emergencies didn’t mean he should actually use it.

  “I’m sorry to break up your morning,” Luca said. He’d worked for Rossi a long time. They had played together as boys. Rossi was quite fond of him.

  Luca knew Rossi better than anyone on earth. He knew the routine. And he knew how much Rossi hated interruptions while he was with his orchids.

  Rossi pushed Luca’s apologies aside and continued around the rooftop toward the elevator lobby with mock acceptance. The entrance to the emergency stairs was across from two elevator cars resting side by side.

  One was utilitarian and came up from the third floor, which housed the hotel lobby.

  The other car was private and dedicated solely to Rossi’s penthouse. He pressed the call button to open the doors and stepped inside. “Let’s move this conversation to my suite.”

  The doors closed after Luca entered and the elevator car descended slowly to Rossi’s apartments one floor below.

  His lunch was due to arrive promptly at twelve-thirty. He preferred to eat alone while his food was fresh. Which meant he had precious little time to devote to Luca’s emergency, whatever it was.

  Rossi waved Luca to a chair in the sitting room and lowered his one-fifth of a ton bulk onto his enormous, reinforced seat.

  “What is bothering you today?” Rossi said, after a pointed glance at the clo
ck to suggest that Luca should get to the point and then get out.

  “One of our informants at Las Vegas PD gave us a heads-up half an hour ago. Call came into the system from Jarbidge,” Luca said, reciting the facts as he’d been instructed and allowing Rossi to reach his own conclusions. “They found two more bodies. Males. Small. Maybe late teens. Probably Asian.”

  Rossi nodded, pushing his lips in and out, thinking.

  Luca said, “Took them a while to get the rescue equipment down into the canyon and get the bodies out.”

  “We had this issue two years ago. It wasn’t a problem then. Hikers get dehydrated, pass out, die in the desert. Sad, but it happens,” Rossi said.

  “Right. Which is why we didn’t concern ourselves,” Luca replied and then finished delivering the news. “Now that they’ve located a total of four bodies, similar in various ways, they’re mounting a broader search.”

  “I see,” Rossi nodded. “I assume our friends are conducting this search?”

  “Some are friends. Others are not,” Luca said. “The story has surfaced in the media. We expect to see the grisly details on the air and in the press this afternoon.”

  Rossi’s lips pushed in and out again and his left thumb began to tap the chair arm. Luca waited for instructions.

  “What did they find with the bodies?” Rossi asked.

  “Nearby, two generic backpacks. No wallets or cell phones or other identification. Empty canteens. Food wrappers,” Luca replied. “The usual sort of things hikers might be expected to carry.”

  “Condition of the bodies?”

  “No autopsies yet, but they were severely dehydrated and decomposed, according to our sources. Vultures and other predators had feasted upon them for a while,” Luca said.

  “Our friends will keep us apprised,” Rossi said, nodding approval. The situation was far from ideal but equally far from disastrous.

  Luca replied with a steady gaze directly at Rossi, “We may never know who these unfortunates were. Bodies found in the desert can remain unidentified for years. Some are never identified. But it would be foolish to continue.”

  Rossi nodded. He had an alternate dump site in mind already. “Thank you, Luca. Please see yourself out.”

  The lawyer was gone before Rossi’s lunch arrived, which was perfect. He seated himself at the private table overlooking Las Vegas to enjoy his lunch and consider Luca’s problem. He pulled the first bites off his fork and savored them as his mind went to work.

  In the daylight, his city was sprawling and unremarkable. If he’d lived outside the Snake Eyes Casino, required to work out there in the daytime, he’d have moved on from Vegas years ago.

  The nighttime was when Rossi’s beloved Las Vegas thrived. When crowds filled his casino and his hotel and his restaurants.

  And his live performances.

  In the dark of night, his illegal Muay Thai boxing attracted the soulless cockroaches with money burning holes in their pockets.

  Never satisfied with legal gambling on sports or pushing the buttons on the slot machines, or even betting high stakes on card games, they craved edgier experiences. Those depraved customers, upon which Rossi had built his fortune, paid for his orchids and his lifestyle. He understood them at the core level because he was the same.

  Luca’s problem carried the seeds of greater difficulty.

  Rossi inhaled deeply and held the breath in his lungs for a while before returning to his meal.

  Lobster salad was Rossi’s favorite starter. He finished it and moved on to the delicate Dover Sole Almandine, sautéed spinach with garlic, and a side of pasta alfredo, all prepared as well as his mother had made it all those years ago.

  He swallowed the first few bites with a nice white wine as his thoughts returned to his star performer.

  The problem was simple.

  Alan Chen was too good.

  His opponents were trained in Thailand and other Asian countries where Muay Thai was popular, but none had his skill or his speed. Chen had been told to scale back, but he seemed unable to pull his punches and kicks. Delivered with lightning speed and superior force, Chen’s blows landed far too well, far too often.

  Which was the reason Fredo Moretti probably rested now with the fishes at the bottom of the Colorado River. Rossi had had time to reflect on the situation.

  If Moretti got crossways with the boxer, he never had a chance. Not that it mattered whether the brother or the sister killed Moretti. He was too stupid to live, and now he didn’t. Which was fitting.

  Chen’s prowess was not the problem. Whenever Chen was on the ticket, revenues from the match soared. Chen was by far the most profitable boxer in Rossi’s stable. Perhaps the most profitable boxer Rossi had ever possessed.

  He sopped up the last of the mingled sauces on his plate with warm bread and pushed a big wad into his mouth. The flavors satisfied distinct aspects of his sophisticated palate perfectly. His new chef was indeed a master in the kitchen.

  He moved to coffee and chocolate lava cake, his favorite dessert, when he’d solved Luca’s problem.

  Chen wasn’t the issue. He was way too valuable to be labeled any kind of trouble.

  No, the trouble was Rossi’s incompetent cleaning crew who had dumped the bodies where they could be found.

  Which was easily solved.

  The crew would be replaced. Today.

  CHAPTER 7

  Tuesday, May 17

  Nebraska

  10:30 a.m.

  Like Burke, Kim had received a new padded envelope from The Boss this morning. No flash drive filled with files was included this time, though. Nothing but a new burner cell phone, the same as all the others he’d sent.

  It was pre-programed to call another burner. A direct line from her to him. Like everything else about this assignment, the need for such direct contact was frighteningly bizarre. It emphasized the reality that the FBI definitely did not have her back. Not in the slightest.

  She’d fired up the phone and dropped it into her pocket hours ago and ignored it.

  But the wretched thing was vibrating now. The Boss was probably calling to tell her to get Burke under control. She wasn’t ready to talk to him just yet, so she tuned him out, too.

  She considered the Reacher Problem.

  Burke was right about one thing. After seven months of searching, she was no closer to finding Reacher. Whether he was dead or alive right at this moment was unknowable.

  Kim would never give up, no matter what happened. She’d been called stubborn all her life, and maybe she was. She preferred to call her bulldog attitude tenacity.

  Even so, she felt Reacher slipping from her grasp with every passing hour. Two days of radio silence from The Boss hadn’t advanced the search at all. She had long ago tired of his game, whatever it was. On that much, she and Burke agreed.

  Reacher was like an enormous, predatory cat. He’d had at least nine lives already, and maybe more. Kim would never believe he was dead until she saw the body for herself. Reacher’s corpse wasn’t currently lying on a slab in South Dakota. Which meant she’d lost too much time waiting for Cooper to come through.

  She meant to find Reacher before she lost her chance, whether Burke understood that or not.

  Kim pointed to a road coming up on the right. “This is our turn. Duncan, Nebraska, is straight ahead.”

  Burke steered the Navigator as she’d requested onto a paved two-lane running north and south. Traffic was sparse. They’d passed few vehicles along the way, some farm trucks and a tractor or two, and a few older SUVs.

  Turned out Reacher had landed in the farming community when he left South Dakota seven years ago. What followed was the usual murder and mayhem Reacher magnetized simply by walking around.

  Gaspar dug up the police report from the Nebraska State Police, which was created after the fact and not filed in any digital database. Short, skeletal, to the point. And Reacher’s name was listed as the prime suspect in eleven murders, several assaults, and two arsons
for good measure.

  Reacher had been named by a credible witness as the perpetrator of the violence. Which Kim had never seen before. Usually because the witnesses who might testify were all dead. The others were never willing to talk about Reacher’s actions, for one reason or another.

  Kim’s intuition, supported by the additional video Gaspar located, suggested that Reacher might have gone back to Duncan again two days ago.

  The video showed the man they believed to be Reacher hitching a ride in a late model Volkswagen Jetta. The Jetta’s GPS traveled halfway to Duncan before the vehicle was abandoned in a strip center parking lot. Which probably meant he’d hitched another ride.

  It was a leap in logic to think Reacher had continued on to Duncan, sure. But not that big a leap.

  There was nowhere else around for miles between where the Volkswagen had been abandoned and Duncan, the place Reacher had stayed seven years ago, according to the witness.

  Kim’s immediate plan was to interview the remaining witnesses he’d engaged with back then and find out whether Reacher had come back and where he was now.

  Follow the breadcrumbs. Old-fashioned bloodhound work. Nothing special about it. But the method was tried and true. Simply put, it worked if properly performed.

  After Kim broke the silence in the cabin of the Navigator, Burke once again found his voice.

  “It’s a ridiculous operation, making us wait around for who knows what,” he said, still fuming, picking up right where he’d left off. “Reacher could be anywhere in the world after two full days. He could have taken a jet to Australia by now. We’re spinning our wheels driving around here on these backroads, going nowhere.”

  Kim inhaled deeply for patience before she replied, “It seems that way, sure. But I’ve been on this assignment for seven months. Reacher is not predictable. Nothing has ever turned out to be what we expected going into a new place. This could work. And if it doesn’t, at least we’re moving instead of staring at the ceiling twiddling our thumbs.”

  Burke arched his eyebrows and growled, “Do tell.”