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Monday, May 30
Miami, Florida
Carlos Gaspar was settled into the sidewalk café in South Beach with his guava Danish and second cup of Cuban coffee waiting for Katie Scarlett to arrive. He’d arrived early, which gave him time to reconsider what he’d come to ask.
Gaspar had not relocated his offices to Houston when he’d recently retired from the FBI.
One reason he’d retired was to spend more time with his family after his only son was born. Which meant continuing to live in Miami.
When the offer too good to refuse came from Scarlett Investigations, the timing seemed wrong, but it wasn’t.
He’d left Kim Otto in the lurch right in the middle of their Reacher assignment. She’d been understandably upset because he’d left her without a replacement.
He didn’t tell her why he’d made the choice, but she had to know.
As much as he hated to accept reality, he simply couldn’t handle the demanding acrobatics of being Otto’s number two anymore. He realized his failures could have easily cost them both their lives, and almost had.
More than once.
He knew it. She knew it. He knew she knew it.
Even worse, Cooper knew it, too.
Gaspar had been more hinderance than help to Otto right from the start of their partnership, although she was too loyal to complain.
He’d had to go.
It was long past time.
Whether she liked it or not.
All of which meant that he’d only met with Katie Scarlett in person once. Before he’d accepted her offer, he’d flown to Houston to see her operation.
And to meet Michael Flint, the operative she jokingly called her “secret weapon.”
Several things about that visit cemented his intention to join Scarlett’s team.
Her operation was well funded. In his business, money definitely mattered. Money could buy assets and guns and travel and all sorts of weapons, real and virtual.
Some thought the government’s total control of the application of the law was the biggest advantage the FBI had over private operatives. They were wrong.
Laws were for the law-abiding. Crooks and criminals and killers of all sorts gave not one fig for what citizens called justice.
No, available cash was the single biggest advantage the FBI and other government agencies had over independent operatives, in Gaspar’s opinion.
Scarlett not only had the money, she’d offered a sizable chunk of it to Gaspar for his services. Way more than his government salary had ever been or ever would be.
Gaspar had seven hungry mouths to feed and five college educations to pay for. At least twenty years before he could retire. Money mattered.
But salary and benefits weren’t the only things.
Scarlett Investigations had other qualities that made the offer attractive to Gaspar.
Autonomy. No smothering supervision. No worries about performance reviews or promotions or pensions or backstabbing ladder climbers chasing him on the way to the brass ring.
Scarlett’s operation had more toys and gadgets and means and methods to deploy than anything Gaspar could legally obtain through the FBI. And she had access well beyond everything the FBI had, too.
To all of which she gave Gaspar open access.
As Otto’s number two hunting Reacher, the effort felt like swimming up Niagara Falls in a straitjacket. Hard to avoid drowning.
Working with Scarlett was more like hunting an angry, rabid whale with full use of all available satellites to locate it and the means to capture it alive.
The final sweetener Scarlett had dangled to entice Gaspar when he was still on the fence? Michael Flint.
Scarlett promised two things.
Gaspar could use Flint to help Otto whenever he was needed.
And Flint would do the work on Scarlett’s dime.
Subject to Flint’s consent, of course.
Flint wasn’t one of Scarlett’s employees. They weren’t even business partners. But they helped each other out when needed and Scarlett had an emotional connection to Flint that both were determined to preserve at all costs.
After confirming the deal with Flint, Gaspar had made the leap.
A leap he had, so far, no cause to regret.
Scarlett’s assets and Flint’s assistance had already served Otto well. Better than Gaspar could have done if he’d remained her partner on the FBI payroll.
Of course, Otto didn’t agree with Gaspar’s assessments. He’d known she wouldn’t. Which is why he never asked or offered. Better to seek forgiveness than permission.
He simply retired and told her afterward.
Since then, he’d sent Flint whenever Gaspar believed Otto needed the help.
She was grateful, even if she didn’t gush about it. He respected her all the more for that.
“Sorry I’m late, Carlos,” said a husky female voice as a long shadow fell across Gaspar’s table. “Do I need to serve myself? Or is there table service?”
He glanced up behind his aviators to see Katie Scarlett, looking as amazing as any woman he’d ever seen. She was sort of a cross between a film star and an army general. Gaspar couldn’t say which was dominant.
Oversized sunglasses covered half her face. Her wild hair had been tamed into some sort of updo. She wore a sleeveless sundress with bare legs and high heels.
Gaspar smiled and raised his hand to get the attention of his server. Scarlett settled into the seat across from him.
When the server arrived at the table, Scarlett said, “I’ll have what he’s having.”
Gaspar’s grin widened. Otto would never have eaten all that sugar in a million years.
The server hurried off to fill Scarlett’s order. “Sorry I’m late. The jet had some weather issues on the way down. And now I’m afraid we don’t have much time.”
“No problem,” Gaspar replied. He preferred to get right down to business, anyway. “What’s up that we couldn’t discuss through the usual channels?”
“It’s not that,” Scarlett said, as the server returned with her order.
“What, then?”
She took an exploratory bite of the Danish and then gobbled half as if she hadn’t eaten in a week.
“You eat like my wife.” He threw back his head and laughed. “I love a woman with a hearty appetite.”
Scarlett wolfed down the rest of the pastry and swigged the Cuban coffee. She didn’t pretend it was anything other than fabulous.
Gaspar liked her better by the minute. She had a gusto for life, this one.
“We could have covered this on the phone. But I was on my way to Miami, anyway,” Scarlett said, pushing the pastry plate aside. “We have a new client with significant potential.”
“Who is it?”
“Wants to remain anonymous. At least for now.” She shook her head. “Anyway, Flint just came off a tough case. Lots of travel. A couple of close calls. He needs something to do that’s not so strenuous. So he’s on his way to Pecos, Texas.”
“Been there. Not someplace I’d want to vacation,” Gaspar replied, wondering where this was going.
“He’s planning to meet with the client. And it looks like our interests and Otto’s interests may collide on this one,” Scarlett said, in her usual straightforward style. “Have you heard from her?”
He shook his head. “A couple of texts. She’s in Dallas, or on her way, or something.”
“I sent you the file. You can get to work on it, see what you think. Mainly, I wanted you to know that Flint’s already there. So no need to panic.” Scarlett glanced at her watch, nodded, and drained her coffee.
“Panic about what?” Gaspar asked, curious.
“Read the file. We can talk later. I thought we’d have more time, but I’ve really got to run. I’m sorry,” Scarlett said just before she left.