CHAPTER SIX

Thursday, January 13

5:05 a.m.

Detroit

Less than a minute later, the doorbell chimed loudly in the early morning quiet. Otto pushed herself up from the chair and made it to the door before he pushed the bell again. She disarmed her security system and shoved the deadbolt aside. When she turned the knob and pulled the heavy steel slab open, she barely recognized the man standing on her welcome mat.

He was effectively disguised in outdoor gear of the high-end variety that one might find in a sporting goods store for British landed gentry. He wore a brimmed hat and sunglasses. His brown tweed hunting jacket had patches on the elbows. The collar was turned up to further shield his face. His wool flannel slacks were tailored and fell with a perfect drape. The only discordant notes in his ensemble were the heavy treaded work boots on his feet.

She stepped aside, and he moved across the threshold and toward her dining table without words. He assumed command of her home as if he owned the place, which raised the hair on her neck, but it was the sound of his boots hitting the floor that caught and stopped her breath.

The same sound she’d heard when she first awakened. She was sure of it.

Had it been the Boss in her room while she slept? Would that be any better than Reacher watching her in the middle of the night? She shivered, whether from the cold draft coming through the open door or the uncertain identity of her stalker, she couldn’t say.

She stood rooted to the entrance until he reached the coffee pot, turned, removed his hat and sunglasses, and asked, “Where are your cups?”

“Left side of the sink,” she said, as casually as she could. She closed and locked the door and re-engaged the alarm, even though she could be locking her intruder inside. Once, she’d trusted this man implicitly, with her career and her very life. But since he’d tasked her with hunting Reacher, their relationship had changed. She was wary of him now. With good reason.

He found the cups and poured black coffee for himself. “Freshen yours up?” he asked, which surprised her. He was rarely considerate. She nodded, and he poured.

He leaned against the counter, coffee in hand. She waited for him to speak.

“You’re aware of the most recent batch of government documents released by TrueLeaks last week?”

She nodded. TrueLeaks was a website owned and operated by the nefarious Louis True. Which wasn’t his birth name. He’d legally changed it from Louis Gunter when he went into the watchdog business.

True called himself an activist journalist. His mission was to disclose corruption in the U.S. Government, he claimed. There were plenty of unhappy government employees more than willing to steal sensitive and classified information for him. There were just as many enemies of the country who were thrilled to exploit the disclosures and protect True from imprisonment.

A match made in hell, she thought sourly.

“It’s old stuff, though, isn’t it? Two years old, at least. Some of it even older, is what I heard. No reason to be traipsing around in the middle of the night over old documents, is there?”

“We’re sorting through it all now. It’s going to take a while. But a few troubling things have come to light already.” He paused. “Involving Reacher.”

She plopped down in the same chair she’d occupied earlier and put both elbows on the table. “If Reacher’s dead, how can some old references in those documents make any difference to anyone?”

He nodded. “If Reacher is dead, the disclosures probably won’t matter much. It’s hard to say. Depends on what they’re about and who they implicate.”

Her breath caught. “What do you mean, if he’s dead?”

“It’s been six weeks since that explosion. The crime scene has been processed down to the last grain of sand. Everything they could find has been examined several times by several of the best techs in the world. Every bit of DNA they located has been tested and run through the various databases.” He paused and drank the coffee, expecting her to say something, maybe.

She held her tongue.

“And we found no evidence that Reacher died in that house. Or anywhere on the grounds, for that matter.”

Her heartbeat quickened even as she nodded slowly. “I see.”

“Frankly, we might all be better off if he’s dead. You know more about him now than you did when you began this assignment. You know as well as anyone how unpredictable he can be.” He watched her as if she was a suspect.

She wondered what he believed her guilty of, and whether he’d admit his transgressions were worse.

“Reacher’s aware that you’re investigating him. It’s not his style to skulk around in the dark like he has been. A man with nothing to hide would have come forward by now.”

What could she say to that? Reacher definitely had something to hide. But so did the Boss. And quite a few other people she’d encountered during the ten weeks since she caught the Reacher case. She said nothing.

“Look, the truth is that we don’t know for sure whether he’s dead or alive. And because we’re dealing with Reacher, it’s smarter to believe he’s alive. Safer, too.” He pulled a small thumb drive from his pocket and placed it on the table. “The conversations contained in the latest TrueLeaks disclosures are troubling, as situations involving Reacher tend to be.”

Otto looked at the thumb drive, but she didn’t touch it. The familiar tension she’d lived with since the first time she’d heard Reacher’s name returned, humming through her veins like high voltage through power lines. Her stomach twisted.

“What do you want us to do?” Her voice sounded stronger than she felt because she refused to show him even the slightest weakness. She’d seen first-hand how he used the secrets he acquired. She wouldn’t put herself in that position again.

“There are two witnesses. Both in New York City. One is an NYPD detective, Greg Brewer. The other is a retired FBI Special Agent, Lauren Pauling. Find them. Find out everything they know about Reacher. Fill in the gaps. If he’s contacted either of them in the last six weeks, then we’ll know for sure he’s alive. We can make a plan from there.”

She ignored the thumb drive. “And if he hasn’t contacted them in the past six weeks? What does that prove?”

“Nothing. We’ll still be in the same situation we’re in right now. We’ll talk more when you’ve reviewed the materials.” He drained the last of his coffee and put the cup in the sink. “I’ve talked to Gaspar. He’ll meet you at JFK. Your flight leaves from DTW in ninety minutes, unless it’s delayed by weather. Which looks likely. Storms on the radar between here and JFK. My helo is on the roof. Get dressed and meet me up there. We’ll drop you off.”

He picked up his hat and sunglasses and walked toward the door.

The sound of his footfalls across the room triggered her sense memories.

“Were you inside my apartment earlier?”

He barely paused. “Of course not. Why do you ask?”

“Someone was here.”

“Wasn’t me.” Without a moment’s pause, he drew the deadbolt, punched the alarm’s off button, unlocked the door, settled his hat on his head, and donned the sunglasses.

“We depart in twenty. Don’t be late. And pack a bag. Just in case.” He left, closing the door firmly behind him.

There was only one thing potentially worse than having him watch her sleeping that Otto could think of, and that was flying in his helicopter before sunrise.

She refused to think about the plane flight through bad storms coming up afterward.

Only one choice. Get dressed. Pack. Meet him on the roof.

Or quit the FBI right here and now.

She seriously considered that option for a full two minutes before she turned and headed toward the shower.