Prepper Jack: Hunting Lee Child's Jack Reacher (The Hunt For Jack Reacher Series Book 12)

by Diane Capri

  “Nope. So when you find him, tell him to give me a call, will you? I’d like to buy him a drink and show him pictures of my kids,” Johnson said, pulling a business card out of her wallet and handing it over.

  Kim took the card. “You have kids?”

  “Two. Boy and a girl. Twins. Finlay says your man’s a Treasury agent. You got any kids?”

  Kim shook her head. “My relationship with Lawton isn’t at that level.”

  “Well, mine are ten years old now. Some of the hardest work of my life, raising kids. Some of the most rewarding, too,” Johnson replied with a genuine smile. She stood up and fastened her jacket. She pulled a small flash drive out of her pocket. “This contains the reports of what happened back then. Look them over. You’ll find it helpful. I’ve got to get going. But call me anytime if you think of anything I can help you with. It might take me a while to return the call. But I’ll get back to you when I can.”

  They shook hands. Kim asked, “One last thing. If you wanted to find Reacher now, how would you do it?”

  Johnson leveled her gaze and without a blink, she said, “I’d ask Finlay.”

  “He says he doesn’t know where Reacher is or how to contact him,” Kim replied.

  Johnson smiled as she headed for the door. “And you believed that?”

  “Why would he lie?” Kim asked, more curious than surprised.

  Johnson turned to answer. “Everybody lies, Otto. The usual reason is self-interest. I’ve got nothing to hide where Reacher is concerned. I laid it all out years ago when we were first rescued. It’s doubtful everyone you run across can honestly say the same.”

  “You believe Finlay falls into that camp,” Kim replied flatly, because that’s what she believed, too.

  “It’s a safe bet. You should ask him,” Johnson replied. It was the last thing she said before she left and closed the door behind her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Tuesday, April 12

  12:45 p.m.

  Bloomfield Hills, Michigan

  Kim spied a laptop on the desk across the room. She figured Finlay had left it there for her to find. She started it up, inserted the flash drive Holly Johnson had given her, and waited for the contents list to open.

  The laptop was fast and the files were well organized. In a couple of minutes, Kim was reading the summary of events outlined in Agent Johnson’s final reports of the Montana incident.

  The kidnapping and everything that followed came after Reacher left Margrave. After whatever Finlay and Reacher did together there, too. It made sense that Finlay would have kept tabs on Reacher after that.

  Kim’s eyes widened as she skimmed the data. The first surprise was Agent Johnson’s pedigree. That explained a few things. Like why Cooper couldn’t touch her and why she wouldn’t be worried about him making the effort.

  She was the daughter of a powerful army general and the goddaughter of a former United States president. No wonder she’d been the target of a kidnapping. She should have had Secret Service protection but didn’t. Kim grinned when she read the reason. Johnson had refused. She could take care of herself, she’d said.

  Because Johnson was the author of the reports, Kim figured the accounts were somewhat sanitized. She spent no time on interpretation. That could come later. For now, she simply read the words on the page and digested them.

  Johnson and Reacher had been held as prisoners at the Montana compound. Separately and together, they had engaged the enemy and emerged victorious. She reported several fatalities as “death of enemy combatant.”

  Reading between the lines, Johnson seemed emotionally affected by two of the men involved. One was the embedded FBI agent she’d mentioned. Kim winced when she read of his death at the enemy’s hands. She figured Johnson had included the gruesome details partially as a means of justification for the carnage she and Reacher inflicted.

  The other man Johnson highlighted in the reports was her boss, FBI Special Agent McGrath. Reading between the lines and relying on instinct, Kim guessed McGrath might be the man she’d married and the father of Johnson’s twins. She seemed overly concerned with supporting and almost glorifying his actions in the reports.

  Mentions of Reacher bordered on clinical precision. Johnson reported each conflict, his combat skills deployed, and the predictable results.

  She’d included the body count, which was staggering.

  Kim skimmed the reports again to be certain she hadn’t missed it, but she found no mention of Finlay at all.

  After she finished her second pass, Kim ejected the flash drive, slipped it into her pocket, and stood to stretch her aching shoulders. She had several unanswered questions, but the answers weren’t included in the flash drive’s contents.

  A moment later, she heard a brief rap on the door. Without invitation, the door opened and Finlay walked in. Which confirmed Kim’s suspicions about Finlay’s surveillance of activities in the room.

  “You read Johnson’s reports?” he asked as he took a seat and gestured for Kim to do the same.

  “Why didn’t the government go in and get her out of there?” Kim asked. The question had been bugging her. It made no sense that they’d have left Johnson and Reacher to fend for themselves. “Johnson was a VIP. About as close to royalty as it gets in this country. Goddaughter to a sitting president. Daughter of one of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Romantically involved with a high-level FBI official. If there was ever a time for a well-planned extraction, surely that was one such time.”

  “They were worried.” Finlay shrugged. “They’d tried armed intervention in a few other touchy situations and all they got was a big black eye. People died. They looked like bullies and incompetent fools to boot.”

  “You mean like Ruby Ridge, Waco, and the Elián González fiascos?” She cocked her head. She could almost see it unfolding. The panic in the White House leading to impotence in the face of terrorists who would not hesitate to kill.

  Finlay nodded. “Those are three that come to mind, yes. There were others.”

  “So they were trying to figure out what to do and, by the time they had a workable plan, Johnson and Reacher had already solved their own problems,” Kim said flatly. Made sense. She didn’t like it, but she understood it.

  “That’s pretty close to the truth,” Finlay replied.

  Kim nodded. Second worst thing in the world for a powerful politician at the top of the food chain was to appear incompetent. The worst thing was when his exposed incompetence was not only true, but also fatal to innocents. Talk about a career killer.

  She changed the subject slightly. “Johnson’s obviously a Reacher fan. That why you wanted me to talk to her?”

  “Partly,” he nodded. “Until now, you’ve been spoon-fed selected information about Reacher. Cooper’s been careful about telling you only what he wants you to know and the witnesses you’ve encountered have been reticent, to say the least. Initially, I thought your situation was curious, but not too dangerous for you to handle on your own.”

  “And now?” Kim cocked her head. Finlay was an enigma, to be sure. Instinctively, she trusted him. But Gaspar said she was a fool to do so, and he could be right.

  “When you started out you were only doing a background check, which seemed harmless enough.” Finlay crossed his ankles, probably to avoid mussing the perfect crease in his trousers. “Now that your assignment has changed and you’re actively hunting Reacher, you need to know what you’re in for.”

  “Meaning what?”

  Finlay took a deep breath and a frown creased his forehead. “Reacher’s a complicated guy, Otto. He says he only wants to be left alone to wander the country because he never saw much of it when he was in the army.”

  “Sounds reasonable enough, doesn’t it?” Kim replied.

  “It might. For another guy.” Finlay shook his head. “Reacher fancies himself as some sort of knight errant. He takes it upon himself to get involved in dangerous situations he should stay out of. Sometimes the situation ends up oka
y and sometimes it doesn’t. Either way, Reacher’s the last man standing and there’s unacceptable levels of collateral damage.”

  “You’re speaking as the voice of experience, I gather.” For the first time, he’d admitted he knew more about Reacher’s activities than he’d been telling. Kim narrowed her gaze in an attempt to see through him to his motivation. She failed.

  “Some.” He smiled, as he often did when he knew she was on the wrong track and he might not want to steer her to the right one. “A long time ago, I arrested Reacher in Margrave, Georgia. I was the chief of police. Two strangers come into a small town and one ends up dead. At the time, I thought he’d killed the other man. The easy answer is usually the right one. We all know now that he wasn’t guilty of that particular crime.”

  “You thought he’d killed his own brother,” Kim said flatly. “Tells me something about how Reacher comes across to trained law enforcement personnel.”

  “In my defense, I didn’t know the victim was Reacher’s brother when I had him arrested. He didn’t know it, either.” Finlay’s smile vanished and he frowned, to show his seriousness, she supposed. “Like Holly Johnson, we found ourselves in a war not of our own choosing and Reacher fought with us. We’re alive now because of Reacher. But yes, his methods were brutal and unorthodox. And highly effective.”

  Kim nodded. “By which you mean Reacher broke about a thousand laws and killed some bad guys—and you were glad he did. Maybe you even helped him do it. So you let him go instead of arresting him again.”

  Finlay waited for her to sort things out.

  Reacher had walked away from Margrave a free man. Finlay had, too. Only one way that could have happened. Finlay didn’t do his job. Simple as that.

  Gaspar was right. Finlay had been a corrupt cop. In Kim’s experience, corruption was a character flaw, not a one-off.

  Someday, Reacher would pay for what he’d done in Margrave and other places, too. He and Finlay might be allowed to share a cell. They could discuss the meaning of life.

  Finlay wasn’t the only one covering up for Reacher out of self-interest, either. She figured the Boss fell into that camp, too.

  Trust no one.

  A long silence filled the room. Finally, he offered the same smile as before. “You’re a suspicious person, Agent Otto.”

  Which only served to confirm her guess. Finlay’s involvement with Reacher went way deeper than what she’d learned about Margrave. Way deeper than the hard data reported at the time.

  She’d pored over those reports a while back. Nothing suggested Finlay’s activities were suspect. Not even remotely. He’d done a good whitewashing job.

  So most of what Finlay had testified to in the aftermath of Margrave was fabricated. Perjury to cover up capital offenses. The coverup was often worse than the crime.

  Did she want to know more?

  If she asked for further evidence and he told her, she’d become the keeper of those secrets. Knowing would require action. The plausible deniability she’d struggled to maintain would fly right out the window.

  The Boss already knew everything, and Finlay was still who he was.

  The Boss would find out she’d been here and interviewed Johnson, even if he hadn’t been listening. And maybe he had. Maybe he was listening still.

  Sooner or later, the Boss would ask her what Finlay had confessed.

  When he asked, she’d be forced to tell him, or to lie about it.

  Either course was a career killer, for sure. Could be a lot worse, depending on who else asked the questions. Some lies carried heavier consequences than others.

  It took her less than a moment to decide to apply the sleeping dogs doctrine, as Gaspar called it. Or to leave well enough alone, as her mother would say.

  Someday, she fully expected to be forced to testify about the hunt for Reacher. When that happened, the less she knew, the better.

  Besides, she could guess that Finlay’s involvement with Reacher back in Margrave wasn’t as clearly a combat situation as Holly Johnson’s harrowing experience in Montana had been.

  Finlay wanted to liken his situation to Johnson’s. He wanted to believe he’d had no choice. That was pure fiction.

  Finlay had been the chief of police. He was the epitome of power and authority in Margrave. He had a department and training and weapons at his disposal. He’d had other legal options, too, and had chosen not to use them for his own reasons.

  Kim took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  For now, all she needed to know was that Finlay’s relationship with Reacher was no cleaner than the Boss’s. Both knew a thousand times more than what they’d shared with her so far. Just like Gaspar said, they were both using her. But for what?

  She’d become a pawn in whatever game these power brokers were playing.

  Pawns, as every casual chess player knew, were utterly disposable. Nothing but cannon fodder.

  “So why am I here?” she asked.

  Finlay nodded, as if she were a particularly dim pupil. Perhaps she was. “You’ve proven more resourceful than I expected. I’m not a fan of Charles Cooper, but he did well when he chose you.”

  She said nothing.

  “I have a proposition for you to consider,” Finlay said.

  “What kind of proposition?”

  “As you know, I have resources and access that can help you. I’m offering it to you, more than I have in the past.”

  She frowned. “In exchange for what?”

  “Keep me posted. Let me know when Cooper sends you out and where and why. When you find Reacher, advise me before you turn him over to Cooper.”

  Her breath caught with surprise. “You believe I will find him, then?”

  “Eventually. Mainly because you’re a tenacious agent. But it will take you a while. Reacher’s playing cat and mouse with Cooper now.” Finlay paused and she waited until he continued, “But when Reacher’s ready, he’ll allow you to find him.”

  “And when that happens, if I tell you first, what do you plan to do?”

  Finlay smiled, but he didn’t reply.

  She didn’t press him.

  His plans were another thing she didn’t need or want to know.

  She made him no promises, either.

  The conversation was over. They’d reached the point of mutually assured destruction.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Thursday, April 14

  12:25 a.m.

  Glen Haven, New Mexico

  Three hours before he was abducted the second time, Mason O’Hare’s focused concentration was interrupted by a phone call from Cheryl. She rarely called him at night, which heightened the tension that was his constant companion since he’d been kidnapped.

  “Hey, you,” he said easily when he picked up the call. “What’s up?”

  “I love you,” she replied.

  He smiled. She told him that often, but he never tired of hearing it. “I love you, too. But it’s late. Can’t you sleep?”

  “I’m already in bed. I wanted to hear your voice before I drifted off.” She sounded sleepy. She got up early most mornings for the dawn balloon rides and then her days were full of kids and a thousand other chores she handled around Glen Haven.

  “Have a good sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said gently.

  He waited a few moments until she said, “Good night.”

  “Good night, honey,” he replied softly. She disconnected and he ended the call, too. He didn’t want to risk leaving the connection open. Not tonight.

  He returned his attention to his spreadsheets. Ten minutes later, he heard a quiet knock on the door.

  “Come in,” he said, glancing up from the accounting program on his laptop screen. The door opened slowly.

  Gavin Ray crossed the threshold holding two ceramic mugs. He pushed the door closed softly behind him. Gavin was easily distinguished from his younger brother, Bruce, who had a port wine birthmark on his face.

  “Good to see you sitting there, same as always.
Your eyes are looking a little worse tonight. How’s the nose? You feeling okay?” Gavin asked. He was one of the founders of Glen Haven and because of that, he seemed to take a fatherly interest in everyone. His heart was as good as gold. The Rays were the glue that held Glen Haven together.

  “I’m doing better, thanks. The doc said it’s just a matter of my nose healing now. The black eyes will fade. My headache has subsided. I can concentrate better,” Mason replied.

  The answer was true, as far as it went. Mason didn’t mention the constant terror he couldn’t shake. If Gavin knew Mason might attract those dangerous thugs anywhere near Glen Haven, Mason would be out on his ear without so much as a twenty-four-hour warning. He couldn’t risk it. Even if telling Gavin might otherwise be a good idea. Which Mason didn’t believe for a second, anyway.

  “That’s good. I’m glad to hear it. Brought you some hot chocolate,” Gavin offered him one of the mugs and sat in a chair near the desk.

  Mason accepted and sniffed the aroma appreciatively. The hot chocolate was one of the products produced and sold by the Glen Haven community. They bought the cacao seeds from another intentional community in Mexico and processed and mixed the cacao with other things, like cinnamon and pepper. The exact recipe was a secret, but whatever the elixir contained, it was welcome on a cool and windy April evening like this one.

  “Thanks, Gavin. Again, I’m sorry about keeping your car so long. When I borrowed it, I expected to be back here in a couple of hours,” Mason let his voice trail off.

  Concern clouded Gavin’s features. “I’m not upset about the car. We’re worried about you. I thought the best thing to do was to wait for you to explain what happened. But it’s been a few days now and you haven’t told us anything.”

  Mason felt his face flush. He couldn’t meet Gavin’s patient gaze. He knew he owed them all the whole truth, but instinct held him back. His memory still had gaps and he hadn’t been able to explain things to himself yet. He had no answers for everyone else.