by Scott Blade
Renth didn’t close the door behind her. Instead, he handed her an iPad. The screen was on. He said, “Take this.”
She took it, and he shut the door, leaving her alone in the car. Then she heard a familiar voice. She looked at the screen of the iPad and saw President Asher staring back at her from a FaceTime connection.
She said, “Mr. President?”
Asher said, “Hello, Miss Li.”
“Hi,” she said, not knowing what to say.
Asher said, “Agent Li. I want to thank you personally for your brave service tonight.”
Li said, “Thank you, sir.”
“I’m sorry I can’t meet with you in person, but this is the only way, I’m afraid.”
She said nothing.
Asher said, “I hear from Special Agent Cord that you were an essential part of foiling this terrible plot.”
She said, “Thank you.”
“Anyway, I just wanted to thank you personally.”
Again, she said, “Thank you.”
Asher hung up.
Li didn’t know what to think. Never in a million years did she think the president would speak her name.
Renth opened the door and took the iPad from her. He leaned down and said, “Want a ride?”
“Sure.”
He closed the door and got into the driver’s seat. He started the engine and looked back at her in the rearview mirror. “Where to Special Agent Li?”
She said, “I’m not a special agent.”
He said, “You sure are. Executive orders. Sorry, there’s no getting out of it.”
He reached over into the next seat and then tossed something back into her lap.
She looked down and saw a Secret Service badge that had no name engraved on it. It read, “Temporary Agent.”
Li stared at the badge with a feeling of accomplishment. She didn’t know what to say. For her whole adult life, she’d had the goal of making it as a special agent, and in one day, it had been both taken away from her and then given back—and by executive order. If she’d had more sleep and was more herself, she’d have cried with joy.
But right now, all she wanted to do was get home and see Cameron and go to bed. He’d said he would call her later, but she hoped what he’d really meant was that he’d wait for her. Where else was he going to go?
Renth said, “Where you wanna go?”
Li said, “Home. I’m exhausted.”
Renth turned and faced the street. He started the car and asked, “What’s your address?”
“Not far. Ten minutes maybe. Head east.”
Renth followed her instructions. They drove on through several lights and intersections and then through a small section of downtown. At this early hour, traffic was moderate—not quite as bad as it would be in a half hour, but not as light as it had been an hour earlier.
Once, they reached her apartment, Li thanked Renth again and got out of the car. She walked up her stone pathway and then to the elevator. The whole trip home, she’d had one thing on her mind.
A major flaw Special Agent Li had was that even though she was extremely organized, she was also a little forgetful when it came to everyday things. One of the things she had forgotten more than once in the past had been the keys to her apartment.
So she’d started to hide an extra key across the hall underneath the carpet in a place where it was torn up a little—something okay for most normal people but probably not the best idea for a United States Secret Service agent. The slight tear in the carpet helped her remember where she’d hidden her key.
The thing she’d thought on her ride up in the elevator was that she’d hoped that Cameron had found her key and was now waiting in her apartment. She hoped he was waiting for her in her bed, already asleep. Perhaps she could slip in without waking him. Perhaps she could snuggle up behind him. Perhaps she could tuck in close and sleep the day away.
When she got off the elevator, instead of checking to see if the spare keys had been used, she went straight to the apartment door and unlocked it. Inside, she saw nothing unusual. The morning light was creeping in through the closed curtains. She flipped the light switch, and the hanging lights flickered on. They were extremely dim, but she was used to it.
In the low light, she could see that her apartment was undisturbed. There was no bump in her bed from a sleeping man. No extra pair of shoes placed by the door. No one in the bathroom. And no one on the sofa. Her place was completely empty.
SPECIAL AGENT CORD WOKE UP in a hospital bed the next afternoon. His chest still hurt like hell, but the staff of George Washington Hospital was taking very good care of him. His nurse was an attractive young woman, and that didn’t bother him one bit.
He looked around his room and saw flowers and empty chairs. He smiled and breathed out, hurting from his broken ribs. His chest had been tightly bandaged, and he could see that the bandages Cameron had wrapped him with after stitching his bullet wound had been changed.
He glanced at the TV. It was turned off, something he was glad to see because he was sure every channel would be filled with news reports about what had happened, and that was the last thing he wanted to think about.
He laid his head back down and stared up at the ceiling, enjoying the silence. He thought about his dead friends and thought about Jack Cameron. He wondered where the kid was now. He had underestimated him just as he had underestimated Kelly Li. He’d also underestimated Douglas Graine, and because of that, one of his friends was dead and probably another and his oldest friend and boss would most likely lose his job and his future retirement—and that was the best case scenario.
Cord tried to turn his mind off and not think about it. He tried to concentrate on the silver lining—Raggie was alive.
RAGGIE AND MAX SLEPT the entire next afternoon, snuggled up under piles of blankets in a bed at her aunt’s house in Virginia. Her mother looked in at her and smiled. She was glad her sister had finally gone to work because even though it was the afternoon, she was exhausted, too. She had stayed up all night thinking—and she had a lot to think about.
She needed to think about her future with a man who had chosen duty to his country over duty to his family. Even though she could understand why, she wasn’t sure if this life was right for her any longer. She needed to think about a lot of things, and only time would give her the answers.
But for now, Raggie was safe, and it was obvious they had a new family member in Max the shepadoodle.
She had tried to call her husband, but they weren’t allowing him phone calls right now. He was currently being detained with no formal charges. They were holding him as a person of interest until they decided whether to charge him. Either way, she figured she was going to need the time apart.
Rowley was a fiercely loyal man—incredibly so—and it was likely he would tell them most of the truth. But she didn’t think he would tell them about Cord and Lucas’s involvement. He’d tell them they were acting on his orders. Cord would be fine. He would retire with a full pension. He’d be promoted for sure.
None of this mattered to Claire Rowley at the moment, however. All she wanted was to spend time with her daughter. She walked into the extra bedroom and made eye contact with Max as he lifted his head and looked at her. She lifted the covers and scooted in next to Raggie, who didn’t acknowledge that her mother was getting in next to her but was aware of it.
Even though Raggie was exhausted from her ordeal, it’d be a while before she was able to sleep deeply in the way that most people did, in that vulnerable way made possible by complete trust in the outside world. Her fears would keep her always partially alert for a long time to come. But she knew that she’d eventually move past it. Eventually, she’d sleep like a normal person. Just as she had gotten over a shark attack and learned to embrace it as a strength, telling her friends, “Hey, I survived a shark attack. What’ve you done?”
But for now, she would sleep with one eye open.
TWO RECORD-BREAKING HOT AUTUMN DAYS
LATER, Jack Cameron was standing sixty-one yards from a turnpike under the shade of a big Liriodendron tulipifera, also known as tulip poplar and most commonly as Indiana’s state tree. That’s where he was— smack dab in the middle of Indiana’s farm country. He was far from Kelly Li and Special Agent Cord, regrettable in a way because he wanted nothing more than to see Li again, but this way was his way.
The last thing he wanted was to be subject to endless questions and examinations. That was Li’s thing. The life of a special agent was fraught with danger, both to your life and to your reputation. Neither of these things appealed to Cameron. So he had left.
The tulip tree was far from the biggest he’d ever seen. It had good, sturdy branches that started about twenty feet from the base. Bright red and yellow leaves filled the top where once they’d been green. They provided plenty of shade from the bright morning sunlight.
Cameron had seen many interstates, and Indiana’s was no different. Some parts were better maintained than other parts. Federal highway money went here and went there, and such was life.
He sat under the tree, foot in hand. His feet hurt, and he was considering taking his shoes off for a while. That’s when he remembered the tracking device in his sole. He pulled it out and stared at it. Surely, the battery was dead by now, but he didn’t like even the smallest chance of being traceable. So he tossed the hi-tech nail off into the grass.
Jack Cameron thought about resting under the tree for at least a half an hour or so, but a man on the road with nowhere to go was just about as much a victim of chance as one could be. And just then, a new opportunity revealed itself. He saw a green Jeep Wrangler pull slowly out of the nearby woods. The passengers must’ve been mud riding because the thing was caked in dried dirt and fresh mud. The gears shifted, and the tires climbed over the bumpy terrain until the vehicle was on more stable ground.
The Jeep started to head back to the highway, and then it stopped and reversed and headed in Cameron’s direction. It drove slowly and carefully and pulled out in front of him. It was a soft top, and the person seated on the passenger side unzipped the window. She was a young girl, maybe twenty-two or so with golden blond hair just like what he’d imagine a farmer’s daughter might have.
She looked down at him and with a thick farm girl accent, she said, “You lost?”
Cameron said, “No, ma’am. I’m just getting some shade. Been walking all mornin’.”
Cameron couldn’t see into the vehicle, but he heard another female voice, only it sounded older. More of a grown woman’s voice.
She said, “Where ya headed?”
He decided to stand up in front of ladies. So he got up off of the tree roots he’d been sitting on and brushed the dirt off of his rear end. He said, “I’m passing through. Going nowhere in particular.”
He looked into the Jeep and saw a much older replica of the young girl. It must’ve been her mother or possibly a young grandmother. She was in her sixties, at least, but younger than sixty-five, he guessed. Cameron smiled at the thought of a grandmother taking her granddaughter out for a mud ride to bond.
The younger one said, “You wanna ride? We’re headed into town. We can drop you there.”
Cameron said, “Sure.”
The girl opened the door and hopped out. She flipped the seat forward and climbed into the backseat. Cameron ducked his head down and climbed into the front passenger seat and closed the door hard.
The Jeep returned to the road, and they were on their way.
IN A SMALL TOWN called Green Station, Indiana, Cameron sat in a small diner. He’d just finished up his breakfast with the grandmother and granddaughter who had picked him up two hours earlier. He had bought them breakfast to thank them for the ride. To the ladies, it was a lunch since they had already eaten breakfast, but to him, it was a late breakfast.
Cameron polished off a plate full of eggs, sunny side up, and drank coffee. It was a regular Indiana fall day outside, which was to say it was like a summer day in New York. It was beautiful. The sun glimmered off of everything—chrome trim on vehicles, local shops’ exterior metal doors, and a huge sign across the street.
Cameron thought about his mother’s files on Jack Reacher. He thought about one thing in particular. He thought about the name of Jack’s old unit, the 110th Special Unit.
He had paid the check, and the grandmother and granddaughter had said goodbye to him. They wished him luck in his wandering. He remained sitting at the booth in the diner. He sat there for another forty-five minutes.
Using a pen, he’d borrowed from the waitress, he sketched on a napkin. Cameron wasn’t an artist. He didn’t have an artistic bone in his body. Nothing about his drawing would’ve been considered art or in any way be seen as outstanding by some snooty college professor at Harvard or wherever. And it wouldn’t get any praise from a junior college professor, either. It wouldn’t even have gotten a reaction from an art school dropout. But he was pretty damn impressed with his work.
It was a just a sketch, but the basic idea was there. It was an illustration of the United States Army Military Police insignia. He had drawn it from memory.
The design was basic—a pair of gold pistols crossing barrels, more like swords than pistols. The pistols were outdated now, but back in the day, they were considered an advance in military weapons because the parts were standardized and interchangeable. Underneath the design, Cameron had written ‘110th’ and the words ‘Special Unit.’
He sat back and stared across the street at the big, reflective sign which stood out above the front of a tattoo parlor. He rolled up his right sleeve and stared at his shoulder. After a few seconds, he let the sleeve roll back down over his bicep.
A tattoo of the US Army Police pistols and the words ‘110th’ Special Unit.’ It wasn’t a tattoo he had earned by being in the unit, but tattoos were for the wearer. To some people, they served as a reminder, but to Cameron, a tattoo would be a direction as well. It would serve as a North Star.
He drained his coffee, scooted out the booth, and stood up. He left the diner, taking his napkin with him, and walked over to the tattoo parlor.
He went in and saw a couple of guys talking. They were covered in tattoos. A bell dinged at the sound of his entry, but they ignored him.
After a couple of minutes of waiting—and after overcoming chickening out, twice—a beautiful young girl walked out from a corner like maybe she had been in the back office. She had a regular hair, as in it looked normal. Normal style. Normal length. It was shoulder length and brown with some long bangs cut just above her eyes. They covered her eyebrows, which may or may not have even been there. She could’ve shaved them off completely. Cameron wasn’t sure.
The rest of her wasn’t normal. Tattoos covered here everywhere but her face. Her face was stunning in that kind of plain Jane way. She wore square glasses, white in color. She had no facial tattoos or piercings, nothing that would be pretty common on someone who had chosen to blanket herself in tattoos.
She smiled at Cameron and said, “Can I help you?”
He said, “I’m thinking of a tattoo.”
She looked him over and said, “First one?”
“Yes.”
“What you got in mind?”
He opened his hand and unfolded the napkin, handed it to her.
She grabbed it and said, “Okay. Standard Army thing. We don’t get a lot of that. Nearest base is a hundred miles from here. You military?”
He said, “No.”
She said, “Isn’t that taboo or something? Guys getting patches or tattoos of units when they never fought in a war?”
“It’s not for my service. It’s a reminder of my old man.”
She nodded and said, “I see. You want a more detailed and better version of this, right?”
He nodded.
She said, “Let’s see what we can do.”
She led Cameron beyond the front desk and back to her station in the parlor. He sat down, and she started to pull out sketch
es of her past designs. There were really elaborate tattoos. Some good, some great, and some exceptional. She was a true artist.
After twenty minutes of sifting through her work and getting to know each other, she said, “What do you think?”
“I think you’re talented. No question.”
“So? You want the tattoo?”
Cameron thought for a second—and said nothing.
About the Author
Scott Blade grew up in Mississippi, where things are very much not what they seem.
If you liked this book, please go to Scott’s website and sign up to receive exclusive previews and content.
www.scottblade.com
If you enjoyed this book, please leave a four or five-star review. You can also email Scott Blade @ [email protected] or [email protected].
Also check out the first book in the Jack Cameron series, Gone Forever, and then the second book, Winter Territory. As well as Reckoning Road, a Jack Cameron Story.
And coming soon Nothing Left Book 4!
Reacher on!
Scott Blade
NOTHING LEFT
A Jack Cameron Thriller
Scott Blade
*Note: unedited version.
“Plans go to hell as soon as the first shot is fired. Protect and serve. Never off duty.”
—Jack Reacher, 61 Hours.
Chapter 1
TWO DEAD COPS slumped over the front bench and to the right of a white Ford unmarked police cruiser like they had toppled over like dominos. They were shot in the heads, shoulders, and chest straight through the driver side of the front windshield and I was the only person around in the gloom.
The reason that I knew this was a police car was the array of antennas along the trunk lid. And they both had that cop look about them. They were in street clothes, but definitely cops.
My name is Jack Cameron and I’ve walked from one state to the next, never stopping for long. I started drifting in order to find my father—a guy named Reacher, but I’ve since altered my quest just a little. Because, like my father, I have discovered that I’m an addict, not a drug or alcohol addict. I’m addicted to two things: coffee and wandering. And my addictions have no cure that I’m aware of.