“I really shouldn't.”
He got up to leave and she reached for him, pressing her lips and body into his, her dress slipped down. He responded before he could control himself. Her lips and hands were everywhere. Then he felt the fizzing crystal dissolving on his tongue. In a second the thought to spit it out was obliterated by a wave of euphoria. The pain in his back was gone. The job was gone. He held Jess closer and everything was good. He welcomed the second crystal.
44
Reports of Reacher disturbances happened most days. If Adams investigated every case he'd never make any progress. Usually he left it to the local cops. They would round up the suspected Reachers, beat out a half–assed contradictory confession and ship them off to the Institute, who would cut them open, realise they were nothing but unlucky humans and throw their carcasses in the incinerator. Adams had no part in that operation and now neither did Mark. They were after real criminals, so when the call came in about a Reacher disturbance outside Great General Hospital he didn't expect Adams to make anything of it.
“Get your coat,” Adams said. “They've been spotted.”
“They?”
“The brothers. They bundled a girl into their car and drove off,” Adams told him, grabbing his car keys.
“Get the case too, we might actually need it.”
Mark hurried after him, snatching up his gun on the way. It was filled with rubber bullets at Adams' insistence. If a Reacher got hold of Mark's thoughts – and Adams seemed to think this was always a potential – then making him shoot himself in the head with a rubber bullet was a lot better than filling it full of lead.
“What's in the case?”
“The only protection we have against Reachers. It gives off a signal that messes with their heads. Ours too. Bugger gives me a two-day bender migraine. Let's hope we don't have to use it.”
They would be long gone. That much was a certainty, but this was the first sighting that the brothers clearly hadn't orchestrated themselves. Adams was excited and that was making Mark excited. If they caught the brothers they would be regaled as heroes. The likes of Ruth and Hatfield wouldn't dare challenge them then.
But the adrenalin was about to be cut short. Adams' phone rang. He answered it and stopped. A couple of affirmative grunts later he hung up.
“Scratch that,” he said. “They've found Harvey O'Connor.”
“The editor?”
Adams pinched the bridge of his nose. “They're pulling his body out of the water reserve now. There goes my sushi dinner. Come on kid.”
Mark had seen a lot of bodies in a lot of bad ways. There used to be an old saying in S'aven: you were never more than three feet from a corpse. And he could believe it was true. People threw out bodies like trash. Funerals were expensive and mortality high. What happens when your kids succumb to the latest case of dysentery and you've still got a dozen sick mouths to feed? You stick them in the nearest trash can and let the cops deal with them.
Being a beat cop meant Mark found more than his share of bad things. He could recognise the smell of the dead from a block away and usually could take a fairly good stab at how long the corpse had been festering. The river was the worst place to find bodies. He could remember standing on the bank while one of his team waded through the torrent of shitty water, trying to reach the corpse of a woman tangled up on the rocks and on his way crashing his foot into the rotten face of a missing teenager wedged on the river bed.
People thought that made S'aven a perfect place for murders, but most of the corpses he had come across were killed by the city itself, either from disease or suicide. In his time Mark had come across only three murder victims. Colonel Moore was his fourth, Harvey O'Connor was his fifth, but by far the most unforgettable.
His body had been found in the water tank on the roof of the Voice HQ. The London heat had boiled him up in the metal container and, as he decomposed, the filter system started to clog. When it packed up a couple of guys from maintenance went to get it started and found themselves swimming alongside their rotting boss. They were still throwing up when Adams and Mark arrived at the scene.
The pathologist was there too – she was a woman in her early fifties and one Adams seemed to enjoy flirting with, usually over a corpse.
“You could just call Ann, you don't need to keep finding bodies to lure me to you.”
Ann laughed and waited until they were close enough to adjust to the smell before she pulled back the tarp and expose the bloated corpse of Harvey O'Connor.
“Just so you know, you owe me. I've given you a five-minute head start on London's finest. Hey, who's the cutie?”
She looked at Mark and he was pretty sure he had turned green at the smell.
“Too young for you. Focus woman. Why did you call us in?”
“Because this literary criminal was killed in exactly the same way as your girls. Well, sort of.”
“Why sort of?”
She bent down and pointed with her gloved hand at Harvey's neck. “The neck is broken, snapped in two, but there is no external bruising. He was dead before he hit the water, but I'm pretty sure he was killed up here.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well apart from the fact he's about 18 stone and you have to climb two ladders to get up here, there are drag marks on the gravel towards the tank but no signs anywhere else. It's just a guess but you know how my guesses are.”
“I do, I've considered putting you on the Reacher list because of them.”
Most people would have quaked at the mere suggestion, but she laughed it off in good humour.
“How long has he been here?” Adams asked.
“I'd say a week, we've had some pretty hot weather, that's helped speed things along. At least a week, could be more. I'll know more when I get him back. This give you enough to go on?”
“It has, thanks. I'll buy you a drink sometime.” He gestured to Mark, it was time to go.
With reluctance Adams tackled the ladders first, grumbling as he did so. When they got clear of the crime scene he lit up a cigarette.
“They killed Harvey O'Connor,” Mark said
“Yup, and Reacher or not, our chief editor wasn't fit for any more killings. He's not our guy.”
45
There was glass over the entrance to the hospital and two police officers watching the remains of a suspected crime scene. Rachel stepped around the glass looking for signs of John and Charlie. She expected them to be waiting by the hospital but she had to walk two blocks before John flashed his lights. The car was different. She got in, surprised to see the backseat empty.
“Where is he?”
“With the woman,” John said, pulling the car onto the road.
“Shit!” Rachel put her head in her hands. There was no way Charlie was going to stay sober, not with Jess O'Connor sweet talking him. “We should go get him.”
“No. We focus on the job.”
“She's trouble.”
“He made his bed. Fuck him.” That was the subject over. “What's happening?”
She quickly explained that Roxy had a plan. It made them both uneasy.
“He give you any indication he might be looking to double cross us, again?” John said as they circled the priority parking for the hospital.
“Aside from the hand job he got from Riva Morris? Actually, no. He let me get into his head.” She shuddered. “Which wasn't for the timid of heart I can tell you. But it's Roxy, I wouldn't put it past him to fill his head with orgies just to distract me.”
“He's an opportunist,” John added. “Most of the time even he doesn't know what he's going to do.”
She tapped John on the shoulder. “Look he's coming out now with Jan.”
The two men strode out of the hospital. There was hostility between the pair. Jan walked ahead, Roxy behind. Roxy was more casual. He had his hands stuffed into his pocket and Rachel suspected he was armed. John pulled up the car and switched the lights off. Rachel put her hand on his s
houlder. We're not here. If either man looked all they would see was an empty car, inconveniently blocking the car park – one of at least five that afternoon.
Jan's car was parked near the front of the hospital. He unlocked it, said something to Roxy and they both got in. Jan drove out of the car park, while John and Rachel followed a safe distance behind. Dusk was threatening the skyline as they made their way towards the border.
Rachel opened the glove box. It was empty. Normally John packed a small armoury in the car.
“On the backseat,” he explained. “I didn't have time to stack the shelves.”
“What happened to the other car?”
“Charlie's new psycho piece.”
“You're kidding?”
“Yeah, because I do that.”
Jan's car slowed down. They were in no rush to cross the border. Traffic was starting to join the road and a stream of reluctant S'aven residents with border passes were doing their best to get out of London before curfew. London locked its doors at 9pm sharp, only allowing cargo to pass over the threshold. Anyone caught trying to cross over was detained, beaten up, sometimes killed if the border control thought they could get away with it. Would it be like this when Riva controlled the line?
“You got your pass?” John asked.
She reached into her back pocket. Jan and Roxy were two cars ahead of them. The guards recognised Roxy and were laughing and joking with him. They were waved through.
“They'll check your ID matches your face,” John told her. “They don't care about anything else.”
She nodded and wound down her window. The guard reached for her pass. He inspected them both briefly and waved them through. John hit the S'aven road. The traffic was building and the road quickly became grid locked. Cars slipped off on side roads. Jan's car took a left, but John was trapped. By the time they got to the corner the car had gone. John slammed on the accelerator.
“Hey, slow down. I can only see my life flashing before me.”
He did as she said but it was no good. They were gone.
“They'll be going to Riva's place.”
“You sure?” John asked.
“No, but I'm sure that's where our money will be and I'd like to see it at least once before this job totally goes to shit.”
46
The sky was black, a heavy smog obliterating the stars. Rachel and John sat in the car – a slightly darker shadow on the road overlooking Riva's home. There was a brooding silence between them as they watched the house. Sure enough Jan's car was there. Men patrolled the grounds like normal. Rachel watched the front of the house, just able to make out the porch and the front door.
She nudged John as Roxy came outside. A red speck of light glowed from the cigarette perched between his lips. He stood under the porch light and took out something from his pocket – his phone. A few seconds later Rachel's phone went. She checked the message. So far so good. She showed it to John. It didn't look like he was doing anything underhand, it didn't look like he was doing anything at all.
Two guards joined him, sharing in a smoke. They lowered their weapons. Rachel and John leaned forward. If Roxy wanted to he could take them both out. But he didn't.
“What is he doing?” Rachel asked.
“Nothing,” John replied; confused, annoyed, and relieved.
Rachel sat back in her chair, feeling silly. She had been so sure Roxy would do something to jeopardise the plan, she hadn't even considered he might actually be working for them. Embarrassment and guilt started to churn in her gut. She read his message again and looked up at the porch. But something was wrong. She couldn't see anything anymore. Roxy's red marker was the only light. It rose into the air.
“Shit.” John leapt from the car.
She jumped out too, pulling out her gun and knocking the safety off. John strode silently ahead of her. His body disappearing as he neared the gate. She ran to keep up.
He vaulted the gate like it was nothing. Rachel took it less elegantly. Her feet landed on the lawn and she nearly toppled over. John caught her, holding her steady. The only light was from outside the compound, but as her eyes adjusted she could make out shapes on the ground around her. The entire security force was dead. Their bodies twisted unnaturally on the floor.
“This wasn't us, was it?” she asked.
There was no gunfire. No blood. Something was really wrong.
John was already ahead of her, his gun poised. Her vision was clearer now. She could make out John and her blood chilled. His stance was too forced. His body vibrating. He couldn't move. She followed his arm to where his useless gun was pointing and trembled herself.
Roxy's legs kicked against nothing as he dangled in the air. His face blistered purple. Jan stood beneath him. His hands stretched out, twisting Roxy with each slip of his malicious fingers.
“Jan! Stop!” she yelled.
But he didn't. He didn't even seem to hear her. His fingers clenched and Roxy's legs stopped kicking.
“Jan, stop. You're going to kill him.”
He turned to her. His eyes were alive with madness. It didn't even look like him. This wasn't her friend. His face twisted violently into a smile and she wanted to run. But she didn't. She grabbed his head and crushed their faces together. His mind exploded into hers. But it wasn't his mind. It was somebody else's. Somebody who was boiling with anger. Somebody desperate for justice. Somebody who liked to watch the last breath leaving a sinful girl's mouth. It was him! He was the killer. But he wasn't Jan.
She pushed the kiss deeper, reaching out to find her friend in the insanity. You are Jan Curtis. You like me. You really, really like me. And you are going to stop!
Roxy's body fell to the floor. She pushed Jan away.
“You're a Reacher!” he said, stumbling backwards.
John moved behind her. He went to take a shot and flew back into the air.
Jan's face twisted again. He rose with unnatural efficiency.
“I'll kill you, bitch.” His voice was lower, darker.
“No you won't. You can't.”
He snarled at her.
“You killed all those girls. You.”
Then he grinned. “And you can't do anything about it. A reckoning is coming, Rachel. You will be part of it, or you will die.” He started to back away and ran towards his car.
Rachel didn't even think about going after him. Instead she ran to Roxy. His slumped body was heaped on the gravel. She rolled him over. He wasn't breathing. She jumped on him, smashing into his chest for all she was worth. A car behind her struck the gravel and John was on his feet, firing rounds into the darkness.
“Come on, Rox',” she begged, pressing on his chest. “Breathe, you lazy son of a bitch.” She pushed air into his lungs. One. Two. Three. “Stop being such a drama queen. Breathe.”
John was behind her. “Is he…?”
“Not if I've got a say in it,” she said between pushes.
“I'm going after him.”
“No, check on Riva.”
He didn't move.
“John! See if she's alive!”
His steps barely crunched against the gravel. Rachel started to count to herself. She'd have to stop. She'd have to let him go and she couldn't do it while John was watching. Her persistence was useless. She'd seen it before, doctors pounding on a corpse hopelessly, while family watched hopeful. She'd doubted him and he had done his best. The last time they spoke she hadn't believed him and now she would never be able to make it up to him. She pushed another lungful of air into his body. He breathed back. He was alive!
He started to cough, heaving in the air and almost choking on it. She sat him up as he came around.
“Rachel?” His voice was hoarse and disorientated. He reached for her shoulder to steady himself. “What the bloody hell happened?” He straightened up, wincing as he did so. Then he frowned at the bodies around him, trying to remember.
“Holy fuck, did John do this?”
“No. Riva's dead,” John s
aid from the door. She wasn't sure how long he had been standing there.
She helped Roxy up. He nearly collapsed again and John had to help too. They took him in the house. Riva was in the lounge. Her body marking out the place her husband had met his end less than a year ago. Rachel helped deposit Roxy on the sofa and knelt by Riva's body. There was no chance of resurrecting her from the dead.
“Jan is a Reacher,” she said, as though saying it aloud would make it any more real. “He killed those girls, not Harvey O'Connor.”
Rachel poured Roxy a brandy and he knocked it back gratefully. “I have never been so glad that you guys don't trust me.”
Rachel squeezed his leg. “You good?”
“I'll live. Thanks to you, pet. John, the safe is upstairs in the study, behind the creepy portrait of Pinky Morris. She had every intention of paying you. Poor love.”
“Check Darcy's okay too,” Rachel added.
John took the hint and went after it.
Roxy waited until he left and sank back into the sofa. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stifle his headache. “Rach', that guy was crazy. It was like he was a different person when he got here. I swear he stepped out of the car and he started laughing and joking with me like everything was normal. He was sly, really sly. I'm in the car and he's outraged, we get here and it's all suddenly great. Riva wasn't that pleased to see us, but she came around when I told her he was there to make a deal.”
“I didn't even know he was a Reacher. I should have known.”
“Hey, you brought me back from the dead, you've got nothing to feel guilty for,” he said softly.
“Don't let me regret it.”
John stormed down the stairs. He had a case full of money but this wasn't a victory.
“Is Darcy…?” Rachel asked.
“He's gone,” John stated. “Someone has taken him.”
“Taken?” That made less sense than everything else that had happened. “We need Charlie.”
47
Charlie's throat was dry. He tried to open his eyes and closed them again. It was daylight. He'd screwed up. His body was still buzzing from the drugs. It was day six. They were out of time and he was in no state to pick up the game. He reached for his phone. Eight missed calls from John and even more texts. He scrolled through them. Call me. Fucking call me. Call me now asshole. Then they got really abusive.
Border Lines (Reachers Book 2) Page 21