Jack of Hearts

by Diane Capri

  “Reacher was here two days ago?”

  Landon nodded and frowned. “I thought that’s why you came.”

  “You said your relationship was doctor-patient. Was he injured?”

  “I can’t talk about my patients,” Landon said. “Privilege and privacy and all that, you know.”

  “I can get a court order if you like,” Kim replied, even though she knew for sure that she couldn’t. The Boss would never allow it. “If it was something so serious or sensitive that you feel like you need to cover your ass.”

  He considered things for a second before he shrugged. “Nothing like that. Hairline fractures of a couple of small bones in his left wrist. He fell on it pretty hard, he said. He let me cast it up.”

  “Was it a bad break?”

  He shook his head. “It would have healed on its own. They don’t even treat fractures like that in Europe. It’s mildly painful. Sometimes it doesn’t heal well and the wrist can be deformed. Which he didn’t seem to care about. I really had to talk him into the cast. So no, nothing so serious or sensitive that I’d need a court order to cover my professional lapses.”

  “Is he here now?”

  Landon shook his head. “Headed to Denver.”

  “Why Denver?” Kim asked. “Is he still there? And do you have an address?”

  Landon lowered his head and stared at the carpet for a few seconds. Vincent and Burke walked toward them, Burke carrying a small duffle bag in one hand. Two quick beeps from a car horn sounded in the parking lot out front.

  “That’ll be Brenda,” Landon said. “You ready to go, Vincent?”

  “I’m as ready as I’m going to get,” he replied, taking the duffle from Burke and giving him a brief grin. “Thanks for your help.”

  “Hold on a second,” Kim said, grabbing Landon’s arm. “Why was Reacher on his way to Denver?”

  Vincent’s eyes widened and he began to cough uncontrollably. Landon patted him firmly on the back with the flat of his hand until he finally stopped.

  “We need to go. The hospital’s more than an hour’s drive from here,” Landon said, moving Vincent toward the door with a firm hand on his bicep.

  Kim attempted to delay them briefly. “As I said before, I can get a court order. Or we can take you in for formal questioning if you’d prefer.”

  Empty threats. The doctor might have known as much.

  “It’s a long story.” Landon sighed as if he’d always known the day would come when he’d be required to answer questions about Reacher. “Once I get Vincent settled, we can talk. There’s nowhere to get a meal around here and my wife’s a good cook. We’ll feed you dinner. How’s that?”

  Vincent started another round of coughing and a worried look crossed Landon’s features. He didn’t wait for Kim to answer his question. He pushed Vincent out the door and into the Chevy SUV waiting out front.

  “I’ll call you from the road when I’m headed back,” he said, just before he climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door.

  CHAPTER 11

  Tuesday, May 17

  Denver, Colorado

  3:00 p.m.

  Sydney began watching the restaurant as soon as he’d rolled into town. Slumped into the driver’s seat of the green SUV, window cracked for ventilation, engine off, he had an unobstructed view of the main entrance.

  He’d had little sleep, but he wanted to get the lay of the land before he checked into a hotel. Sydney was a nocturnal animal, but he preferred to complete extensive recon before he approached any target. Recon was easier in daylight, which was another good reason to do it first.

  This assignment required more finesse than his bread-and-butter enemy assassinations. He’d be exposed to the target instead of hidden in the shadows. Which meant he could be identified. Theoretically, anyway.

  From his vantage point now, he could see Orchid Thai Bistro’s posted hours of operation for lunch and dinner. Business men and women in groups of two and four had stalked in looking hungry and sauntered out wearing satisfied smiles.

  The parking lot had filled and then emptied as the lunch service ended, but a few diners still lingered inside.

  Dinner service was scheduled to begin two hours after the lunch service. Sydney would take a break from his surveillance during the bistro’s downtime.

  Rossi had collected more information about the woman. She was called Jade now. He provided photos and a background check. He traced her contacts, which had led Sydney to the bistro.

  A skeletal plan had begun to form in his mind as he reviewed the photos.

  He’d been told that his target often strolled over for dinner before her business activity picked up at night. She’d even lived here above the Bistro for a while. Her bond with these women had been forged hard as steel by shared experiences, good and bad. Bonds like that were hard to break. The bistro’s dinner hour was as good a place as any to begin.

  He might simply abduct Jade while she was out in the open if she showed up tonight. He could scoop her up and toss her into the SUV without breaking a sweat. She probably didn’t weigh a hundred pounds, fully dressed and soaking wet.

  But she’d put up a fight, and Rossi was adamant that she should not be harmed.

  Rossi’s order left persuasion as Sydney’s only available weapon. Unless she refused to cooperate, and Rossi would authorize force.

  Rossi was a blunt instrument. Effective and brutal. Working for him was generally a simple matter of applying the right amount of force against weak resistance until the target was destroyed. Which Sydney greatly preferred.

  Like many Asian women, Jade was a fragile thing. Even in the photos, her bones seemed visible beneath the translucent skin that barely concealed them. Straight black hair tumbled down her back like a midnight waterfall, easy to grab. Subduing her should be simple enough.

  Many men found Jade enchanting.

  Sydney did not.

  She was a target.

  Eliminating her would be one of the easiest kills ever.

  Too bad he wasn’t authorized to do it. Yet.

  The point was simply to send the message Rossi wanted delivered, which should persuade her to come along peaceably. Simply put, Sydney’s job was to be sure Jade understood that she and everything she owned belonged to Rossi. Rossi expected no resistance, but Sydney was a careful man.

  He studied the restaurant’s structure carefully. Orchid Thai bistro was located in a busy neighborhood closer to Golden than downtown Denver. The three-story building was relatively new and had been specifically constructed to house the bistro. The spacious parking lot suggested a prosperous enterprise often filled to capacity.

  The owner and the employees lived in apartments above the restaurant. That was the good news. It meant he could handle several problems with one bold solution, which was his preferred method of operation.

  He made a mental checklist.

  Tonight, he’d come back for a personal look at the bistro’s interior and to observe the woman.

  He’d gather the equipment and tools he’d need to complete the first phase of the job.

  Then, he’d execute.

  CHAPTER 12

  Tuesday, May 17

  Duncan, Nebraska

  6:30 p.m.

  The Navigator’s GPS route located the home of Doctor Ezra Landon and his wife, Brenda, south of the Apollo Inn. Which wasn’t surprising. Seemed like everything in Nebraska was south of the crossroads that led east and west to nowhere.

  The land between any two points was flat and infinite on all sides. Cornfields. Acres of them. They had seen more cornfields today than either had seen in their lifetimes before.

  Burke drove past a cluster of three burned-out homes set close together at the end of a long, shared driveway. The charred houses were surrounded by the remains of a sturdy post-and-rail fence that had once created some sort of compound.

  Kim made a mental note to ask about the owners, simply to confirm that each house had been owned by a Duncan.

>   “Looks like country living isn’t all that great when your neighbor has a house fire,” Burke said sardonically. “We’ve been driving all over this area today and haven’t seen a fire department or a hydrant or even a lake. Once a fire gets started, no way to put it out.”

  “Yea, no kitchen fire extinguisher would do the job,” Kim replied.

  Burke turned right and left and right again along the boundaries of yet another cornfield until they reached a newer ranch-style house set on a couple more flat acres. The GPS announced they’d arrived at the destination.

  Kim spied a satellite dish on the roof and the nearest neighbor was more than a mile away.

  The doctor and his wife were not gardeners. There were no bushes, no flower beds, no hedges. Nothing but grass all the way around, set apart from the road by another post-and-rail fence, this one intact and painted white to match the house.

  Burke parked the Navigator behind the Chevy in the driveway. Kim unbuckled her seatbelt and slid down onto the concrete. She’d been riding most of the day and her body felt tighter than a bow string. She reached her arms up like a cat and then bent over at the waist to stretch her hamstrings.

  “You about done with the gymnastics over there?” Burke asked, closing his door.

  “I hope the doctor’s wife is a good cook. I’m starving,” Kim said as she walked past him to the sidewalk and up to the front door. It had a peep hole, which seemed more than a little odd. Whatever animals roamed the fields were not likely to ring the bell.

  “We saw that steakhouse about thirty miles south. It’s probably open for dinner and maybe even some line dancing,” Burke suggested, in a somewhat snarky tone.

  “Who knew you could line dance?” Kim replied as she rang the bell and stepped back from the door.

  The doctor and his wife must have been in the back of the house because it took longer than it should have for the door knob to turn and the door to swing back slowly.

  “Come in,” Dr. Landon stood aside, one hand on the door knob and the other holding a cut crystal glass about a third full of brown whiskey, no ice. He closed the door behind Burke and led them along the hardwood floor. “My wife’s in the kitchen. This way.”

  The narrow hallway resolved into a big open floorplan that ran across the back of the house. The kitchen was on one side and a sitting room on the other. The dining table was placed between them and already set for dinner. An appetizing aroma wafted from the oven, causing Burke’s stomach to growl.

  A woman close to fifty, small, dark, and worried, extended her hand to each of them. “I’m Brenda Landon. Nice to meet you. Dinner will be ready soon. Ezra, get them a drink, please.”

  “Sure. This way,” the doctor said, pointing his head toward a couple of empty chairs in the sitting room. He collected the drink orders, and his wife passed a tray of Stilton cheese and flatbread garnished with spicy chutney while the doctor delivered the glasses.

  Once the hosting duties were completed, both Landons perched and conversation stalled, drifting into an unproductive silence.

  Kim filled the gap. “How did things go with Vincent at the hospital?”

  “He’ll be okay,” Landon replied, his words only slightly slurred by the alcohol. He was an experienced drinker, that much was certain. “They’ll do the surgery in the morning, and he’ll probably be released tomorrow afternoon.”

  “How did you know his arm would need surgery without an X-ray?” Burke asked, sipping beer to wash down the cracker.

  “I treated lots of broken bones when I was in the army,” Landon shrugged. “You get a feel for how serious things are, what needs surgery when you can just cast it up and move on.”

  Kim cocked her head. “And in this case…”

  “Pretty obvious the break was severe enough to require surgery if you know what to look for,” Landon nodded, drained his glass, and walked to the sideboard for a refill.

  Burke said, “We drove by Dorothy Coe’s place today. It looks abandoned.”

  Brenda Landon nodded, a sad expression on her face. “Dorothy and Artie only had the one daughter, Margaret. After she disappeared, Artie sort of gave up, leaving Dorothy on her own. As she got older, things got tougher for her. The only thing that kept her going was the hope that Margaret would come back some day…”

  Her voice drifted off and the doctor chimed in. “Eleanor Duncan bought the place, paid the debts, and gave Dorothy a life estate a while back. Then Dorothy died and the fields have lain fallow.”

  Brenda finished up the little tale. “Somebody will buy the property someday, maybe.”

  “What about you? Don’t you want more land?” Kim asked.

  Landon shook his head. “I never wanted to be a farmer, and Brenda has about all the land she cares to manage.”

  “What about Eleanor Duncan?” Burke asked. “Why doesn’t she plant corn there now that Dorothy’s gone?”

  Brenda and Ezra exchanged glances before Brenda cleared her throat and replied. “Eleanor left farming behind when she moved. She doesn’t plan to come back.”

  “Where did she go?” Kim asked, but she thought maybe she knew the answer to that one already.

  A timer began to chime from the oven. Brenda stood up and hurried to finish the meal, leaving the conversation to her husband to manage.

  “We’ve read the police files from seven years ago,” Kim said.

  Landon nodded. “So you know what happened back then. Why are you raking all of this up again now?”

  “We’re trying to find Reacher,” Burke said.

  Landon bristled. “You said you were looking for background on the guy, not conducting a manhunt. Why did you lie to me?”

  “Oh, come on. You’re a smart guy. No point to gathering background intel unless we’re looking to find him,” Burke shot back.

  Kim directed a swift frown in Burke’s direction to get him to back off. “Dorothy Coe told police that Reacher was responsible for the deaths that happened here seven years ago, which is consistent with what we would expect. But the final police report ended at the point where Reacher left town. It doesn’t mention what happened afterward.”

  Landon shook his head. “Why would it? When Reacher left, all the trouble ended. That’s all we cared about. Reacher wasn’t our problem. But apparently, he is yours.”

  “Right. And we’re trying to follow up on that,” Kim said.

  Burke added, still annoyed. “Which is why we want to know what happened when Reacher came back here two days ago.”

  Landon jutted his chin forward and glared.

  Kim intervened. “You said Reacher left for Denver. Did he go to find Eleanor Duncan?”

  Landon’s eyes narrowed. He jerked his head to one side.

  “Reacher was injured a couple of days ago in South Dakota. He came here and you helped him out,” Kim said reasonably. When Landon didn’t reply, she pressed again. “We’re going to need the whole story. We’ll stay here until we get it. All night, if we have to.”

  “The whole story? I don’t know the whole story,” Landon stood on wobbly legs, still holding onto the high ball glass. He stopped at the bar for a refill before leading them toward the table. “Bottom line? If I were you and I wanted a guy who could get things done, I’d hire Reacher. Question for you is, would he take the job?”

  “Dinner’s ready,” Brenda called from the kitchen.

  “You’re saying Eleanor Duncan hired Reacher because she’s in trouble and needs to get things done?” Burke asked.

  Landon cocked his head and gave Burke a long stare before he shrugged and said, “Not exactly.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Tuesday, May 17

  Denver, Colorado

  7:30 p.m.

  Sydney had checked into his hotel and grabbed a couple of hours of sleep before heading to an internet café. Half an hour later, he’d completed the online research of the county building records.

  Orchid Thai Bistro had originally been designed for a steakhouse chain by a license
d architect who took his permitting responsibilities seriously. Which meant that full blueprints were accessible in the database.

  The original building was planned as a free-standing, three-story, multi-use building. The building was surrounded by a spacious flat parking lot. The steakhouse was planned to occupy the main floor. Residential condos filled the two floors above.

  Looked like the construction hit a financing snag when the building was near completion. The original owner went bankrupt. The building remained uncompleted for a while. Until it was purchased by a new owner and redesigned. The new owner had abandoned the plan to sell condos on the residential floors. The second-floor rooms were converted to apartments for the restaurant’s employees. The new owner’s apartment occupied the top floor.

  The building was finished about six months later, and Orchid Thai Bistro opened successfully right from the start.

  Sydney had ordered a second cup of coffee to drink while he researched the bistro’s owner. She had moved to Denver to open a Thai restaurant and was lucky to find the bankrupt property in Golden, the article in the local newspaper reported.

  The attached photo depicted a woman with black hair and pale skin. She had good bone structure and pretty eyes. She was slim and fairly tall, compared to the Thai women gathered around her in the photograph.

  The caption under the photo identified the owner as Eleanor Duncan. Sydney had heard the name before, but the context was a little foggy in his memory. But he was starting to put the pieces together.

  One of the Thai women in the photo was his target, Jade. Younger and less worldly in the old photo, but unmistakable. Long dark hair tucked behind small ears fell down her back. Her outfit was a traditional Thai dress in red and gold with bright red lipstick, meant to be a sort of costume to help sell the bistro’s ambiance, Sydney guessed.

  He copied the photo to his phone and did a quick search for Eleanor Duncan. He found a few local news reports about her work at the restaurant and involvement in local groups, but nothing more.