Jack of Spades

by Diane Capri

  She stepped into the cone of yellow light from the overhead streetlight and waited as Jake came closer, until he recognized her, too.

  He approached saying, “I couldn’t sleep. Too much excitement today. Too geeked up about tomorrow, I guess. How about you?”

  “Same,” she said, although she suspected he was lying, just like she was. He’d come out here to find Jack Reacher. Had he succeeded? They walked along together toward the hotel.

  “What do you think will happen tomorrow?” he asked. “Will that couple Smithers found tell us whatever they know about Jack?”

  “I don’t know. But don’t get your hopes up.” She sighed. “I’ve interviewed a lot of witnesses with ties to Jack Reacher. Most of them won’t talk about him at all. And the ones who do rarely have anything good to say about the guy.”

  Jake hung his head and scuffed his sneakers along the pavement. “You said he was a military cop. He received a bunch of medals in the army. Some of them were pretty impressive, too. He’s one of the good guys. Right?”

  They walked a few yards in silence. When they stepped off the pier onto the sand, Kim felt the cold through the soles of her boots.

  What should she tell the kid? She didn’t want to lie. Was he one of the good guys? Was Jack Reacher friend or enemy?

  Impossible to say. Alternative arguments bounced around her head like a tennis ball at Wimbledon.

  Reacher was an enigma. A force to be reckoned with. A bundle of contradictions.

  He deserved respect. He had been a decorated army officer. A war hero. A solid military cop for thirteen years.

  He was also a brutal man. He’d killed off the battlefield, sometimes in self-defense or defense of others, and sometimes not.

  He’d appointed himself judge, jury, and executioner. He didn’t seem to care whether the law would view his actions as justified. His opinion was the only one that mattered.

  The truth was that her feelings about Jack Reacher were just as conflicted as the facts.

  She was a cop and every cop on the planet would say he belonged in prison for some of the things he’d done. Many of the witnesses Kim had interviewed during this assignment probably belonged in prison with him. It was her job to arrest criminals.

  But there was more to Reacher’s story. She knew it as well as she’d ever known anything.

  There were valid reasons why good people wouldn’t turn on Reacher. Of that, she was absolutely certain, because hers was one of those lives he’d saved. Gaspar, too. More than once.

  Until she figured out why the Boss wanted Reacher and what he intended to do with him once she found him, Reacher’s status would stay the same. Missing.

  But she wasn’t going to tell Jake any of that. All he wanted was to meet his uncle because he’d never met his father. Afterward, he’d go back east, go to law school, and become the kind of model citizen Jack Reacher hadn’t been in a long, long time.

  In the end, after wrestling with herself for a while, she shrugged and replied, “Come on. We’ve got a big day tomorrow. I need some sleep.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Monday, February 28

  6:30 a.m.

  Siesta Beach, California

  Patty slept fitfully and awakened early, as she had every night since Reacher showed up in Siesta Beach. She heard the storm’s building intensity outside. Waves crashed harder and more frequently against the sand and the roar was unmistakable.

  The shop opened every morning at seven-thirty, so she gave up trying to sleep. Shorty was still snoring softly and she didn’t want to wake him. The poor guy needed rest even more than she did. She padded quietly to the kitchen to brew coffee and make a slice of peanut butter-slathered toast before she showered, dressed, and went downstairs.

  She unlocked the front door and flipped the sign to “open.” She carried her hot coffee back to the counter and lifted the lid on the laptop to check the shop’s finances, like she did every Monday.

  They were doing okay. Sometimes, she was tempted to spend some of the money they kept in the black duffel at the storage place, but she never did. The money seemed dirty because of the way they got it. She and Shorty weren’t used to luxurious living anyway. Never had been. As long as they could make it on what they earned in the shop, she was satisfied.

  She heard the bell ring when the front door opened. She finished with the financial reports and closed the laptop before she looked up. By that time, the customer had already reached the checkout desk.

  “I’m interested in a windsurfing lesson today,” he said, although he looked more like a bouncer in a biker bar than a windsurfer. A big man with brown eyes, broad shoulders, and long arms. Dressed in jeans, a plaid shirt and cowboy boots. He’d shaved his head like a lot of guys did, but it made him look dangerous.

  “A storm’s coming in and it’s already rough out there. How about we schedule you later in the week when things calm down?” she replied as she opened the laptop and pulled up the scheduling program. “I can put you down for Thursday. Would that work?”

  “No. I’m leaving town tonight. It needs to be today.” He pulled a wad of bills from his front pocket and peeled off a few. He laid them on the counter. “I’ll pay extra for the inconvenience.”

  She frowned and chewed on her cuticle. She’d never lost a student in the surf, and she didn’t want this guy to be the first. She probably couldn’t save him if he got in trouble out there.

  Before she had a chance to reply, he said firmly, “Look, I’m not a novice. I’ve had some experience. If we go now, before the weather gets worse, we should be okay.”

  “If you already know how to windsurf, why do you want a lesson? I can rent the equipment to you.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I said I had some experience, not that I was an expert.”

  She saw that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer and the last thing she wanted was trouble.

  The guy said. “Let’s go before the storm blocks us. I really want to get out there. I saw some guys on the waves and it looks awesome.”

  Somehow he didn’t look like a guy who would say the waves look awesome. Her internal radar was already elevated and his choice of words made things worse.

  “Let me call my partner to watch the shop while we’re gone.”

  “Just leave him a note. Let’s get going,” he demanded.

  “We’ll need to get your equipment together first.”

  “I’ve got mine down there already. We can both use it. Come on.” He paused, like he knew he was pushing too hard, and softened his approach. “Don’t worry so much. This is going to be fun. I’ve never had a chance to ride waves like these before. If we get out there and you want to come back, we’ll do that. But let’s at least give it a shot. Okay?”

  She thought things through for a moment. They’d be using his equipment so hers wouldn’t be damaged. She could leave him out there on his own if the waves were too dangerous. So what was the worst that could happen? He’d stiff her for the lesson fees? She was willing to risk that much. She shrugged.

  “Okay. Let’s do this,” she said as she headed for the door.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Monday, February 28

  8:30 a.m.

  Siesta Beach, California

  From her hotel room, Kim drank coffee and looked through the windows toward the Pacific to watch the raging storm while she listened to her voice messages.

  News reports warned against going into the ocean today, citing the dangerous wind conditions and powerful rip tides, but as she’d expected, surfers were already out there. She watched a few surfers riding the waves toward the beach. She saw quite a few more wipe out trying.

  Huge waves crashed across the pier where she’d stood last night. Some looked to be twenty feet high from this distance. If she’d been standing there now, she’d have been swept out to sea. She shivered to think about being sucked away in the rip currents.

  Farther from the shore, fog was rolling in. She c
ould only see about twenty feet along the pier. The café at the end was totally obscured by weather.

  Smithers had left her a long voicemail. He’d interviewed Shorty Fleck about the Honda yesterday while Kim was with Jake. Fleck told Smithers the Honda broke down on their way to New York City and they’d abandoned it when they couldn’t get it started again. Fleck gave him dates, times, and places to corroborate. Smithers was checking the story out, but said it sounded plausible and consistent with the other evidence at the scene of the motel fire. He was headed back to Boston. He’d keep her in the loop as more forensic evidence was analyzed.

  She hadn’t told Smithers she was no longer interested in the identity of the bodies. She felt sure in her bones that Reacher wasn’t one of them. The rest of that case was in Smithers’s capable hands and, thankfully, not on her plate.

  Gaspar had left a long report on her secure server, which she’d downloaded last night. He’d located Joe Reacher’s autopsy samples and pulled a couple of strings to get expedited testing. Results were pending.

  Kim had considered Gaspar her secret weapon because he thought like Reacher. Was Jake her ace in the hole? Would Reacher try to approach the kid? Could she simply sit back and wait?

  Kim met Jake in the lobby of the hotel for the short walk to the windsurfing shop. She wanted to interview Patty and Shorty herself. They may have abandoned the Honda, like Shorty told Smithers, but there was more to that story and Reacher was involved. She’d bet on it.

  Besides, Jake wanted to satisfy his own curiosity. So they grabbed umbrellas from the hotel’s stand and walked outside.

  Kim led the way and Jake followed. Gusting wind battered and lifted the umbrellas, but Kim held on. A strong gust inverted Jake’s umbrella as they were walking across the first side street. He stuffed it in the trash can on the next corner and hunched into his jacket while the cold rain pelted him.

  Kim lost her umbrella the same way at the next corner. Within moments, they were both drenched.

  At the third traffic light, they crossed to the beach side of the street, walking straight into the fierce wind. The windsurfing shop was another half block south. There were lights on inside the bungalow and an old-fashioned “Open” sign hung on the front door.

  Jake followed Kim along the sidewalk and toward the entrance. When they reached the shop, he opened the door and she stepped inside first. He pulled the door against the wind to close it.

  Shorty Fleck was alone in the store. Kim recognized him from the photos, although his appearance was not exactly the same. Brown hair had been bleached by the sun. Bronzed skin he’d acquired living on the beach. But it was him. Same brown eyes. Same build. Same age. Same name.

  Kim glanced around the place. It looked like she’d imagined a windsurfing shop should look, which is to say it was filled with all sorts of beach sports paraphernalia. A video played on a loop above a display for windsurfing gloves. The sport looked more than dangerous to Kim, but she’d never tried it. Today would not be the day she took her first lesson.

  She didn’t see Patty Sundstrom anywhere. Perhaps she was asleep upstairs. Shorty had barely looked up when the bell over the door rang to announce that a customer had entered. He fidgeted like a caged tiger, pacing from one side of the small shop to the other.

  When he stopped short of the outside wall, Kim noticed a large black duffel bag trimmed in brown leather rested at his feet, looking decidedly out of place amid the sunscreen, beach towels, and assorted beachwear.

  “Are you Shorty Fleck?” Kim called out.

  He looked toward her, perhaps startled to hear her voice inside the store. “I’m sorry. We’re closed.”

  “Are you sure? The door was unlocked and the Open sign is showing,” Jake said.

  “Is it? I must’ve forgotten to lock up. Sorry. We’re closed,” Shorty said again. “If you know what you want, I can handle it quickly for you. I’m expecting a phone call. I’ll need to leave right away when the call comes in.”

  Shorty seemed particularly agitated. His breathing was ragged and he was perspiring heavily. He kept glancing toward the duffel bag as if it might have sprouted legs and walked away on its own. Whatever was inside, he watched it like a hawk watched a field mouse.

  Jake stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and said, “Just wanted to talk to you, man. About my uncle. Jack Reacher. Has he been around here lately?”

  Shorty stopped pacing. He leaned forward and looked harder at Jake. His face turned ashen, like he’d seen a ghost. Had the situation been less tense, Kim would have laughed. She understood the feeling. Totally.

  “Jack Reacher is your uncle?” Shorty asked, eyes wide and wild. “He never mentioned a nephew.”

  “You’ve talked to him recently, then?” Jake replied.

  “Yeah. Couple of days ago.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Dunno.” Shorty shrugged and tilted his head toward the Pacific. “He was interested in windsurfing. Maybe he’s down there. Waves are crazy today.”

  “Jake, lock the front door and put the closed sign in the window, please,” Kim said. She pulled out her badge wallet and showed Shorty her ID. “I’m FBI Special Agent Kim Otto.”

  Shorty’s eyes widened and he took a step back. “I told Agent Smithers everything I know about the Honda when he was here yesterday.”

  Kim frowned. “What’s really going on here?”

  Shorty shook his head. “What do you mean?”

  “Where’s Patty Sundstrom?” Kim asked.

  His breath whooshed through his lips like she’d punched him in the gut. His knees buckled and he staggered back. He slid down and landed on his ass on the floor behind the cash register. Half a moment later, he scrambled to stand.

  “What’s in that duffel bag, Shorty?” Kim asked. “Open it.”

  He shook his head fast. “Can’t do that. Sorry.”

  “Why not?”

  Which was when tears sprang to his eyes. His voice broke when he explained. “B-Because he’ll k-kill Patty if we open it. He said b-bring it and d-don’t look inside. Not even once.”

  “But you’d already looked inside, hadn’t you?” Jake said.

  Shorty nodded. “It’s cash. I don’t know how much. Maybe a million dollars. We never counted it. Never used any of it, either.”

  “Why not?” Jake asked incredulously, as if the idea of having access to a million dollars and not spending it was beyond his comprehension.

  Shorty shrugged.

  “Someone has kidnapped Patty? Holding her for ransom?” Kim asked.

  Shorty nodded miserably.

  She’d have called Smithers for backup, but he was already in the air headed to Boston. Gaspar had no forces at his disposal ready to assist her immediately. Which left Finlay or the Boss. She’d have preferred Finlay, but the Boss was more likely to have local resources at the ready.

  After a brief hesitation, she fished the Boss’s cell phone from her pocket and dialed.

  “What’s his name?” Kim asked while she waited for the Boss to pick up the call.

  Shorty shook his head.

  “This place doesn’t look flush with cash. How did he know you and Patty could pay a ransom?” Jake asked.

  Shorty squared his shoulders. “Because he says the money in the duffel belongs to him. Says we stole it. He wants it back. Or else.”

  “So you talked to him. Did you see him? Can you tell me what he looks like?” Kim asked.

  “I heard the front door slam on my way downstairs. Patty was walking down toward the water with a bald guy and I saw her meet up with the others. One of them grabbed her arm. Big guy. Not as big as Reacher or,” he nodded toward Jake, “him. But bigger than me. There were three of them. One was about the same size as the first. The third guy was average-sized. None of them were dressed in boardshorts or wet suits or anything. They didn’t have any equipment.”

  “So you’re saying they weren’t windsurfers and they lured Patty down there to kidnap her?”<
br />
  “Yeah. They must’ve. When one of them grabbed her like that, I ran down there. Tried to stop them. But when I got there, they all had guns.” He paused and wiped his running nose with his sleeve.

  “And then what happened?” Jake asked. Kim shot him a glare.

  Shorty said, “The two big guys must be brothers. They looked kinda like twins, but the one that grabbed Patty had a long brown ponytail. Both big. Broad shoulders. Long arms. The average-sized guy was calling the shots. Trevor, I think they called him. He told the ponytail guy to take Patty over to the pier café and wait for his call. He grabbed Patty tighter and dragged her off. Trevor and the bald one came back here with me.”

  “What did they want?” Jake asked.

  “They said they’d let Patty go if I gave them the duffel. I said they could have it, just don’t hurt Patty. But it wasn’t here. I’d told them I’d have to go get it. Trevor told the bald guy to come with me. We went to the storage place and I got the duffel. We came back here to wait for the call.”

  “We? You mean the bald man is here with you?” Kim’s pulse pounded in her ears. She reached for her gun and dropped the phone into her pocket, leaving the connection open.

  Shorty nodded miserably. He lifted his eyes and his chin toward the upstairs apartment.

  Jake asked, “The leader said he’d call to set up the exchange, right?”

  Shorty nodded.

  “How long have you been waiting?”

  He shrugged. “An hour. Maybe a little less.”

  “You’ve heard nothing at all from Patty?” Kim asked.

  Shorty shook his head. “They won’t hurt her before we give them the duffel, will they?”

  Jake glanced toward Kim and held her gaze for a long moment. She shook her head. They’d likely kill Patty and Shorty as soon as they got what they wanted. Jake nodded as if he understood.