No Plan B (Jack Reacher, #27)(53)

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Reacher backed the Mercury into the space next to Sam Roth’s truck. He was hoping that Pep would recognize it and think his buddy was coming to relieve him. Or that it was just some random person’s car, on their way to use the facilities in the main building. Anything really, as long as he didn’t take it as a threat. As long he didn’t start strangling Hannah with the belt.

As long as he hadn’t already strangled her.

Reacher jumped out of the car. He pulled the handle on the truck’s rear door. It was locked. He couldn’t see inside because of the tint on the window. He couldn’t see what state Pep was in. Or what state Hannah was in. He tried the driver’s door. It was locked as well. He banged on the glass. Nothing happened. Hannah didn’t release the lock.

She didn’t. Or she couldn’t.

Reacher took the Beretta from his waistband. He flipped it around so he was holding it by the barrel. Then he smashed the butt against the glass in the rear door like it was a hammer. He hit the window hard, low down in the corner at its weakest spot. The glass instantly formed into an opaque mesh of crystals. Reacher gave it a shove. It sagged. But it didn’t give all the way. The film that caused the tint was too tough. And it extended too far. It went all the way up and sideways into the frame, and all the way down into the body of the door. Reacher slammed it with the heel of his hand. One side came free. He hit it again. The top and the other side loosened up. Then he hit it again and the whole sheet bent back. It curled and drooped like it was moving in slow motion. It bowed and crept down until it covered the inside surface of the door.

Pep glared out at Reacher through the empty window frame. His skin was even greener than before. His face was sweatier. And he was pulling on the belt with all his strength. Hannah was trying to claw it away from her throat. Her head was thrashing from side to side but she was making no noise. She was getting no air. Reacher stretched his arm into the truck and punched Pep in the side of the head. Hard. He flopped over sideways and rolled into the footwell. He didn’t move. He was out cold. He could no longer deliberately pull the belt. But it was still tied to his wrist. His weight was still keeping it taut.

Hannah still couldn’t breathe.

Reacher scrabbled for the handle on the inside of the door but he couldn’t get to it. The sheet of glass and tinting film was in the way. It was hanging down too far, like a shield. He tried to tear it off. But he couldn’t. The film was too strong. So he grabbed the edge and pulled it up. He took hold of the opposite edge with his other hand. Forced the sides together until the sheet and his hands would fit through the frame. He wrestled it down, out of the way. Stretched his arm back in. Released the lock and opened the door.

Reacher hauled Pep upright and pushed him forward. Hannah coughed and spluttered and wheezed as the tension on the belt finally eased. She wriggled her fingers between it and her skin. Loosened it a little further. She sucked in a desperate gasping breath. Reacher worked at the knot. It had been pulled tight by all the struggling. Pep’s arm was still a dead weight. It took another thirty seconds to get it free then Reacher slipped the loose end through the buckle. Hannah flopped forward against the steering wheel. She groped for the door handle. Found it. Slid out. Collapsed onto the Mercury’s trunk. She lay on her back. Stared at the sky. And breathed.



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The atmosphere was foul. It was full of diesel and gasoline fumes from all the traffic in the parking lot and on the highway. Normally Hannah would be repulsed by it. She had grown up with the clear mountain air in Gerrardsville. But in that moment, she couldn’t imagine how anything could taste sweeter.



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—

Something told Jed Starmer to stop.

He had spent ten minutes hiding in the alley after he was done running from the scruffy guys’ car. It had taken him that long to get his breath back. And to figure out what his next move should be. It was one thing to decide to leave town. But it was another to work out how. He had been hoping to get the rest of the way to Winson on a prison shuttle, but that was only because of the sign he’d seen in Texas. He didn’t know for sure they had them in Mississippi. The sign had been in the Greyhound station in Dallas. He hadn’t seen one in the station there, in Jackson. But he hadn’t had the chance to look, because of the scruffy guys. And he couldn’t go back now. The officers might have returned. They might be there, lying in wait for him. He didn’t have a phone with internet access so he couldn’t google the information. He couldn’t risk wandering about at random. He might be spotted. But he could go old school. He remembered running past a stand of payphones, two blocks back. And he still had a few coins in his pocket.

First Jed called directory assistance. Then he called the Minerva facility in Winson. He told the receptionist he was an inmate’s relative and he wanted to come visit but didn’t know how to get to the prison. He asked if there was a shuttle service from Jackson. The receptionist said there wasn’t. Not a dedicated one. Which was why most visitors used the local bus. She gave Jed the address of the stop. She even told him the departure times.

The bus was due to leave in four minutes. Jed had gotten close enough to hear the engine. It was rumbling steadily away, just around the corner. He’d had to run the last quarter mile to give himself a chance of catching it. The next one wasn’t due for another hour. He didn’t want to be exposed on the street for that long. But a sudden thought had struck him. Officers had been at the Greyhound station. On the lookout for him. Detectives, or agents, or whatever they were. Which meant there could be more of them at the bus stop. He could run right into them. There would be no way to avoid getting caught. It would be as bad as giving himself up.