No Plan B (Jack Reacher, #27)(64)

The cop finally climbed out and approached the driver’s window. He lifted his hand. The knuckle of his middle finger was extended, ready to knock, but Hannah buzzed the window down before he made contact with the glass.

The cop said, “Good afternoon, s…miss. Do you know why I pulled you over?”

Hannah shook her head. “I have no idea. I wasn’t speeding.” She glanced across at Reacher. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You’re driving a vehicle registered to an individual who, according to official records, is currently deceased.”

“Currently? Are you expecting that to change?”

The cop took a deep breath. “I’ll put this plainly. Why are you driving a dead man’s truck?”

“The dead man was my ex-husband. We were close. I had permission. I’m on his insurance. And I’m due to inherit the truck as soon as his will is read.”

“Your name, miss?”

“Hannah Hampton-Roth.”

“ID?”

“In my purse. OK if I get it?”

“Go ahead.”

Hannah took her purse from the backseat, rummaged in it for a moment, and pulled out her wallet. She opened it, then passed her driver’s license to the cop.

The cop studied the license for a moment then said, “Registration? Insurance?”

Hannah leaned across to the passenger side, opened the glove box, and took out a clear plastic pocket. The documents were inside. She straightened and handed it out of the window.

The cop said, “Wait here.” Then he walked back to his car.

Hannah stretched for the keys to switch the engine off but Reacher took her hand.

He said, “Leave it running. If the cop has his gun drawn when he gets back out, floor it. Same applies if another police cruiser shows up. Or anything that could be an unmarked car.”



* * *



—

The cop stayed in his car for five long minutes then returned to Hannah’s window. His gun was still in its holster. He handed the documents and the license back and said, “You’re a long way from home, miss. What brings you to Winson?”

Hannah tucked the license back into her wallet and handed the plastic pocket to Reacher. “My ex-husband has—had—friends here. I need to let them know that Sam has passed. That’s better done in person than on the phone or email, don’t you think?”

“Who were his friends?”

“Angela St. Vrain. Danny Peel. They worked with Sam before Angela and Danny moved out here.”

“Will you be staying with one of them tonight?”

“No. We’ll go to a hotel.”

“Which one?”

“We’re—”

“Still working on that,” Reacher said.

The cop said, “You didn’t think to make a reservation before you left Colorado?”

Reacher said, “No.”

“What if you’d come all this way and the hotels were all full?”

“Is that a common problem here?”

The cop was silent for a moment then he nodded toward the rear of the truck. “What happened to your window?”

Hannah sighed. “Some asshole kids tried to break in.”

“When?”

“Earlier this afternoon. At the rest area, on I-20.”

“Kids did this?”

“That’s right.”

“Did they steal anything?”

“They saw us walking back after we used the bathrooms and they ran.”

“Did you file a police report?”

“I didn’t think there was any point. We didn’t get a good look at the kids. I wouldn’t have been able to give much of a description.”

“And your tailgate?”

“What about it?”

“It has a bullet hole. Someone take a shot at you?”

Hannah shook her head. “At us? No. Sam, my ex, he was a keen marksman. He was at a range outside of town one day last week and a newbie had an accidental discharge in the parking lot when he was getting his gun out of his vehicle safe.”

“Did Sam file a report?”

“He figured there was no need. It was an accident. No one got hurt. The guy paid for the damage. If that was wrong, you can’t blame Sam. It’s up to the club to make sure the rules are followed.”

“What’s the name of the club?”

“I don’t know. I never went. Sam just called it The Gun Club. He was a corrections officer. A lot of his co-workers are members, too. It’s owned by a retired cop. I’m sure he did the right thing.”

The cop thought for a moment. Then he said, “All right. You can go. But you need to turn the truck around.”

“Thank you. But why?”

“You need somewhere to stay. The best hotel around here is the Winson Garden. It’s easy to find. Follow signs for the prison, then take a left onto Mole Street. I’ll follow. Make sure you don’t get lost.”



* * *



—

No one was going to come and help him. He had to face reality. So Jed Starmer forced himself onto his feet. He couldn’t stay where he was. He was too visible. At least two officers had been searching for him in Jackson. Pretty soon they would accept he had given them the slip. They would have no choice. Then they would have only one place left to look. Jed’s final destination. Winson. Which could only be reached via the road he was currently loitering right next to.