“What about family? You married? Kids?"
"No."
"Girlfriend?"
"No."
"So you're just a lone wolf, huh? No attachments, no ties. We’re the same in that regard, although I’ve got my eye on a cute waitress at my local bar. A redhead. Feisty."
"Most of them are."
They drove through Ohio as the afternoon turned to evening. The sky darkened, the temperature dropped further,and Simmons turned on the heater. It blew lukewarm air that smelled like dust and old upholstery.
"So what’s Kinsman like?" Simmons asked.
"The man I knew was solid. He saved my life," Reacher said.
"Where?"
"Classified."
"Come on, man. You can tell me."
"No, I can't."
"Combat, huh?"
"Yeah."
Simmons seemed to understand that was all he was going to get. He turned his attention back to the road, and they drove in silence for a while longer.
They crossed into Michigan as the sun set, what little light there was fading behind the clouds. The landscape changed again, more trees, more water, the land flatter and more open.
They passed through small towns with names like Monroe and Dundee and Tecumseh, places that looked like they'd been bypassed by the modern world. Empty storefronts, closed factories, houses that needed paint.
"We're about two hours out," Simmons said. "We'll get there around eight, maybe eight-thirty."
"What's the plan?"
"We're meeting the CI at a property outside Grayling. It's isolated, off the main roads."
"When did you talk to him?"
"Two days ago."
They drove north on I-75, the traffic thinning out as they got farther from the cities. The darkness was complete now, the kind of darkness you only got in rural areas, away from streetlights and buildings. The truck's headlights cut through it, illuminating the road ahead, the trees pressing close on both sides.
They exited the highway at Grayling and drove through the town. It was small, just a main street with a few shops and restaurants, most of them closed for the night. A gas station, a diner, a hardware store.
"We're not stopping here," Simmons said. "The property is about fifteen miles east, out in the forest."
They drove out of town on a two-lane road that got narrower and darker the farther they went. The trees closed in, tall pines and bare hardwoods, their branches reaching overhead like skeletal fingers. There were no other cars, no houses, no lights. Just the road and the forest and the darkness.
After about twenty minutes, Simmons slowed down and turned onto a dirt road that was barely visible from the main highway. The truck bounced over ruts and potholes, the suspension creaking, the headlights bouncing. The road wound through the trees for maybe half a mile, then opened into a small clearing.
In the middle of the clearing sat a trailer. It was old, maybe thirty feet long, with faded aluminum siding and a rusted metal roof. There were no lights on inside. No vehicle parked outside. No sign of life.
Simmons stopped the truck about fifty feet from the trailer and killed the engine. The sudden silence was profound. Reacher could hear the wind moving through the trees, the tick of the cooling engine, nothing else.
