Joe Reacher stood three feet away, a rifle leveled at her chest.
His eyes narrowed. "Mave?"
"Reacher," she said.
He studied her. His face was harder than she remembered. Older. There was blood on his jacket, dark stains she could see even in the dim light. He was hurt, maybe, but steady.
"You and Kinsman," Joe said finally. "Why?"
"He saved my life."
"He saved mine, too," Joe said.
"You left me to die," Mave said. "He didn't."
"You got it wrong," Joe replied.
"No, I don't think so." Her right hand moved fractionally, sliding toward the opening of her coat. Her body was angled. He couldn't see what she was doing and didn’t know about the pistol in her waistband. "Kinsman told me what you did."
A brief look of confusion crossed Reacher’s face, and then, understanding. "He didn't tell you the truth," Joe said.
"You expect me to?—"
"Don't do it, Mave."
Her hand closed on the grip of the pistol. She drew fast, smooth, the way she'd practiced ten thousand times.
Two shots cracked the night.
Mave's head snapped back. She dropped without a sound, her body folding onto the frozen ground between the granite outcroppings.
Joe stood over her for a moment, the rifle still raised.
Then he lowered it.
He bent down, picked up her sniper rifle, checked the chamber. Loaded. Quality optic. Good weapon.
He slung it over his shoulder.
Joe looked at Mave one last time. He hadn’t known her well, back in the Army. The last time he’d seen her was the firefight in the jungle.
Apparently, she had survived and Kinsman had found her and conned her into believing in him.
Joe turned and walked back into the darkness.
PART SEVEN
32
Ivy sat on the edge of the bed.
3:17 AM.
She should sleep. She knew that. But her mind wasn't listening.
Ivy stood up, pulled on her jeans and her boots. Grabbed her coat and her credentials.
Twenty minutes later she was back on the road, heading toward the records facility. The streets were empty. The city felt abandoned.
