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CHAPTER 1
Tuesday, May 24
Chicago, IL
FBI Special Agent Kim Otto was all too aware that life could pivot from comfortable to catastrophic in an instant. Particularly in Chicago.
Always vigilant, she carried threat level awareness in her body at the cellular level.
Twenty minutes into her run, a driver mashed the grabbers and laid on his horn. Kim jumped several inches off the sidewalk and turned toward the danger.
The sedan stopped mere inches before he would have mowed down a jaywalker wearing earbuds who was crossing the street, oblivious to the danger.
Kim’s heart picked up a couple of beats.
The pedestrian increased his pace and jogged across the street out of the sedan’s path. The driver accelerated on his way, perhaps a bit more carefully.
And that was the end of it. No one got hit. No one died.
The driver didn’t jump out and shout at the careless pedestrian.
The pedestrian didn’t flip the guy off or yell obscenities about driving recklessly in a residential neighborhood.
Kim’s heartbeat returned to normal and the tension in her shoulders eased as she moved along. Crisis averted.
In general, Chicagoans were polite Midwesterners. Which was one reason Kim enjoyed the city. The vibe felt normal and comfortable to her. Very similar to her home in Michigan.
Like law enforcement everywhere, she was hyper-aware of Chicago’s increasingly violent crime statistics. More than six hundred homicides had been committed here last year alone.
Her situational awareness kept the needle pegged in the red zone on her internal threat meter at all times.
But it felt great to be outside, using her body, stretching her muscles. Forced inactivity was against her nature as well as a waste of time and she hated it.
She ran in the posh neighborhoods where, statistically speaking, the population was less likely to kill each other mid-week in broad daylight.
She had spent too many hours waiting, doing paperwork, and sitting on the sidelines the past few days.
Which had motivated her to run twice a day. Meaning she’d completed her usual five-mile fitness routine in the morning and now a more relaxed five miles in the afternoon.
Running was automatic and soon she was in the zone where her body did the work without conscious volition while her mind was free to wander back to problems with her job and her new partner.
Her assignment was to find Jack Reacher, and he was slipping through her fingers. Every minute she spent here in Chicago instead of tracking Reacher’s movements gave him time to widen the gap between them.
It was her new partner’s fault and she couldn’t forgive him for it. Not yet, anyway.
Nor could she simply leave Burke here alone. He was her number two. She was responsible for him. She didn’t have it in her to blow him off, even though he’d abandoned her more than once.
But as her mother often said, two wrongs didn’t make a right, no matter how you did the math.
She’d demanded a new partner after her previous one retired. Twelve days ago, The Boss had assigned FBI Special Agent William Burke.
On paper, Burke was perfect. He had served as a Navy SEAL before joining the FBI, which meant he should have been both supremely capable and reliable.
He should also have understood the chain of command. She was the lead agent on this assignment. She’d been on the hunt for Reacher since the beginning.
Burke was the new guy. He’d been reminded of that status by The Boss more than once, yet he blew off his orders as if they’d been written in sand. He took risks he shouldn’t take, with his life and with hers.
She’d never warmed up to Burke and her gut said the lack of appropriate feelings of loyalty, camaraderie, and friendship was mutual.
In short, he made her uneasy and she couldn’t put her finger on the exact reason. Which made her even more uneasy.
For the second time since he’d come on board, Burke was in the hospital. He’d be released tomorrow, which might be the good news or the bad news.
She’d been expecting a full report about Burke from a confidential source at the NSA. The report hadn’t come through and she’d waited in Chicago waiting as long as she could without arousing undue suspicion. Time to move on and hope the NSA report would catch up with her soon.
She’d finished the mountain of official paperwork late last night and sent it all off to The Boss.
Today, she’d written more extensive, confidential reports, which she’d uploaded to her secure server—secretly paying her insurance premium.
This whole assignment would go wickedly, horribly wrong at some point. She was certain. She’d find herself testifying about the hunt for Jack Reacher. Heads would roll. A few souls would end up in Leavenworth.
When pompous bureaucrats looked her way for a scapegoat, which they would, her contemporaneous reports could save her ass. She hoped.
After the last report loaded, she’d closed down the server and disconnected her laptop’s parallel operating system. The only way to eliminate all traces of her cyber activities from the laptop was to destroy it, but at this point destruction was not an option.
Satisfied with her progress, she’d suited up and headed out for her run.
She intended to clear her head and work the kinks out of her body. The day was glorious. Nothing better than springtime in Chicagoland. She smelled the fragrant mixture of spring tulips and forsythia and daffodils that lined the streets in cheerfully bright colors after the long, gray winter.
Covering five miles of ground seemed to pass in five minutes.
When she slowed to walk the last few blocks back to her hotel, she noticed an independently owned ice cream shop on the corner of a busy street.
The throng of people coming and going and the unmistakable aroma of freshly brewed coffee drew her closer. She wondered what all the enthusiasm was about.
The whimsical metal sign swinging from the top of the door depicted a single scoop of caramel-colored ice cream perched atop a Wedgwood china cup.
The caption read, “Coffee. With Attitude.”
What coffee addict could resist?
She grinned, stepped inside the coffee ice cream emporium, and deeply inhaled its wonderful bouquet.
Shelves and displays filled with trinkets and collectables lined the walls. All the items sported coffee and ice cream images and slogans.
Patrons were licking ice cream scoops, drinking coffee, laughing at the silly slogans, and generally amusing themselves. In short, people were acting normally for springtime in Chicago. The atmosphere was refreshing.
The mean streets of the city’s unsafe areas seemed a thousand miles away.
Kim stood at the end of the line, reading the menu board as she waited her turn. The patient customers were well mannered and the queue moved quickly.
When she reached the confectioner behind the counter, the wholesome young man flashed a smile that promised expert and friendly service.
He brandished his scooper and flashed a flirty grin when he asked, “Which of our flavors might you enjoy most today?”
“How is the Totally Awesome Dark Mocha Toffee Crunch?” she replied, reading from the list.
His smile broadened to light up his whole face when he exclaimed, “It’s totally awesome!”
She laughed. This place was infectious in the best of all possible ways. “One scoop, please.”
“Two scoops are twice as good,” he suggested, holding the scooper poised for action.
She shook her head. “I’ve already run ten miles today. I don’t have the oomph to pound out another ten to run off those calories.”
He cocked his head and gave it one last try. “Work hard and play harder, my mom always says. She’s a size two. After six kids.”
“Nice try.” She laughed again. “Just one scoop, please.”
He wagged the scooper and gave her another big grin. “It’s tempting, isn’t it? You know you want it.”
“You’re an incorrigible flirt. You know that?” Kim smiled back because she couldn’t help herself. “But no. Just the one totally awesome scoop, please.”
“You got it.” He shook his head as if she were making a life-altering mistake, but he dug into one of the big cartons in the freezer, muscles moving under the skin of his arms as he worked the scoop like a pro.
In less than thirty seconds, he’d created a softball-sized scoop of the smooth caramel- colored ice cream and plopped it into a takeaway container decorated like the china tea cup on the sign out front.
“Nuts? Whipped cream? Sprinkles? Shaved chocolate? Espresso beans?” he asked, waving his palm over the toppings like a magician. “You’re really well-toned for a woman your size. I’m sure an extra scoop and a few toppings would look great on you.”
She regretfully declined, shaking her head.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he said as he shrugged and handed the ice cream to her with a silver plastic spoon and a flourish.
“Thank you,” Kim replied as she took the treat and tasted it. “Wow! Totally awesome is right.”
“You be careful out there,” he said with another grin and a twinkle in his eyes before he turned his attention to the next customer in line.
Kim pulled a twenty-dollar bill out of her pocket and paid for the ice cream at the register, leaving a generous tip for the scooper. He certainly deserved it.
“Watch yourself. It’ll be dark soon,” the cashier said as she thanked Kim for her business.
“I’m from Detroit. Where the weak are killed and eaten,” she joked in response, but the cashier didn’t smile.
All the chairs inside the shop were already taken, so Kim wandered outside with her ice cream. She meandered along the sidewalk, enjoying her treat and the warm afternoon sunshine.
“You know, that scooper might have been right about the toppings, too. He didn’t steer you wrong on the ice cream,” she said to herself. “Why not?”
She turned back toward the ice cream shop for a few chocolate-covered espresso beans.
She’d taken half a dozen steps when she heard shouting, and a woman ran out of the shop screaming. “Help! He’s got a gun!”
Kim heard the unmistakable sound of two gunshots fired inside the shop. She tossed the ice cream into a nearby trash bin, pulled her weapon, and told the woman to call 9-1-1.
Kim ran toward the ice cream shop.
CHAPTER 2
Tuesday, May 24
Chicago, IL
With her gun drawn, Kim approached the shop and scanned the interior through the windows from the sidewalk.
Murders, rapes, shootings, and car thefts were all up sharply in the area, prompting warnings everywhere she’d been. The numbers were horrifying, to be sure. Even in areas like Lincoln Park.
She saw two men inside threatening the others. One held a gun. The other brandished a knife.
The patrons were down on the floor.
The gunman was behind the counter, standing with his foot on the back of the ice cream scooper who had been flirting with her just a few minutes ago. He’d shot the young man, who was unconscious and bleeding.
The man with the knife stood by the cashier. He was holding a knife to her throat and shouting.
“Give me the cash or I’ll kill you.” The man pressed the knife against her flesh and drew blood.
Kim shoved the door open and stepped inside. “FBI! Hands up!”
The cashier used Kim’s entrance as a chance to scream and elbow the man sharply.
He swore and lifted his arm to slash her with the knife.
She scrambled toward Kim and slapped her hand over her neck to stop the bleeding.
The gunman behind the counter raised his pistol and aimed it at the cashier.
Before he could shoot off another round, Kim fired. The gunman staggered and fell on top of the young man already on the floor.
The man at the register moved toward Kim.
“Drop the knife! Drop the knife!” she yelled.
He lunged forward, moving fast, closing the distance between them.
“Stop!” she tried one last time.
He kept coming.
She put two bullets in his torso.
Momentum propelled his body forward another few feet and pitched forward.
Kim jumped aside, out of his path.
His body landed face-first on the cheerful parquet floor. Blood oozed slowly as gravity pulled the life force from him.
The other patrons ran into the far corners of the shop, screaming now that they could release their shocked voices.
Kim yelled, “Call 9-1-1!” before she checked the carotid pulse on both men to confirm they were no longer threats to the patrons and then hurried toward the victims.
The cashier was leaning against the wall, holding her hand to her neck wound, moaning in pain. Kim hurried to check on the others. The young man was still breathing. The two armed robbers were not.
Several of the patrons pulled out cell phones. At least one must have called the police. The others were probably shooting video or getting back on their feet.
A small crowd gathered outside the ice cream store.
A man hurried forward bringing bandages for the injured woman. “Just got these at the drug store on the corner.”
He applied a white gauze patch to her neck, telling her to keep the pressure steady until help arrived. She moaned and nodded as if she understood the instructions.
Within minutes, two patrol officers arrived at the scene and called for more backup. One administered a dressing to the woman’s neck to stop the bleeding and addressed the wounds on her torso. ...
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