Tracking Jack: Hunting Lee Child's Jack Reacher

Book 22: The Hunt for Jack Reacher Series

by Diane Capri

Genres: Hard-Boiled; Financial Thrillers

Synopsis

USA Today and New York Times Bestselling, Award Winning Series! The next gripping Hunt for Jack Reacher Thriller from Diane Capri!

“Make some coffee. You’ll read all night.” Lee Child

Lee Child Gives Diane Capri Two Thumbs Up! “Full of thrills and tension, but smart and human, too. Kim Otto is a great, great character – I love her.”

The Hunt for Jack Reacher series enthralls fans of John Grisham, Lee Child, and more:

“Diane writes like the maestro of the jigsaw puzzle. Sit back in your favorite easy chair, pour a glass of crisp white wine, and enter her devilishly clever world.” —David Hagberg, New York Times Bestselling Author of Kirk McGarvey Thrillers

“Expertise shines on every page.” —Margaret Maron, Edgar, Anthony, Agatha and Macavity Award Winning MWA Past President and MWA Grand Master 2013

Readers Love the Hunt for Jack Reacher Series and Diane Capri:

“I ‘stumbled’ on this title and was attracted to it as I am a Jack Reacher fan. Loved the story and the author’s writing style. Couldn’t wait for more so I purchased [Raw Justice] and want more Jennifer Lane — please?! Fatal Distraction is also on my Kindle to read list!”

“I have been a Reacher fan for years and was excited when I heard of Diane Capri’s take on ‘Finding Reacher’. ‘Don’t Know Jack’ is a good companion to Child’s Reacher books and recaptures the flavor of the Reacher mystique. I am waiting anxiously for the next book in the series and the next and the next, and so on.”

"I love this series!"

“All Child fans should give it a try!”

Award-Winning, New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author DIANE CAPRI does it again in another blockbuster Hunt for Jack Reacher Series Novel

 

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Release date: November 19, 2024

Print pages: 257

Sample

Chapter 1

Friday, June 17

Atlanta

Swaying with the tram’s movement while feeling the familiar hum beneath his feet, Ed Docherty rode the crowded Plane Train through Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson Airport. He scanned the faces around him, ever vigilant. Habit of a lifetime.

The car was crowded with travelers. Singles and small groups. Business passengers headed home. Families, couples, adventurers, all paying little attention to their surroundings. Living in their own heads or focused on electronic devices, probably.

He noticed a couple arguing quietly. A mother soothing her baby. A man in a suit tapping on his phone. In short, nothing obviously remarkable or noteworthy.

Docherty adjusted his stance as the tram slowed. His body moved with the rhythm, instinctively, naturally.

He leaned against a pole, arms crossed. A young kid tugged at his father’s sleeve, pointing at the passing lights outside. The father nodded absently, eyes glazed with fatigue.

Docherty shifted his gaze to the electronic sign crawling in lights above the doors. It flashed the name of the next stop. He checked his watch. Time moved differently in transit between places.

A pleasant human voice spoke over the intercom announcing the next terminal, which was not his stop. He was headed toward the end of the line to catch his connecting flight to Tampa. He stood aside to allow passengers to exit.

After a few moments, the doors slid closed. The tram jolted slightly and resumed its course. He felt the pull, the gentle sway. He steadied himself while watching the passing lights, concrete, and people milling around.

A family of four got on at the next stop. Kids chattering excitedly, parents looking harried but happy. Docherty smiled to himself, remembering days like that when his kids were small. Simpler times. Before the divorce. Before his daughter moved away. Before his son died in the war.

He focused on the rhythm of the journey. The tram, the people, the steady movement forward. It was a brief respite, a pause in the rush of life.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it, preferring the quiet, the momentary peace. There would be time for calls later.

Docherty spotted her as the tram lurched around a bend. A woman. Petite. Dark hair, dark eyes. Wearing a heavy coat despite the stifling summer heat. She looked anxious. Restless.

He studied her reflection in the window. Watched her fidget with her sleeves. Check her watch compulsively. Sweat beaded on her forehead and dripped down her temple.

A memory flashed through his mind. The subway. New York. Years ago. A case he’d worked when he was NYPD. Before he retired.

A suspected suicide bomber.

Similar woman wearing a different coat, but the nervous energy was the same.

He was not in the subway car, but he’d watched the CCTV so many times the memory had embedded in his brain.

Jack Reacher had saved lives that night. He’d recognized the threat and took action.

The wrong action.

Gut wrenching horror had followed.

Docherty’s stomach clenched. A cold tingle crept up his spine.

Like before, something about this woman was off. He felt it instinctively.

But was he feeling intuition or paranoia?

He tried to shake the uneasy déjà vu. Told himself he was jumping to conclusions. 

Overreacting based on a vague similarity and traumatic memories.

The fear was ridiculous, surely.

But he couldn’t quite convince himself. Couldn’t ignore the dread knotting his gut. The nagging certainty that something wasn’t right.

The tram swayed. The woman swayed with it. Muttered something.

Docherty strained to hear over the rattle and hum of the tram and the noise of the other passengers. His hearing wasn’t the best. He couldn’t make out her words.

“Look away, Ed,” he muttered silently. “Mind your own business. There could be a hundred explanations. None of them dangerous.”

His hand settled near his concealed sidearm anyway. An unconscious reflex. He could feel the ghost of the long-ago subway killer’s coat skimming his fingertips.

Instinct warred with logic. Observation with bias. Memory with the present moment.

A woman in the wrong coat on a summer day.

Maybe that’s all she was.

But after decades with NYPD and his private security work since, his very experienced gut told him otherwise.

Insisted something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Screamed danger.

Just like that other time.

The tram slowed again. His stop was coming up.

He had a choice to make.

And not much time to make it.

Docherty kept his eyes on the woman, watching her without appearing to watch. He was good at that. He noticed everything, filing it away in his mental catalog of suspicious activity.

If you see something, do something. The mantra of every New Yorker after 9/11.

She couldn’t keep still. Hands clenching and unclenching. Fingers drumming a frantic beat against her thigh.

Her gaze flickered around the tram car, alighting on every passenger, every exit, every window. Assessing. Planning.

She gripped her bag tightly to her chest like a shield. Or precious cargo. White knuckled. The fabric strained.

Docherty’s own grip tightened on the pole. Tension coiled in his muscles, ready to spring into action. But he needed something concrete. To be sure.

The tram jostled as it slowed for the next stop. Passengers swayed.

The woman stood and stumbled. Caught herself. Her coat gaped open for a split second.

That’s when he saw them. Wires. Colorful. Tangled. Snaking out from beneath her coat. Disappearing into her bag.

His blood ran cold

as his heart hammered against his ribs.

No doubt now. She was wired.

What was in the bag?

Adrenaline surged through him. The world narrowed to this moment, this threat. Everything else fell away.

He was moving before he realized it. Shouldering through the oblivious crowd. Laser focused.

Passengers moved aside as he made his way through. Panic rippled through the car when they noticed his determined march.

But Docherty only saw her.

It all crystalized in his mind with terrifying clarity.

The bomb.

The trigger.

The lives at stake.

He had to stop her. Had to end this.

Before it was too late.

Before she turned the tram into a screaming metal coffin.

There was no time for backup. For negotiation. For anything but action. Decisive. Immediate.

Lives hung in the balance. Innocent lives.

Docherty was the only thing standing between them and oblivion.

And he would not fail them. Not this time. Not ever again.

He was four feet away when she looked up. Met his gaze. Saw his intent.

Her eyes widened. Her right hand plunged into her bag.

He lunged forward, crashed into her, and his momentum carried her to the ground.

He grappled with her, trying to gain control.

She fought back, thrashing and clawing at his face with one hand while the other remained firmly in the bag. Was she holding a detonator?

“Stop resisting!” he grunted, struggled for a better grip.

For a tiny woman, she was surprisingly strong and fierce.

She snarled something in a language he couldn’t understand and lashed out with her elbow catching him in the jaw.

Docherty’s head snapped back, but he didn’t let go.

Chaos erupted around them. Passengers screamed and scrambled away from the struggling pair, tripping over each other in their haste. A few brave souls tried to intervene, but Docherty waved them off.

“Stay back!” he shouted.

Passengers froze in shock, eyes wide and mouths agape. A few fumbled for their phones, recording the scene with shaking hands. Children cried out as parents tried to soothe their fears.

The tram slowed as it approached the next stop. The recorded voice announced the arrival, and the doors slid open.

Docherty ignored it all, focusing only on the woman in his grasp.

He shifted his weight, using his bigger, heavier body to his advantage.

With one practiced move, he pinned her to the ground, wrenching her free arm behind her back. She bucked and twisted, but he held fast, his knee pressed firmly into her spine. If she held a detonator in her hand, he knew these might be his last moments on earth.

“Everyone stay calm!” he yelled over the commotion. “The situation is under control. Police are on the way. Just give us space!”

A moment later, a team of airport security officers swarmed the tram, weapons drawn, assessing the threat.

“Over here!” Docherty called, jerking his chin toward the woman.

The officers surrounded them, forming a tight perimeter. One of them, a burly man with a salt-and-pepper beard, knelt down to cuff the woman’s free hand while Docherty kept her pinned.

“I think she’s got a bomb. Found wires under her coat,” Docherty said quietly through labored breaths. When the officer eyed him suspiciously, he added, “Former NYPD. Retired.”

“Thanks,” the officer said, giving Docherty a nod of respect. “We’ll take it from here.”

“If she does have a device, it could be rigged to blow.” Docherty hauled the woman to her feet, keeping a firm grip on her arm until the officer had her secured.

Every law enforcement agency and airport security team in the country had protocols for such situations. The security team wasted no time implementing them.

Docherty stood aside as they searched the woman thoroughly, emptying her pockets and patting her down with practiced efficiency. Wires, a detonator, and packets of suspicious substances tumbled out of her coat and the bag.

She wasn’t holding the detonator, but it was within easy reach.

“Jesus,” one of the younger officers breathed.

They practically carried her away, still kicking and screaming in defiance. Docherty sagged against the wall as his muscles trembled with spent adrenaline.

That had been close. Too damned close.

He shuddered to think of the carnage that could have unfolded. The lives that would have been lost.

But they’d stopped it. He’d stopped it. That’s what mattered.

He only had a moment to draw breath before the second wave of armed responders flooded the area.

 

Chapter 2

Saturday, June 18

Atlanta

A swarm of law enforcement poured in, which meant the bomb scare had rocketed up the priority chain. They zeroed in on Docherty like bloodhounds on a scent. They led him to a quiet corner and began rapid fire questions faster than he could keep them straight.

“What’s your name?”

“Ed Docherty.”

“ID?”

He pulled out his wallet to show his driver’s license and his old NYPD credentials. The officer took both and handed them to a second officer, who scurried off to verify.

“What happened here?” the first officer asked. “How did you spot the suspect and what made you believe she carried an explosive device?”

Docherty walked them through it all, step by step. The woman’s suspicious behavior. The telltale bulges and wires peeking from her coat. The reflexive lurch in his gut that had screamed danger.

“I’ve seen this kind of thing before.” He shook his head. “The nervous energy. The clothing. The way she was fidgeting with something in her bag. All the signs were there.”

He could have said more. Could have told them about the twelve-point list the Israelis developed years ago used to identify suicide bombers.

Eleven points if the suspect was a woman.

But they probably already knew. Every law enforcement officer on the planet should have known. The less said now the better, if he wanted to get out of here tonight.

The third officer, a woman with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense bearing, scribbled furiously in her notepad.

“You said you’ve seen this before,” she pressed. “What exactly did you mean by that?”

Docherty hesitated, painful memories threatening to resurface. Screams and smoke and blood. The choking taste of departmental failures. He pushed them back down, clenching his jaw.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “You could say that. Twenty years with NYPD working one of the top terror targets in the world. There are reasons I trusted my instincts on this one.”

The officers exchanged loaded looks, a whole conversation passing between them in the span of a glance.

“Alright, Mr. Docherty,” the first officer said. “We’ll need to take a full statement from you. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

Docherty swiped a weary hand down his face. He could already feel the weight settling into his bones. The questions, the implications, the breadcrumb trail of clues that always led to more trouble.

“Yeah, sure. I know the drill.” Resigned to missing his flight to Tampa, he followed the female officer to a quiet room where he went through it all again, on video this time.

Hours later, well past midnight, Docherty finally walked out of the airport police station. Statement signed, contact information left, duty done. For now.

Cases like this tended to go on for years. He’d be an old man before it was all over. Good Samaritans had no idea how the system could chew them up and spit them out. Docherty knew exactly what to expect.

He collapsed into the driver’s seat of the rental car and let his head fall back against the headrest with a sigh. All he’d wanted was a smooth flight and a quiet night before his meetings tomorrow. Instead he’d landed smack in the middle of a nightmare.

His phone chirped. He fumbled it out of his pocket and squinted at the screen

Theresa Lee, his former partner. He’d planned to meet her for dinner, but he was beyond late now. He hit the call back button.

“Theresa, it’s me. I’m sorry, I—”

“Where are you?” She cut him off, her voice sharp with worry. “I’ve been blowing up your phone for hours. The news is showing something about a guy tackling a terrorist at the airport. Please tell me that wasn’t you.”

“Yeah, you can take the cop out of the NYPD, but…” Docherty pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m fine, but it’s a long story. I’m on my way to the hotel now. I was planning to fly to Tampa after dinner, but I missed my connection. I’ll be here overnight. Let’s have breakfast in the morning. I’ll fill you in when I see you.”

There was a long pause. “Why do you always have to play the hero, Ed? You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days.”

He chuckled wearily.

Theresa hung up and Docherty tossed his phone onto the passenger seat. He took a deep breath to calm the whirlwind in his head.

He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. It was late. Traffic was light. He was distracted, reviewing the events at the airport again in his head.

At first, the drive was easy. Uneventful.

Until it wasn’t.

As his rental approached the businessman’s hotel a few miles from the airport, Docherty’s world exploded.

At the exact moment Docherty’s sedan sailed into the intersection on the green light, an oncoming driver accelerated to beat the red light.

Docherty never saw it coming.

The double decker private coach slammed into the side of his electric sedan at full speed, crumpling the metal like tissue paper.

Glass shattered, steel screamed, and Docherty’s sedan flipped over in a dizzying spiral of chaos.

Silence. Stillness.

Nothingness.

Docherty awakened slowly. ...