The parking lot of the steakhouse was no longer safe, so Jack called Jubal and asked him to notify the local FBI office to coordinate with the police and clean up the scene. The two cars continued heading toward New York.
It wasn't until they reached the outskirts of New Haven that they finally found a 24-hour roadside diner to fill their stomachs. There was a motel right next to the diner.
This time, Jack had learned his lesson. When choosing rooms, he picked one that was several doors away from Reacher's, finally avoiding the auditory torture.
Reacher was actually relatively discreet, but Dixon, a full-blooded American gal, had no such reservations. Perhaps she'd been eyeing someone for too long, and now that her wish had come true, she wasn't going to stop until she was fully satisfied.
Early the next morning, the group split up. O'Donnell took over driving the Cayenne and brought Jack and Reacher straight home.
You could tell just by looking at his house that he had profited quite well from his shady dealings in Washington. Not just anyone could afford to buy a two-story brick house in the suburbs of Washington, D.C.
O'Donnell's wife looked no older than thirty, with long black hair and that distinct slender figure common among wealthy Americans. You'd never guess she was the mother of two rambunctious boys around six or seven years old.
With a beer in hand, Jack and Reacher watched in stunned silence as the two little rascals chased each other around the house, full of youthful energy.
The kids had no idea what was going on, but O'Donnell's wife's reaction was impressive. Upon hearing her husband vaguely suggest she take the kids to North Carolina for a few days, she immediately began packing without asking any questions.
"Did you pack the adrenaline injector?" O'Donnell stuffed a few plush toys into a small backpack.
"And the asthma inhaler—got it all," the woman said as she quickly packed a suitcase until it was bursting.
Still uneasy, O'Donnell reminded her, "Keep the unregistered phone on you at all times. Don't contact anyone, don't reach out to your parents—especially not your sister. She posts everything on Facebook.
Once you get to Asheville, stay in the downtown area. There'll be a lot of tourists around this time, so blend in. Use cash as much as possible. No credit cards."
"I know the rules," O'Donnell's wife replied as she finished packing. Then she looked at him seriously and asked, "On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it this time?"
O'Donnell hesitated but tried to reassure her. "You'll be fine. We're just being cautious."
But when he saw her eyes locked onto his, he sighed, "Okay, for you guys? Four at most."
"What about you?" she asked gently, clearly more concerned about him than herself or the kids.
"We're dealing with some really bad people. But they've about used up all their tricks. Plus, I've got these guys with me—we'll be fine. Just a few days, tops," O'Donnell promised confidently.
"Please be careful—for me and the kids," she said, kissing him on the cheek before calling the two little troublemakers upstairs to pack their clothes.
"She didn't seem panicked at all. Accepted everything calmly," Reacher said, starting to understand why the former playboy had been completely tamed.
"She's the daughter of an ER head nurse and a fire chief—tough as nails," O'Donnell said, unable to hide the pride in his voice.
"Smart, pretty, brave, and tough. So why'd she marry you? Lose a bet? Or was it a damsel-rescues-hero story?" Jack teased.
Reacher popped open another beer and took a slow sip. "I used to think you'd die in agony from some lower-body infection, and then a bunch of your exes would fight over your 2004 Mazda."
O'Donnell raised a middle finger at both of them. "I just finally met the right person. And you—Jack—are you sure you're in a position to laugh at me?"
Jack glared at Reacher, realizing from the awkward way he turned his face that the guy had clearly ratted him out. O'Donnell used to just think JJ was Jack's girlfriend.
But Jack quickly found a justification for himself. "Actually, I'm just like you—just luckier. Met more of the right girls, and I didn't want to let any of them down."
——
"Per your suggestion, DHS has been focused on tracking that mysterious 'AM.' We suspect the murder of a Pennsylvania state trooper last night may be related to him."
In the DHS office, the agents who welcomed Jack and Reacher were the same two who had previously accompanied Reacher's brother to New York. Jack remembered the older one—Omar Karim.
Agent Karim continued, "The trooper pulled over a vehicle with Colorado plates. She was killed while reporting the driver's identity. The killer stabbed her heart with surgical precision."
"Why do you suspect 'AM' was behind it? Did the bodycam capture anything?" Jack asked curiously.
Karim shook his head regretfully. "Nothing. It was late at night, no witnesses around. The killer expertly disabled her bodycam and took all storage devices, including those from the patrol car's dash cam.
But that diligent officer had already reported the driver's license information to dispatch. We found that it matched a plastic surgeon in Denver who had been murdered the day before."
He placed a photo in front of them—dark hair, dark eyes, deep features. A white male, around mid-thirties, extremely handsome.
"You think 'AM' killed this surgeon, who looks somewhat like him, and took over his identity?" Reacher understood.
"Not think—almost certain," Karim replied, laying out crime scene photos. Two victims: the clinic's receptionist and the surgeon himself.
"Our earlier operation didn't catch 'AM,' but it did force him to abandon all previously compromised aliases. He had no choice but to find a new identity on the fly and drive to New York."
"No cash missing from the clinic, just the ID taken? I agree with DHS's assessment," Jack said as he flipped through the autopsy reports. All fatal wounds were on the side of the neck—very professional—severing both the carotid artery and trachea in a single strike, leaving the victims no chance to call for help.
They also shared the intelligence they had, including the truth about Project "Little Wings." When the DHS agents heard that this case involved 650 portable anti-air missiles and a $65 million deal, they couldn't help but get excited.
"We need to act immediately and lock down the Denver plant. We have to trace where those missiles are going. 'AM' must be heading to New York to complete the final transaction."
Just as Jack was debating whether to bring in Joey Reacher and tell them that a U.S. senator was also involved, his phone suddenly rang.
The call was from Clay and Aubrey, who had posed as Defense Contract Management Agency inspectors earlier that morning to check out the "New Era Tech" weapons factory in Denver.
They had just come out of a deadly firefight, taken down five armed assailants, but were unable to stop an 18-wheeler from leaving the scene after it had been hijacked—their own vehicle had been riddled with bullets.
______
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