Read Worth Dying For for Free Online

were on-ramps and rest areas and a vast travelling population, some of it commercial, some of it private, a fair proportion of it lonely and ready for company. The problem would come before the Interstate, on the middle-of-nowhere trek down to it. Since climbing out of the car that had dumped him at the crossroads he had heard no traffic at all. Night-time was always worse than daytime, but even so it was rare in America to be close to a road and hear nothing go by. In fact he had heard nothing at all, no wind, no night sounds, and he had been listening hard, for tyres on gravel. It was like he had gone deaf. He raised his hand awkwardly and clicked his fingers near his ear, just to be sure. He wasn’t deaf. It was just the middle of the night, in the countryside. That was all. He got up and used the bathroom and sat back down.
    Then he heard something.
    Not a passing vehicle, not wind, not night sounds.
    Not tyres on gravel.
    Footsteps on gravel.

EIGHT
    F OOTSTEPS ON GRAVEL . O NE PAIR . A LIGHT , HESITANT TREAD , approaching. Reacher watched the window and saw a shape flit across it. Small, slight, head ducked down into the collar of a coat.
    A woman.
    There was a knock at the door, soft and tentative and padded. A small nervous hand, wearing a glove. A decoy, possibly. Not beyond the wit of man to send someone on ahead, all innocent and unthreatening, to get the door open and lull the target into a sense of false security. Not unlikely that such a person would be nervous and hesitant about her role.
    Reacher crossed the floor silently and headed back to the bathroom. He eased the window up and clipped out the screen and rested it in the bathtub. Then he ducked his head and climbed out, scissoring his legs over the sill, stepping down to the gravel. He walked one of the silver timbers that boxed the path, like a tightrope, silently. He went counterclockwise around the circular cabin and came up on the woman from behind.
    She was alone.
    No cars on the road, nobody in the lot, nobody flattened either side of his door, nobody crouched under his window. Just the woman, standing there on her own. She looked cold. She was wearing a wool coat and a scarf. No hat. She was maybe forty, small, dark, and worried. She raised her hand and knocked again.
    Reacher said, ‘I’m here.’
    She gasped and spun around and put her hand on her chest. Her mouth stayed open and made a tiny O. He said, ‘I’m sorry if I startled you, but I wasn’t expecting visitors.’
    She said, ‘Perhaps you should have been.’
    ‘Well, in fact, perhaps I was. But not you.’
    ‘Can we go inside?’
    ‘Who are you?’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m the doctor’s wife.’
    ‘I’m pleased to meet you,’ Reacher said.
    ‘Can we go inside?’
    Reacher found the key in his pocket and unlocked the door from the outside. The doctor’s wife stepped in and he followed her and locked the door again behind them. He crossed the room and closed the bathroom door against the night air coming in through the open window. He turned back to find her standing in the middle of the space. He indicated the armchair and said, ‘Please.’
    She sat down. Didn’t unbutton her coat. She was still nervous. If she had been carrying a purse, she would have had it clamped hard on her knees, defensively. She said, ‘I walked all the way over here.’
    ‘To pick up the car? You should have let your husband do that, in the morning. That’s what I arranged with him.’
    ‘He’s too drunk to drive.’
    ‘He’ll be OK by morning, surely.’
    ‘Morning’s too late. You have to get going. Right now. You’re not safe here.’
    ‘You think?’
    ‘My husband said you’re heading south to the Interstate. I’ll drive you there.’
    ‘Now? It’s got to be a hundred miles.’
    ‘A hundred and twenty.’
    ‘It’s the middle of the night.’
    ‘You’re not safe here. My husband told me what happened. You interfered with the Duncans. You saw . They’ll punish