Die Trying (Jack Reacher)
Jack Reacher finds himself in bad company in the second novel in Lee Child’s New York Times bestselling series.
When a woman is kidnapped off a Chicago street in broad daylight, Jack Reacher’s in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’s kidnapped with her. Chained together and racing across America toward an unknown destination, they’re at the mercy of a group of men demanding an impossible ransom. Because Reacher’s female companion is worth more than he imagines. Now he has to save them both—from the inside out—or die trying…
skill, born of many long wakeful nights on active service. When you’re waiting for something to happen, you close your body down like a beach house in winter and you let your mind lock on to the steady pace of the passing seconds. It’s like suspended animation. It saves energy and it lifts the responsibility for your heartbeat away from your unconcious brain and passes it on to some kind of a hidden clock. Makes a huge black space for thinking in. But it keeps you just awake enough to be ready
McGrath said impatiently. ‘So how do we use it?’ The tech used two fingers together. Pressed play and freeze at the same time. Up on the screen came a perfect black-and-white still picture of an empty store. In the bottom-left corner was Monday’s date and the time, seven thirty-five in the morning. The tech held the remote out to McGrath and pointed to a small button. ‘See this?’ he said. ‘Frame-advance button. Press this and the tape rolls on to the next still. Usually for sports, right?
understand exactly what’s happening?’ she asked him. He watched her face. Watched her eyes. She was staring straight at him. Astonishment on her face. She thought she was stuck in there with an idiot. She thought he didn’t understand exactly what was happening. ‘It’s pretty clear, right?’ he said. ‘From the evidence?’ ‘What evidence?’ she said. ‘It was all over in a split second.’ ‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘That’s all the evidence I need, right? Tells me more or less what I need to know.’ He
floating off the top of the building, with a fine clock in it, probably paid for by a public subscription held long ago among a long-forgotten generation. More or less the same as a hundred others, but the roof was steeper-pitched than some, and heavier built. He guessed it had to be that way in the north of Montana. That roof could be carrying a hundred tons of snow all winter long. But this was the third morning of July, and there was no snow on the roof. Reacher was warm after walking a mile
watching. Reacher recognized one of them from the courtroom. She gave him a cautious nod of greeting. Fowler stepped forward. ‘Our guest missed breakfast,’ he said. The cautious woman nodded again. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘What can I get you?’ ‘Anything,’ Reacher said. ‘As long as it’s got coffee with it.’ ‘Five minutes,’ the woman said. She led the other two away through a door where the kitchen was bumped out in back. Fowler sat down at a table and Reacher took the bench opposite. ‘Three times