Nothing To Lose Part 35

"So she came in from the west."

"I guess some of them do. Some from the east, some from the west."

"Which raises a question, doesn't it? Maria came in from the east, from Kansas, but she asked the old guy in the green car to let her out at the MP base west of Despair. How did she even know it was there?"

"Maybe Lucy Anderson told her. She would have seen it."

"I don't think they talked at all."

"Then maybe Ramirez told her about it. Maybe on the phone to Topeka. He came in from the west and saw it."

"But why would he notice it? Why would he care? Why would it be a topic of conversation with his girlfriend?"

"I don't know."

Reacher asked, "Is your watch commander a nice guy?"

"Why?"

"Because he better be. We need to borrow his car again."

"When?"

"Later tonight."

"Later than what?"

"Than whatever."

"How much later?"

"Eight hours from now."

Vaughan said, "Eight hours is good."

Reacher said, "First we're going shopping."

They got to the hardware store just as it was closing. The old guy in the brown coat was clearing his sidewalk display. He had wheeled the leaf blowers inside and was starting in on the wheelbarrows. Reacher went in and bought a slim flashlight and two batteries and a two-foot wrecking bar from the old guy's wife. Then he went back out and bought the trick stepladder that opened to eight different positions. For storage or transport it folded into a neat package about four feet long and a foot and a half wide. It was made of aluminum and plastic and was very light. It fit easily on the Crown Vic's rear bench.

Vaughan invited him over for dinner, at eight o'clock. She was very formal about it. She said she needed the intervening two hours to prepare. Reacher spent the time in his room. He took a nap, and then he shaved and showered and cleaned his teeth. And dressed. His clothes were new, but his underwear was past its prime, so he ditched it. He put on his pants and his s.h.i.+rt and raked his fingers through his hair and checked the result in the mirror and deemed it acceptable. He had no real opinion about his appearance. It was what it was. He couldn't change it. Some people liked it, and some people didn't.

Fifty yards from Vaughan's house, he couldn't see the watch commander's car. Either it was in the driveway, or Vaughan had given it back. Or gotten an emergency call. Or changed her plans for the evening. Then from thirty yards away, he saw the car right there on the curb. A hole in the darkness. Dull gla.s.s. Black paint, matte with age. Invisible in the gloom.

Perfect.

He walked through the plantings on her stepping-stone path and touched the bell.The average delay at a suburban door in the middle of the evening, about twenty seconds. Vaughan got there in nine flat. She was in a black knee-length sleeveless A-line dress, and black low-heel shoes, like ballet slippers. She was freshly showered. She looked young and full of energy. Vaughan got there in nine flat. She was in a black knee-length sleeveless A-line dress, and black low-heel shoes, like ballet slippers. She was freshly showered. She looked young and full of energy.

She looked stunning.

He said, "h.e.l.lo."

She said, "Come in."

The kitchen was full of candlelight. The table was set with two chairs and two places and an open bottle of wine and two gla.s.ses. Aromas were coming from the stove. Two appetizers were standing on the counter. Lobster meat, avocado, pink grapefruit segments, on a bed of lettuce.

She said, "The main course isn't ready. I screwed up the timing. It's something I haven't made for a while."

"Three years," Reacher said.

"Longer," she said.

"You look great," he said.

"Do I?"

"The prettiest view in Colorado."

"Better than Pikes Peak?"

"Considerably. You should be on the front of the guide book."

"You're flattering me."

"Not really."

She said, "You look good, too."

"That's flattery for sure."

"No, you clean up well."

"I try my best."

She asked, "Should we be doing this?"

He said, "I think so."

"Is it fair to David?"

"David never came back. He never lived here. He doesn't know."

"I want to see your scar again."

"Because you're wis.h.i.+ng David had come back with one. Instead of what he got."

"I guess."

Reacher said, "We were both lucky. I know soldiers. I've been around them all my life. They fear grotesque wounds. That's all. Amputations, mutilations, burns. I'm lucky because I didn't get one, and David is lucky because he doesn't know he did."

Vaughan said nothing.

Reacher said, "And we're both lucky because we both met you."

Vaughan said, "Show me the scar."

Reacher unb.u.t.toned his s.h.i.+rt and slipped it off. Vaughan hesitated a second and then touched the ridged skin, very gently. Her fingertips were cool and smooth. They burned him, like electricity.

"What was it?" she asked.

"A truck bomb in Beirut."

"Shrapnel?"

"Part of a man who was standing closer."

"That's awful."

"For him. Not for me. Metal might have killed me."

"Was it worth it?"

Reacher said, "No. Of course not. It hasn't been worth it for a long time."

"How long a time?"

"Since 1945."

"Did David know that?"

"Yes," Reacher said. "He knew. I know soldiers. There's nothing more realistic than a soldier. You can try, but you can't bulls.h.i.+t them. Not even for a minute."

"But they keep on showing up."

"Yes, they do. They keep on showing up."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Never have."

"How long were you in the hospital?"

"A few weeks, that's all."

"As bad a place as David is in?"

"Much worse."

"Why are the hospitals so bad?"

"Because deep down to the army a wounded soldier that can't fight anymore is garbage. So we depend on civilians, and civilians don't care either."

Vaughan put her hand flat against his scar and then slid it around his back. She did the same with her other hand, on the other side. She hugged his waist and held the flat of her cheek against his chest. Then she raised her head and craned her neck and he bent down and kissed her. She tasted of warmth and wine and toothpaste. She smelled like soap and clean skin and delicate fragrance. Her hair was soft. Her eyes were closed. He ran his tongue along the row of unfamiliar teeth and found her tongue. He cradled her head with one hand and put the other low on her back.

A long, long kiss.

She came up for air.

"We should do this," she said.

"We are doing it," he said.

"I mean, it's OK to do this."

"I think so," he said again. He could feel the end of her zipper with the little finger of his right hand. The little finger of his left hand was down on the swell of her a.s.s.

"Because you're moving on," she said.

"Two days," he said. "Three, max."

"No complications," she said. "Not like it might be permanent."

"I can't do permanent," he said.

He bent and kissed her again. Moved his hand and caught the tag of her zipper and pulled it down. She was naked under the dress. Warm, and soft, and smooth, and lithe, and fragrant. He stooped and scooped her up, one arm under her knees and the other under her shoulders. He carried her down the hallway, to where he imagined the bedrooms must be, kissing her all the way. Two doors. Two rooms. One smelled unused, one smelled like her. Her carried her in and put her down and her dress slipped from her shoulders and fell. They kissed some more and her hands tore at the b.u.t.ton on his pants. A minute later they were in her bed.

Afterward, they ate, first the appetizer, then pork cooked with apples and spices and brown sugar and white wine. For dessert, they went back to bed. At midnight, they showered together. Then they dressed, Reacher in his pants and s.h.i.+rt, Vaughan in black jeans and a black sweater and black sneakers and a slim black leather belt.

Nothing else.

"No gun?" Reacher asked.

"I don't carry my gun off duty," she said.

"OK," he said.

At one o'clock, they went out.

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