Nothing to Lose

“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 wishing 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 unbuttoned his shirt 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 bullshit 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 ass.

“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 button 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 shirt, 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.

53

Vaughan drove. She insisted on it. It was her watch commander’s car. Reacher was happy to let her. She was a better driver than him. Much better. Her panic one-eighty had impressed him. Backward to forward, at full speed. He doubted if he could have done it. He figured if he had been driving the mob would have caught them and torn them apart.

“Won’t they be there again?” Vaughan asked.

“Possible,” he said. “But I doubt it. It’s late, on the second night. And I told Thurman I wouldn’t be back. I don’t think it will be like yesterday.”

“Why would Thurman believe you?”

“He’s religious. He’s accustomed to believing things that comfort him.”

“We should have planned to take the long way around.”

“I’m glad we didn’t. It would have taken four hours. It wouldn’t have left time for dinner.”

She smiled and they took off, north to First Street, west toward Despair. There was thick cloud in the sky. No moon. No stars. Pitch black. Perfect. They thumped over the line and a mile before the top of the rise Reacher said, “It’s time to go stealthy. Turn all the lights off.”

Vaughan clicked the headlights off and the world went dark and she braked hard.

“I can’t see anything,” she said.

“Use the video camera,” he said. “Use the night vision.”

“What?”