Die Trying

pale or too burnt or something.”
    “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked.
    “Psychology,” Reacher said. “We need to start getting some dominance here. Situation like this, it’s very important.”
    She stared at him.
    “Just do it, OK?” he said, calmly.

    SHE DID IT. The jumpy guy brought the toast. It was just about perfect, but she rejected it. She looked at it with the disdain she’d use on a sloppy balance sheet and said it was too well-done. She was standing with all her weight on one foot, looking like a mess, dung all over her peach Armani, but she managed enough haughty contempt to intimidate the guy. He went back to the farmhouse kitchen and made more.
    It came with a pot of strong coffee and Holly and Reacher ate their separate breakfasts, chains clanking, twenty feet apart, while the other two guys hauled mattresses into the barn. One queen, one twin. They pulled them up into the back of the truck and laid the queen out on the floor and stood the twin at right angles to it, up against the back of the cab bulkhead. Holly watched them do it and felt a whole lot better about the day. Then she suddenly realized exactly where Reacher’s psychology had been aimed. Not just at the three kidnappers. At her, too. He didn’t want her to get into a fight. Because she’d lose. He’d risked doing what he’d done to defuse a hopeless confrontation. She was amazed. Totally amazed. She thought blankly: for Christ’s sake, this guy’s got it ass backward. He’s trying to take care of me.
    “You want to tell us your names?” Reacher asked, calmly. “We’re spending some time together, we can be a little civilized about it, right?”
    Holly saw the leader just looking at him. The guy made no reply.
    “We’ve seen your faces,” Reacher said. “Telling us your names isn’t going to do you any harm. And we might as well try to get along.”
    The guy thought about it and nodded.
    “Loder,” he said.
    The little jumpy guy shifted feet.
    “Stevie,” he said.
    Reacher nodded. Then the ugly driver realized all four were looking at him. He ducked his head.
    “I’m not telling you my name,” he said. “Hell should I?”
    “And let’s be real clear,” the guy called Loder said. “Civilized is not the same thing as friendly, right?”
    Holly saw him aim his Glock at Reacher’s head and hold it there for a long moment. Nothing in his face. Not the same thing as friendly. Reacher nodded. A small cautious movement. They left their toast plates and their coffee mugs lying on the straw and the guy called Loder unlocked their chains. They met in the central aisle. Two Glocks and a shotgun aimed at them. The ugly driver leering. Reacher looked him in the eye and ducked down and picked Holly up like she weighed nothing at all. Carried her the ten paces to the truck. Put her down gently inside. They crawled forward together to the improvised sofa. Got themselves comfortable.
    The truck’s rear doors slammed and locked. Holly heard the big barn door open up. The truck’s engine turned over and caught. They drove out of the barn and bounced a hundred and fifty yards over the rough track. Turned an invisible right angle and cruised straight and slow down a road for fifteen minutes.
    “We aren’t in Pennsylvania,” Holly said. “Roads are too straight. Too flat.”
    Reacher just shrugged at her in the dark.
    “We aren’t in handcuffs anymore, either,” he said. “Psychology.”

12
    “HELL IS THIS?”Agent-in-Charge McGrath said.
    He thumbed the remote and rewound the tape. Then he pressed play and watched it again. But what he saw meant nothing at all. The video screens were filled with jerky speeding images and shashy white snow.
    “Hell is going on here?” he asked again.
    Brogan crowded in and shook his head. Milosevic pushed closer to look. He’d brought the tape in, so he felt personally responsible for it. McGrath hit rewind again and tried once more. Same result. Just a blur of disjointed flashing pictures.
    “Get the damn tech guy back in here,” he shouted.
    Milosevic used the phone on the credenza next to the coffeepot. Called upstairs to tech services. The head tech was in the room within a minute. The tone of Milosevic’s voice had told him to hurry more effectively than any words could have.
    “Damn tape won’t run properly,” McGrath told him.
    The technician took the remote in his hand with that blend of familiarity and unfamiliarity that tech guys use