Echo Burning

cute.”
    “She is, isn’t she?”
    “Where did you sleep last night?”
    “In the car,” she said. “Motels are forty bucks.”
    “Mine was nearer twenty,” he said.
    She shrugged.
    “Anything over a dollar, I haven’t got it,” she said. “So it’s the car for me. It’s comfortable enough. Then I wait for the breakfast rush and wash up in some diner’s restroom, when they’re too busy to notice.”
    “What about eating?”
    “I don’t eat.”
    She was slowing down, maybe trying to preserve the rest of her gas.
    “I’ll pay for it,” Reacher said. “You’re giving me a ride.”
    There was another billboard, on the right shoulder. Exxon, ten miles.
    “O.K.,” she said. “I’ll let you pay. But only so I can get back to Ellie.”
    She accelerated again, confident the tank would last ten miles. Less than a gallon, Reacher figured, even with a big old engine like that. Even driving fast. He sat back andwatched the horizon reel in. Then he suddenly realized what he should do.
    “Stop the car,” he said.
    “Why?”
    “Just do it, O.K.?”
    She glanced at him, puzzled, but she pulled over on the ragged shoulder. Left it with two wheels on the blacktop, the engine running, the air blasting.
    “Now wait,” he said.
    They waited in the cold until the truck she had passed came through.
    “Now sit still,” he said.
    He unclipped his seat belt and squinted down and tore the pocket off his shirt. Cheap material, weak stitching, it came away with no trouble at all.
    “What are you wearing?” he asked.
    “What? What are you doing?”
    “Tell me exactly what you’re wearing.”
    She blushed. Fidgeted nervously.
    “This dress,” she said. “And underwear. And shoes.”
    “Show me your shoes.”
    She paused a second, and then leaned down and worked her shoes off. Passed them across to him, one at a time. He checked them carefully. Nothing in them. He passed them back. Then he leaned forward and unbuttoned his shirt. Took it off. Passed it to her.
    “I’m getting out now,” he said. “I’m going to turn my back. Take all your clothes off and put the shirt on. Leave your clothes on the seat and then get out, too.”
    “Why?”
    “You want me to help you, just do it. All of them, O.K.?”
    He got out of the car and walked away. Turned around and stared down the road, back the way they had come. It was very hot. He could feel the sun burning the skin on his shoulders. Then he heard the car door open. He turned back and saw her climbing out, barefoot, wearing his shirt. It was huge on her. She was hopping from foot to foot because the road was burning her feet.
    “You can keep your shoes,” he called.
    She leaned in and picked them up and put them on.
    “Now walk away and wait,” he called.
    She paused again, and then moved ten feet away. He stepped back to the car. Her clothes were neatly folded on her seat. He ignored them. Reached back and searched her pocketbook again, and then the briefcase. Nothing there. He turned back to the clothes and shook them out. They were warm from her body. The dress, a bra, underpants. Nothing hidden in them. He laid them on the roof of the car and searched the rest of it.
    It took him twenty minutes. He covered it completely. Under the hood, the whole of the interior, under the carpets, in the seats, under the seats, in the trunk, under the fenders, everywhere. He found nothing at all, and he was absolutely prepared to bet his life no civilian could conceal anything from him in an automobile.
    “O.K.,” he called. “Get dressed now. Same routine.”
    He waited with his back turned until he heard her behind him. She was holding his shirt. He took it from her and put it back on.
    “What was that about?” she asked.
    “Now I’ll help you,” he said. “Because now I believe you.”
    “Why?”
    “Because you really don’t have any money,” he said. “No credit cards, either. Not in your wallet, and not hidden anyplace else. And nobody travels three hundred miles from home, not overnight, with absolutely no money. Not unless they’ve got some real big problems. And a person with real big problems deserves some kind of help.”
    She said nothing. Just ducked her head slightly, like she was accepting a compliment. Or offering one. They climbed back in the car and shut the doors. Sat for a minute in the cool air, and then she maneuvered back onto the road again.
    “So, you’ve got a year,” he said. “That’s plenty of time. A year from