Running Blind (The Visitor)

well. So now my stepsister is basically just a nice woman I know. Like a close acquaintance. I guess we both feel that way. But we get along OK, what we see of each other.”
    He nodded. “If they’re rich, are you rich too?”
    She glanced sideways. Smiled. The crossed teeth flashed, briefly.
    “Why?” she said. “You like rich women? Or maybe you think rich women shouldn’t hold down jobs? Or any women?”
    “Just making conversation.”
    She smiled again. “I’m richer than you’d think. My stepfather has lots of money. And he’s very fair with us, even though I’m not really his daughter and she is.”
    “Lucky you.”
    She paused.
    “And we’re going to be a lot richer soon,” she said. “Unfortunately. He’s real sick. He’s been fighting cancer for two years. Tough old guy, but now he’s going to die. So there’s a big inheritance coming our way.”
    “I’m sorry he’s sick,” Reacher said.
    She nodded. “Yes, so am I. It’s sad.”
    There was silence. Just the hum of the miles passing under the wheels.
    “Did you warn your sister?” Reacher asked.
    “My stepsister.”
    He glanced at her. “Why do you always emphasize she’s your stepsister?”
    She shrugged at the wheel. “Because Blake will pull me off if he thinks I’m too involved. And I don’t want that to happen.”
    “You don’t?”
    “Of course I don’t. Somebody close to you is in trouble, you want to take care of it yourself, right?”
    Reacher looked away.
    “You better believe it,” he said.
    She was quiet for a beat.
    “And the family thing is very awkward for me,” she said. “All those mistakes came home to haunt me. When my mother died, they could have cut me off, but they just didn’t . They still both treat me exactly right, all the way, very loving, very generous, very fair and equal, and the more they do, the more I feel really guilty for calling myself a Cinderella at the beginning.”
    Reacher said nothing.
    “You think I’m being irrational again,” she said.
    He said nothing. She drove on, eyes fixed on the windshield.
    “Cinderella,” she said. “Although you’d probably call me the ugly sister.”
    He made no reply to that. Just watched the road.
    “Whatever, did you warn her?” he asked again.
    She glanced sideways at him and he saw her haul herself back to the present.
    “Yes, of course I warned her,” she said. “Soon as Cooke made the pattern clear, I’ve called her over and over again. She should be safe enough. She spends a lot of time at the hospital with her father, and when she’s at home I’ve told her not to let anybody through the door. Nobody at all, not anybody, no matter who they are.”
    “She pay attention?”
    “I made sure she did.”
    He nodded. “OK, she’s safe enough. Only eighty-seven others to worry about.”
    AFTER NEW JERSEY came eighty miles of Maryland, which took an hour and twenty minutes to cover. It was raining again, prematurely dark. Then they skirted the District of Columbia and entered Virginia and settled in for the final forty miles of I-95, all the way down to Quantico. The buildings of the city receded behind them and gentle forest built ahead. The rain stopped. The sky lightened. Lamarr cruised fast and then slowed suddenly and turned off the highway onto an unmarked road winding through the trees. The surface was good, but the curves were tight. After a half-mile, there was a neat clearing with parked military vehicles and huts painted dark green.
    “Marines,” she said. “They gave us sixty acres of land for our place.”
    He smiled. “That’s not how they see it. They figure you stole it.”
    More curves, another half-mile, and there was another clearing. Same vehicles, same huts, same green paint.
    “Camouflage basecoat,” Reacher said.
    She nodded. “Creepy.”
    More curves, two more clearings, altogether two miles deep into the woods. Reacher sat forward and paid attention. He had never been to Quantico before. He was curious. The car rounded a tight bend and came clear of the trees and stopped short at a checkpoint barrier. There was a red-and-white striped pole across the roadway and a sentry’s hutch made from bullet-proof glass. An armed guard stepped forward. Over his shoulder in the distance was a long, low huddle of honey stone buildings. A couple of squat high-rises standing among them. The buildings crouched alone on undulating lawns. The lawns were immaculate and the way the low buildings spread into them