Without Fail

think?”
    “OK,” she said.
    “You still think nobody could get close?”
    She considered her answer carefully, maybe ten seconds. “On balance, yes, I do. We work very hard. I think we’ve got everything covered.”
    “So you think Joe was wrong back then?”
    She didn’t answer.
    “Why did you break up?” he asked.
    She glanced away for a second and shook her head. “That’s private.”
    “How old are you?”
    “Thirty-five.”
    “So eight years ago you were twenty-seven.”
    She smiled. “Joe was nearly thirty-six. An older man. I celebrated his birthday with him. And his thirty-seventh.”
    Reacher moved sideways a little and looked at her again. Joe had good taste , he thought. Close up, she looked good. Smelled good. Perfect skin, great eyes, long lashes. Good cheekbones, a small straight nose. She looked lithe and strong. She was attractive, no doubt about it. He wondered what it would be like to hold her, kiss her. Go to bed with her. He pictured Joe wondering the same thing, the first time she walked into the office he ran. And he eventually found out. Way to go, Joe .
    “I guess I forgot to send a birthday card,” he said. “Either time.”
    “I don’t think he minded.”
    “We weren’t very close,” he said. “I don’t really understand why not.”
    “He liked you,” she said. “He made that clear. Talked about you, time to time. I think he was quite proud of you, in his own way.”
    Reacher said nothing.
    “So will you help me out?” she asked.
    “What was he like? As a boss?”
    “He was terrific. He was a superstar, professionally.”
    “What about as a boyfriend?”
    “He was pretty good at that, too.”
    Reacher said nothing. There was a long silence.
    “Where have you been since you left the service?” Froelich asked. “You haven’t left much of a paper trail.”
    “That was the plan,” Reacher said. “I keep myself to myself.”
    Questions in her eyes.
    “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not radioactive.”
    “I know,” she said. “Because I checked. But I’m kind of curious, now that I’ve met you. You were just a name before.”
    He glanced down at the table, trying to look at himself as a third party, described secondhand in occasional bits and pieces by a brother. It was an interesting perspective.
    “Will you help me out?” she asked again.
    She unbuttoned her coat, because of the warmth of the room. She was wearing a pure white blouse under the coat. She moved a little closer, and half-turned to face him. They were as close as lovers on a lazy afternoon.
    “I don’t know,” he said.
    “It’ll be dangerous,” she said. “I have to warn you that nobody will know you’re out there except me. That’s a big problem if you’re spotted anywhere. Maybe it’s a bad idea. Maybe I shouldn’t be asking.”
    “I wouldn’t be spotted anywhere,” Reacher said.
    She smiled. “That’s exactly what Joe told me you’d say, eight years ago.”
    He said nothing.
    “It’s very important,” she said. “And urgent.”
    “You want to tell me why it’s important?”
    “I’ve already told you why.”
    “Want to tell me why it’s urgent?”
    She said nothing.
    “I don’t think this is theoretical at all,” he said.
    She said nothing.
    “I think you’ve got a situation,” he said.
    She said nothing.
    “I think you know somebody is out there,” he said. “An active threat.”
    She looked away. “I can’t comment on that.”
    “I was in the Army,” he said. “I’ve heard answers like that before.”
    “It’s just a security audit,” she said. “Will you do it for me?”
    He was quiet for a long time.
    “There would be two conditions,” he said.
    She turned back and looked at him. “Which are?”
    “One, I get to work somewhere cold.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I just spent a hundred and eighty-nine dollars on warm clothes.”
    She smiled, briefly. “Everywhere he’s going should be cold enough for you in the middle of November.”
    “OK,” he said. He dug in his pocket and slid her a matchbook and pointed to the name and address printed on it. “And there’s an old couple working a week in this particular club and they’re worried about getting ripped off for their wages. Musicians. They should be OK, but I need to be sure. I want you to talk to the cops here.”
    “Friends of yours?”
    “Recent.”
    “When’s payday supposed to be?”
    “Friday night, after the last set. Midnight, maybe. They need to pick up