Second Son

CHAPTER TEN

It was a great beach. Better than most Reacher had seen. He took off his shirt and his shoes and took a long swim in warm blue water, and then he closed his eyes and lay in the sun until he was dry again. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but white-out and glare from the sky. Then he blinked and turned his head and saw he was not alone. Fifteen feet away a girl was lying on a towel. She was in a one-piece bathing suit. She was maybe thirteen or fourteen. Not all grown up, but not a kid either. She had beads of water on her skin and her hair was slick and heavy.

Reacher stood up, all crusted with sand. He had no towel. He used his shirt to brush himself off, and then he shook it out and put it on. The girl turned her head and asked, “Where do you live?”

Reacher pointed.

“Up the street,” he said.

“Would you let me walk back with you?”

“Sure. Why?”

“In case those boys are there.”

“They’re not. They’re gone all day.”

“They might come back early.”

“Did they give you that toll road crap?”

She nodded. “I wouldn’t pay.”

“What did they want?”

“I don’t want to tell you.”

Reacher said nothing.

The girl asked, “What’s your name?”

Reacher said, “Reacher.”

“Mine’s Helen.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Helen.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Since yesterday,” Reacher said. “You?”

“A week or so.”

“Are you staying long?”

“Looks like it. You?”

“I’m not sure,” Reacher said.

The girl stood up and shook out her towel. She was a slender thing, small but long-legged. She had nail polish on her toes. They walked off the sand together and into the long concrete street. It was deserted up ahead. Reacher asked, “Where’s your house?”

Helen said, “On the left, near the top.”

“Mine’s on the right. We’re practically neighbors.” Reacher walked her all the way, but her mom was home by then, so he wasn’t asked in. Helen smiled sweetly and said thanks and Reacher crossed the street to his own place, where he found hot still air and nobody home. So he just sat on the stoop and whiled away the time. Two hours later the three Marine NCOs came home on their motorbikes, followed by two more, then two more in cars. Thirty minutes after that a regular American school bus rolled in from the ballgame, and a crowd of neighborhood kids spilled out and went inside their homes with nothing more than hard stares in Reacher’s direction. Reacher stared back just as hard, but he didn’t move. Partly because he hadn’t seen his target. Which was strange. He looked all around, once, twice, and by the time the diesel smoke cleared he was certain: the fat smelly kid with the boil had not been on the bus.