Free Without Fail by Lee Child Page B

Receipts and all. You should make the cheque payable to Reacher. It was his money."
    "OK," Froelich said again. She took the files and clasped them to her chest, as if they offered her protection from something.
    "And there's Elizabeth Wright from New Jersey," Reacher said. "Don't forget her. She needs to be taken care of. I told her to make up for missing the reception you'd probably invite her to the Inauguration Ball."
    "OK," Froelich said for the third time. "The Ball, whatever. I'll speak to somebody about it."
    Then she just stood still.
    "This is a disaster," she said again.
    "You've got an impossible job," Reacher said. "Don't beat up on yourself."
    She nodded. "Joe used to tell me the same thing. He said, in the circumstances, we should consider a ninety-five per cent success rate a triumph."
    "Ninety-four per cent," Reacher said "You've lost one president out of eighteen since you guys took over. Six per cent failure rate. That's not too bad."
    "Ninety-four, ninety-five," she said. "Whatever, I guess he was right."
    "Joe was right about a lot of things, the way I recall it."
    "But we've never lost a vice president," she said. "Not yet." She put the files under one arm and stacked the photographs on the credenza and butted them around with her fingertips until they were neatly piled. Picked them up and put them in her bag. Then she glanced at each of the four walls in turn, as if she was memorizing their exact details. A distracted little gesture. She nodded at nothing in particular and headed for the door.
    "Got to go," she said.
    She walked out of the room and the door sucked shut behind her. There was silence for a spell. Then Neagley stood up straight at the end of one of the beds and clamped the cuffs of her sweatshirt in her palms and stretched her arms high above her head. She tilted her head back and yawned. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders. The hem of her shirt rode up and Reacher saw hard muscle above the waistband of her jeans. It was ridged like a turtle's back.
    "You still look good," he said.
    "So do you, in black."
    "Feels like a uniform," he said. "Five years since I last wore one."
    Neagley finished stretching. Smoothed her hair and pulled the hem of her shirt back down into place.
    "Are we done here?" she asked. "Tired?"
    "Exhausted. We worked our butts off, ruining that poor woman's day."
    "What did you think of her?"
    "I liked her. And like I told her, I think she's got an impossible job. And all in all, I think she's pretty good at it. I doubt if anybody else could do it better. And I think she kind of knows that too, but it's burning her up that she's forced to settle for ninety-five per cent instead of a hundred."
    "I agree."
    "Who's this guy Joe she was talking about?"
    "An old boyfriend."
    "You knew him?"
    "My brother. She dated him."
    "When?"
    "They broke up six years ago."
    "what's he like?"
    Reacher glanced at the floor. Didn't correct the is to a was. "Like a civilized version of me," he said.
    "So maybe she'll want to date you, too. Civilized can be an overrated virtue. And collecting the complete set is always fun for a girl."
    Reacher said nothing. The room went quiet.
    "I guess I'll head home," Neagley said. "Back to Chicago. Back to the real world. But I got to say, it was a pleasure working with you again."
    "Liar."
    "No, really, I mean it."
    "So stick around. A buck gets ten she'll be back inside an hour."
    Neagley smiled. "what, to ask you out?"
    Reacher shook his head. "No, to tell us what her real problem is."

FOUR
    Froelich walked across the sidewalk to her Suburban. Spilled the files onto the passenger seat. Started the engine and kept her foot hard on the brake. Pulled her phone from her bag and flipped it open. Entered Stuyvesant's home number digit by digit and then paused with her finger resting on the call button.
    The phone waited patiently with the number displayed on the tiny green screen. She looked ahead through the windshield, fighting, with herself. She looked