A Hard Man To Forget Read online

  They had worked together several times, once when she was still with the Bureau.

  Pauling almost smiled at herself.

  It would be good to see Michael Tallon again.

  32

  Tallon looked at his phone. A call was coming in and the number was linked to a contact in his phone’s database.

  Lauren Pauling.

  A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  Now there was a woman, he thought. He pictured her in his mind. Really quite beautiful, with golden hair, a killer body and gorgeous eyes. A little older than him, she had a timeless look about her. Not to mention that she could pass for a woman probably ten maybe even fifteen years younger.

  But it was that voice.

  The voice is what he remembered.

  A little raspy. Like a blues singer just before her first cup of coffee in the morning.

  He slid his thumb along the phone’s screen to answer the call.

  “Pauling,” he said.

  “Are you out in the middle of the desert?” she asked him. “Running for your life with vultures circling overhead?”

  They had worked together a few times previously, both in official capacities with the government, and later, when they both went into private contract work.

  Pauling had even been to his house and witnessed his intense physical regimen firsthand. It had been all business, though, despite his best efforts.

  “Nope. Middle of the garage,” he said.

  It was true, he had fashioned a home gym in the garage and was in the middle of lifting. There was a window, but he kept it shut. He liked the heat and the sweat. As the saying went, the only easy day was yesterday.

  “Squats or bench press?” she asked him.

  “Deadlifts.”

  There was a pause, and then Pauling said, “So you’re not on a job at the moment, I can assume?”

  “You assume correctly,” Tallon answered. He sat down on the end of the weight bench. A puddle of sweat was forming beneath him and he snatched a towel from one of the barbells, used it to wipe his face so he wouldn’t smear it all over his phone.

  “How about you join me in Albuquerque?” Pauling asked.

  “Albuquerque?” Tallon asked. “What the hell’s in Albuquerque?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Pauling answered. “I need someone who can do some investigating, as well as possibly performing asset protection. The situation is rather fluid at the moment.”

  Tallon ran through the calendar in his head. He had a job tentatively on the books for next month, but nothing at the moment. He’d planned to catch up on paperwork and put in extra time in the desert as well as on the gun range.

  Well, that could wait.

  “When do you need me there?” he asked. They would figure out the financial aspects later. Tallon knew that Pauling would pay him fairly.

  “Yesterday,” she said.

  Tallon ran through what he needed to do before he could leave, and his best guess at the length of the trip. “I can be there in about eight hours,” he said. “I’m going to drive so I don’t have to deal with airport restrictions.” Meaning, he planned to bring more firepower than certain regulations allowed.

  “Good. I’ll text you the address,” she said.

  “Looking forward to it,” he said, and he had a small smile on his face. He was looking forward to seeing her again. And hearing that voice.

  He didn’t expect a response and when she disconnected, he wasn’t surprised. Pauling was smart and tough. She didn’t have time to play games and neither did Tallon.

  The thought of time prompted him to check his watch.

  It would take him fifteen minutes to finish his workout and then he would start to assemble his gear. His vehicle already had a full tank of gas and he kept everything neat and tidy. It was his way of always being ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

  The workout, however, was not something he would cut short.

  Tallon always finished what he started.

  33

  Special Agent Jacqueline Hess arrived in Albuquerque.

  The flight had been efficient and relatively painless. She’d spent the majority of her time reviewing all of the files and documents Petrie had given her on her way out the door.

  It had been a lot.

  But Hess was a fast reader and a quick learner. Data was power. Her mind was a model of efficiency and precision. She was born to be an analyst and she knew it.

  Hess also knew that her beliefs and convictions were just as powerful as the best kind of analysis.

  The moment the plane’s wheels touched ground, her phone lit up.

  There were messages from Petrie, back at headquarters, as well as from the head of the Albuquerque office, SAC Ray Ostertag.

  Hess breezed through the messages from headquarters as they were mostly request for status updates. This always amused her when requests for updates were placed with no attention paid to time. Did Petrie want an update on how the flight went? Hardly.

  The message she focused on was from Ostertag and it told her that a car was waiting for her outside of baggage claim.

  Hess used the restroom, retrieved her gear, grabbed a coffee to go and stepped out into the warm, dry air of New Mexico.

  She recognized the power of the moment. That first breath of fresh air, not stale and recycled like in the airplane and the airport itself. This was real. She was here, and Hess couldn’t shake the fact that it felt like all of her life had been leading up to this point. There was a lot riding on this.

  Like her entire future.

  Well, she couldn’t let it get to her. She had to perform. And perform well. So she shook off any jitters and focused on the task at hand.

  Hess spotted her ride immediately. A Crown Vic, charcoal gray, with light gray interior. Direct from the FBI car pool, she was sure.

  A young agent in a white shirt, dark jacket and tie, sat behind the wheel. He glanced over and nodded at her, then got out and popped the trunk.

  “Agent Hess,” he said. “I’m McIlroy.”

  She shook his hand and then slid into the front passenger seat.

  They didn’t speak as McIlroy put the car into gear and pointed it toward downtown.

  “We should be there in ten minutes or so,” McIlroy said.

  Hess ignored him and watched the scenery change from airport industrial to desert with a freeway running through it.

  She wondered how long she would be stuck in Albuquerque.

  For some reason, her guess was that it would be longer than the good folks back at headquarters were assuming.

  34

  The good news for Cassady was that identifying the body was not necessary. Pauling knew it was probably because of the condition of the corpse and it would have to be accomplished through dental records.

  The bad news was, she was indeed questioned at the police station by the two detectives who had arrived at the house.

  During the process, Cassady was barely holding it together. Although because Pauling wasn’t allowed into the interview room, she had no real idea of how it went.

  As Pauling waited, she saw a man enter the squad room, and make his way over to the interview room where Cassady was being questioned.

  He was an older man, with a dark suit and a crewcut.

  Pauling recognized the FBI when she saw it.

  Why was the FBI involved? Pauling thought.

  The questioning continued until eventually the older cop brought Cassady out. No one else came out of the interview room.

  “What’s with the Feebie?” Pauling asked.

  The cop ignored her.

  “We’ll touch base with you if we have any more questions, Cassady,” he said. “In the meantime, do you need a ride home? Or will Ms. Pauling here be taking you?”

  “I’ve got it,” Pauling said.

  She steered Cassady out of the squad room, out of the building and into her rental car.

  Pauling
knew better than to ask Cassady what they had discussed. Pauling knew exactly what kind of questions they would have trotted out. However, she was extremely interested in the FBI man.

  But Cassady was in no shape to answer any more questions.

  They would simply have to wait.

  Pauling felt a deep compassion for the young woman who had left the police with nothing at all. Since Rick’s death was ruled a homicide, all evidence collected was kept with the cops. She had nothing from her husband now, but memories.

  Pauling took her back to her house, and found some Benadryl in the medicine chest. It would have been better to have a Valium, but not for a pregnant woman.

  Cassady went to bed, exhausted, and on the verge of both a physical and mental collapse. Pauling had told her she was bringing in some extra security for her until things settled down. She wasn’t sure Cassady even heard her as she was in a total and complete fog.

  Pauling buttoned up the security of the house and got a text message.

  She glanced at her phone.

  Tallon was pulling up in the driveway.

  Pauling went to the front door, glanced out from a side window as she never trusted peepholes.

  It was too easy for a perp to stand at a front door, put his gun to the peephole, and wait for the light beneath the door to change slightly. Pull the trigger, shoot the person on the other side of the door through the eye.

  It had happened before.

  This time, however, instead of an assassin waiting to fire a round, Pauling saw Tallon watching her from the front step.

  He was looking over at the side window with a smile on his face.

  It gave her a moment of relief from the drama of the day to see him.

  She smiled, in spite of herself, and opened the door.

  “I don’t trust peepholes, either,” he said.

  35

  “Heads are going to roll for this one,” Rollins said.

  He had just walked into Petrie’s office, a much smaller, much less impressive space than his own.

  Petrie was at his desk, reading through a status report he’d already reviewed twice. There was no new information, but sometimes a second and even a third look bring something new to the surface.

  Not this time.

  He watched Rollins sink into a chair across from him.

  “Anything?” Rollins asked.

  Petrie stifled the urge to frown. Hess had just gotten to Albuquerque and was en route to meet with Ostertag. What could she possibly have accomplished this soon?

  “We’ll know more when Hess files her first update,” Petrie said, his voice cautious. He had carefully phrased his response to include the words ‘know more’ when the truth was they didn’t know anything just yet.

  Other than what had already transpired.

  Petrie was also struggling to make out the nuances of his boss’s expression. That phrase about heads were going to roll could be taken many ways. It all depended on the expression. A threat? An urge to cooperate? Stating the obvious? Most importantly, exactly whose heads were going to roll?

  Petrie resisted the urge to rub his neck.

  “We can still get ahead of this thing,” Petrie said. It was something he sort of believed, but it sounded like the perfect thing to say. The truth was, he had no idea if there was time to be proactive.

  Rollins rocked back in his chair. He put his feet up on his desk and Petrie absentmindedly noted the brand. Cole Haan.

  “Worst-case scenario?” Rollins asked.

  Petrie contemplated the question.

  “About as bad as it could possibly get. For everyone involved.”

  Meaning, not just the actual people responsible. But even those with indirect responsibility would pay the price.

  “How do you see the worst-case scenario playing out?” Rollins persisted.

  Petrie sighed. “It depends what you mean. Are we talking total numbers? Areas affected? The usual political fallout and blame game?”

  Rollins grimaced.

  “Even in general terms it’s horrible,” he said. “I imagine the specifics would be even worse.”

  “They are,” Petrie said.

  “Let’s start with the area affected. What are your thoughts?”

  “Let’s start with the most difficult.”

  “That would be when. We have no idea of a timetable, or even if there is one. There has been no communication. No ultimatums. Nothing.”

  “Okay, so we don’t know when. What about where? Best guesses?”

  Petrie let out a long, slow whistle.

  “Huge. A huge area.” Petrie said.

  “I know. But which huge area. There’s gotta be some indication.”

  “It would be a guess. Based on nothing other than proximity, access and value of target. And it’s my guess, not the team’s. We’ve still got a lot of data to collect.”

  Rollins raised an eyebrow, waiting for Petrie’s answer.

  “Los Angeles.”

  36

  “Have you ever met Jack Reacher?” Pauling asked. She had filled Tallon in on what had happened back in New York, starting with the mystery letter emblazoned with Jack Reacher’s name.

  Cassady was resting in the other room and Pauling had taken Tallon out to the back patio to talk privately. Even though the young woman was asleep, Pauling wanted to make sure their conversation couldn’t be overheard.

  It was a warm night, with stars scattered across the night sky. The house wasn’t too far from a busy street, and they could occasionally hear the sound of traffic, a horn honking in anger or warning.

  Pauling couldn’t remember if Tallon had ever come across Reacher in his time in the military, or in some of the investigative cases he’d taken on since he’d left. Their world, ex-military working as civilian investigators, was a small one. Technically, Reacher wasn’t an investigator, Pauling knew. His cases were simply instances of Reacher walking into something…and someone…who needed help.

  “No, never met Jack Reacher,” Tallon said. “I’ve heard a few stories, though,” he said.

  “Good stories or bad?”

  “Good, mostly. But they aren’t really stories. More like rumors along the grapevine, you know. One guy heard from another guy about this thing that happened,” Tallon said. “You know how it goes. Military guys are a bunch of gossips.”

  Pauling laughed. She enjoyed Michael Tallon’s presence. He was smaller than Reacher, but then again, who wasn’t? A little over six feet, but solid muscle. He had brown hair, cut short, a strong jaw and light green eyes. More often than not, the eyes contained a trace of humor. But when they turned to flint, she could tell they’d seen more than their fair share of violence.

  “I didn’t realize you guys were a bunch of gossips,” she said. “Maybe I’ll have to watch what I say around you.”

  “Is Reacher really involved in this?” Tallon asked.

  “I really have no idea,” Pauling said. “In an indirect way, he’s the reason I’m out here. Somehow he’s involved in this, but I have no idea how or why. However, if his name hadn’t been included, I probably wouldn’t have come out here.”

  “He was an MP, right?” Tallon asked? “An investigator?”

  Pauling nodded. “Yes. Army. One of the best I’ve ever seen.”

  “Does the woman here…”

  “Cassady.”

  “Cassady. Does she know him?”

  “No. She says she never heard the name before. And that her husband, Rick, had never mentioned him, either.”

  “Okay, a mystery on top of a mystery.”

  “Wrapped in an enigma.”

  They both sat in silence for a moment.

  “So they took her husband,” Tallon said. “Killed him. And then they came after her. So why didn’t they take them together?”

  “Opportunity,” Pauling said. “He’s a truck driver, right? Rarely home? They had to do it separately. The odds of them being together at an opportune time were probably pretty slim. Better
to take one and get the other one later.”

  “Why the time difference?” Tallon asked. “Why not two separate grab teams? Do them simultaneously? That’s what I would do. Have the teams be in constant communication so they can synchronize their movements. No way for one victim to warn the other.”

  Pauling had thought the same thing herself. They were just brainstorming, though. And it was always good to have someone else to bounce ideas around with.

  “Maybe it was a lack of manpower,” Pauling said. “Maybe we’re dealing with a small crew.

  “Could be,” Tallon said. “Maybe one main guy and a couple of sidekicks.”

  “Could be, but I don’t think so,” Pauling said. “That Crown Vic was new. Well-taken care of. The men were well-dressed. He fired without hesitation. This isn’t an amateur operation.”

  “So what’s our plan of attack?” Tallon asked.

  “First things first,” Pauling said. “You stay here, keep an eye on Cassady. I’m going back to my hotel room, get a few hours rest, and then I’m going to head out to the crime scene. I need to see firsthand where Rick Simmons met his end. And why there.”

  “Roger that,” Tallon said.

  Pauling got to her feet.

  “Let me know when she’s up, and how she’s doing. I’ll be back mid-morning.”

  Pauling left, went to her car and headed toward the hotel.

  Moments later, a black Crown Vic cruised past the Simmons house, and followed Pauling onto the freeway.

  37

  At first light, Pauling was back on the road.

  A few hours’ sleep.

  A good cup of dark roast.

  The city was just waking up, the freeway mostly full of truck drivers and road warrior sales people. The occasional tourist family putted along in the slow lane, with the minivan packed, along with a luggage carrier strapped to the top. A hippie couple here or there off to camp in the mountains. Smoke dope and drink coffee, contemplate the universe.

  Pauling was contemplating the situation.