Echo Burning

"Minimum thirty months is two and a half years," she said. "I thought it safest to bet on the minimum. He’s probably behaving himself in there."

Reacher nodded. "Probably."

"So, two and a half years," she said. "I wasted the first one and a half."

"You’ve still got twelve months. That’s plenty of time for anything."

She was quiet again.

"Talk me through it," she said. "We have to agree on what needs to be done. That’s important. That way, you’re seeing it exactly the same way I am."

He said nothing.

"Help me," she said. "Please. Just theoretically for now, if you want."

He shrugged. Then he thought about it, from her point of view. From his, it was too easy. Disappearing and living invisibly was second nature to him.

"You need to get away," he said. "An abusive marriage, that’s all a person can do, I guess. So, a place to live, and an income. That’s what you need."

"Doesn’t sound much, when you say it."

"Any big city," he said. They have shelters. All kinds of organizations."

"What about Ellie?"

"The shelters have baby-sitters," he said. "They’ll look after her while you’re working. There are lots of kids in those places. She’d have friends. And after a little while you could get a place of your own."

"What job could I get?"

"Anything," he said. "You can read and write. You went to college."

"How do I get there?"

"On a plane, on a train, in a bus. Two one-way tickets."

"I don’t have any money."

"None at all?"

She shook her head. "What little I had ran out a week ago."

He looked away.

"What?" she said.

"You dress pretty sharp for a person with no money."

"Mail order," she said. "I have to get approval from Sloops lawyer. He signs the checks. So I’ve got clothes. But what I haven’t got is cash."

"You could sell the diamond."

"I tried to," she said. "It’s a fake. He told me it was real, but it’s stainless steel and cubic zirconium. The jeweler laughed at me. It’s worth maybe thirty bucks."

He paused a beat.

"There must be money in the house," he said. "You could steal some."

She went quiet again, another fast mile south.

"Then I’m a double fugitive," she said. "You’re forgetting about Ellie’s legal status. And that’s the whole problem. Always has been. Because she’s Sloop’s child, too. If I transport her across a state line without his consent, then I’m a kidnapper. They’ll put her picture on milk cartons, and they’ll find me, and they’ll take her away from me, and I’ll go to jail. They’re very strict about it. Taking children out of a failed marriage is the number one reason for kidnapping today. The lawyers all warned me. They all say I need Sloop’s agreement. And I’m not going to get it, am I? How can I even go up there and ask him if he’d consent to me disappearing forever with his baby? Someplace he’ll never find either of us?"

"So don’t cross the state line. Stay in Texas. Go to Dallas."

"I’m not staying in Texas," she said.

She said it with finality. Reacher said nothing back.

"It’s not easy," she said. "His mother watches me, on his behalf. That’s why I didn’t go ahead and sell the ring, even though I could have used the thirty bucks. She’d notice, and it would put her on her guard. She’d know what I’m planning. She’s smart. So if one day money is missing and Ellie is missing, I might get a few hours start before she calls the sheriff and the sheriff calls the FBI. But a few hours isn’t too much help, because Texas is real big, and buses are real slow. I wouldn’t make it out."

"Got to be some way," he said.

She glanced back at her briefcase on the rear seat. The legal paperwork.

"There are lots of ways," she said. "Procedures, provisions, wards of the court, all kinds of things. But lawyers are slow, and very expensive, and I don’t have any money. There are pro-bono people who do it for free, but they’re always very busy. It’s a mess. A big, complicated mess."

"I guess it is," he said.

"But it should be possible in a year," she said. "A year’s a long time, right?"

"So?"

"So I need you to forgive me for wasting the first year and a half. I need you to understand why. It was all so daunting, I kept putting it off. I was safe. I said to myself, plenty of time to go. You just agreed, twelve months is plenty of time for anything. So even if I was starting cold, right now, I could be excused for that, right? Nobody could say I’d left it too late, could they?"

There was a polite beep from somewhere deep inside the dashboard. A little orange light started flashing in the stylized shape of a gas pump, right next to the speedometer.

"Low fuel," she said.

"There’s Exxon up ahead," he said. "I saw a billboard. Maybe fifteen miles."

"I need Mobil," she said. "There’s a card for Mobil in the glove box. I don’t have any way of paying at Exxon."

"You don’t even have money for gas?"

She shook her head. "I ran out. Now I’m charging it all to my mother-in-law’s Mobil account. She won’t get the bill for a month."

She steered one-handed and groped behind her for her pocketbook. Dragged it forward and dumped it on his lap.

"Check it out," she said.

He sat there, with the bag on his knees.

"I can’t be poking through a lady’s pocketbook," he said.

"I want you to," she said. "I need you to understand."

He paused a beat and snapped it open and a soft aroma came up at him. Perfume and makeup. There was a hairbrush, tangled with long black hairs. A nail clipper. And a thin wallet.

"Check it out," she said again.

There was a worn dollar bill in the money section. That was all. A solitary buck. No credit cards. A Texas driver’s license, with a startled picture of her on it. There was a plastic window with a photograph of a little girl behind it. She was slightly chubby, with perfect pink skin. Shiny blond hair and bright lively eyes. A radiant smile filled with tiny square teeth.

"Ellie," she said.

"She’s very cute."

"She is, isn’t she?"

"Where did you sleep last night?"

"In the car," she said. "Motels are forty bucks."

"Mine was nearer twenty," he said.

She shrugged.

"Anything over a dollar, I haven’t got it," she said. "So it’s the car for me. It’s comfortable enough. Then I wait for the breakfast rush and wash up in some diner’s restroom, when they’re too busy to notice."

"What about eating?"

"I don’t eat."

She was slowing down, maybe trying to preserve the rest of her gas.

"I’ll pay for it," Reacher said. "You’re giving me a ride."

There was another billboard, on the right shoulder. Exxon, ten miles.

"O.K.," she said. "I’ll let you pay. But only so I can get back to Ellie."

She accelerated again, confident the tank would last ten miles. Less than a gallon, Reacher figured, even with a big old engine like that. Even driving fast. He sat back and watched the horizon reel in. Then he suddenly realized what he should do.

"Stop the car," he said.

"Why?"

"Just do it, O.K.?"

She glanced at him, puzzled, but she pulled over on the ragged shoulder. Left it with two wheels on the blacktop, the engine running, the air blasting.

"Now wait," he said.

They waited in the cold until the truck she had passed came through.

"Now sit still," he said.

He undipped his seat belt and squinted down and tore the pocket off his shirt. Cheap material, weak stitching, it came away with no trouble at all.

"What are you wearing?" he asked.

"What? What are you doing?"

"Tell me exactly what you’re wearing."

She blushed. Fidgeted nervously.

"This dress," she said. "And underwear. And shoes."

"Show me your shoes."

She paused a second, and then leaned down and worked her shoes off. Passed them across to him, one at a time. He checked them carefully. Nothing in them. He passed them back. Then he leaned forward and unbuttoned his shirt. Took it off. Passed it to her.

"I’m getting out now," he said. "I’m going to turn my back. Take all your clothes off and put the shirt on. Leave your clothes on the seat and then get out, too."

"Why?"

"You want me to help you, just do it. All of them, O.K.?"

He got out of the car and walked away. Turned around and stared down the road, back the way they had come. It was very hot. He could feel the sun burning the skin on his shoulders. Then he heard the car door open. He turned back and saw her climbing out, barefoot, wearing his shirt. It was huge on her. She was hopping from foot to foot because the road was burning her feet.

"You can keep your shoes," he called.

She leaned in and picked them up and put them on.

"Now walk away and wait," he called.

She paused again, and then moved ten feet away. He stepped back to the car. Her clothes were neatly folded on her seat. He ignored them. Reached back and searched her pocketbook again, and then the briefcase. Nothing there. He turned back to the clothes and shook them out. They were warm from her body. The dress, a bra, underpants. Nothing hidden in them. He laid them on the roof of the car and searched the rest of it.