Цитата #67 из книги «"Этаж смерти" with W_cat»

“Where are you going?” Finlay said.

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“It’s a mobile phone number,” he said. “That we know. Operated by an Atlanta airtime supplier. But we can’t trace the number until Monday. So we’re asking you. You should cooperate, Reacher.”

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She didn’t sound convinced, but she was agreeing.

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He saw where I was going. Like we were colleagues on a knotty case. He flashed me a brief grin.

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He waddled out from behind his desk. I was standing there between his desk and the door. As he crabbed by, he stopped. His fat nose was about level with the middle button on my coat. He was still looking up at me like he was puzzled by something.

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