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We all fell quiet. I was thinking about the second guy’s desperate sprint across the road. Trying to reach cover while the bullets smashed into his flesh. Hurling himself under the highway ramp and dying amid the quiet scuffling of the small night animals.
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I told him no, I enjoyed it. I told him I appreciated the solitude, the anonymity. Like I was invisible.
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“Who’s the guy in the truck?” I said.
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“OK, guys, let’s hit the road,” Baker said.
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“But how much cash does he have?” the guy asked me.
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“Shit,” he said. “He was the only link we had to exactly what the hell is going on here. You should have hit on him while you had the chance, Reacher.”
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