with small colored animals of uncertain genus. There was a night table, and a bookcase, and a small armoire. This furniture looked reasonably new. It was made of blond wood, first bleached and then hand-painted with cheerful designs. It looked nice. Probably bought in a cute little boutique and hauled over from Austin, he thought. Or maybe all the way from Santa Fe. Some of the bookshelves held books, and the others held stuffed animals all jumbled together and crammed into the spaces.
He could hear the old air conditioner running. It thumped and rattled, patiently. It was louder here. Must be mounted in the attic, he thought. It made a soothing sound. But it didn't do much about cooling the house. Up there in the trapped air of the second floor, it felt like a hundred and twenty degrees.
Ellie and Carmen came back into the room. Ellie was suddenly quiet and bashful, maybe because she was in her pajamas. They looked like regular cotton shorts and a T-shirt, but they were printed with little things that might have been rabbits. Her hair was damp and her skin was pink. The back of one hand was wedged in her mouth. She climbed onto the bed and curled up near the pillow, using about half the available length of the mattress, close to him but careful not to touch him.
"O.K., good night, kid," he said. "Sleep well."
"Kiss me," she said.
He paused a second, and then he bent down and kissed her forehead. It was warm and damp and smelled of soap. She curled up more and snuggled down into the pillow.
"Thank you for being our friend," she said.
He stood up and stepped toward the door. Glanced at Carmen. Did you tell her to say that? Or is it for real?
"Can you find your way back down?" Carmen asked him.
He nodded.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she said.
She stayed in Ellie's bedroom and he found the closet with the back stairs in it. He went down to the inside hallway and through the kitchen. The maid was gone. The old dishwasher was humming away to itself. He stepped out into the night and paused in the darkness and silence of the yard. It was hotter than ever. He stepped toward the gate. Ahead of him the sunset had gone. The horizon was black. There was pressure in the air. A hundred miles away to the southwest he could see heat lightning flickering. Faint sheets and bolts of dry electricity discharging randomly, like a gigantic celestial camera taking pictures. He looked straight up. No rain. No clouds. He turned around and caught gleams of white in the darkness off to his right. A T-shirt. A face. A semicircle of forehead showing through the back of a ball cap. Bobby Greer, again.
"Bobby," he said. "Enjoy your ride?"
Bobby ignored the inquiry. "I was waiting for you."
"Why?"
"Just making sure you came back out again."
"Why wouldn't I?"
"You tell me. Why would you go in there at all? In the first place? All three of you, like a little family."
"You saw us?"
Bobby nodded. "I see everything."
"Everything?" Reacher repeated.
"Everything I need to."
Reacher shrugged.
"I kissed the kid good night," he said. "You got a problem with that?"
Bobby was quiet for a beat.
"Let me walk you back to the bunkhouse," he said. "I need to talk to you."
He didn't talk any on the way down through the yard. He just walked. Reacher kept pace and looked ahead at the night sky in the east. It was vast and black and filled with stars. Apart from dim windows in some of the Greer buildings there was absolute pitch darkness everywhere. It threw the stars into vivid relief, impossibly tiny and numerous points of light dusting backward through billions of cubic miles of space. Reacher liked peering out into the universe. He liked thinking about it. He used it for perspective. He was just a tiny insignificant speck briefly sparked to life in the middle of nowhere. So what really mattered? Maybe nothing at all. So maybe he should just go ahead and bust Sloop Greer's head and have done with it. Why not? In the context of the whole universe, how was that so very different from not busting it at all?
"My brother had a problem," Bobby said, awkwardly. "I guess you know that."
"I heard he cheated on his taxes," Reacher said.
Bobby nodded in the dark. "IRS snoops are everywhere."