Page 37 of Exit Strategy
‘I’m coming with you.’
‘No you’re not.’
‘I am.’
‘You’ve already helped with—’
‘I’m coming. There’s a good chance my life is about to go up in flames because of Dr Martin, so before that happens I’m going to hand the bitch her ass on a silver platter.’ Patten looked Reacher up and down again, with a different kind of appreciation on her face. ‘Or at least I’m going to be there when you do.’
TWENTY-TWO
Patten insisted on driving. Gilmour was happy about that. He didn’t want his own car to be spotted anywhere near Dr Martin’s office in case anyone was watching, and there wasn’t time to switch to his rental. Reacher didn’t care either way. He climbed into the back of Patten’s car – a silver Lexus with all the dings and scrapes that come from five years of driving and parking in the city – stretched out sideways, and saved his energy for whatever was coming next.
No one spoke for the first few minutes, then Patten glanced at Gilmour and said, ‘Should we have called first? To make sure she’s there? We could be wasting our time.’
Gilmour shook his head. ‘It’s better we didn’t call. She’s got to assume we’ve realized she’s the one who sold us out. She’d never agree to see us.’
‘I guess.’
‘And we don’t want to spook her. She could disappear. Or tell the people she’s working with that I’m not cooperating. That could put my nephew in danger.’
‘So how do we handle getting to see her? We should have thought this through. If she recognizes us – which she’s bound to – she could lock her office door. Call someone. Raise the alarm.’
Reacher leaned forward. He said, ‘I’ll go.’
Patten said, ‘You? Impossible. No offense, but she’d take one look at you and hit the panic alarm, if she has one. Or dial 911, if her receptionist hadn’t done that already.’
‘I’ll act like I’m a new patient.’
Gilmour said, ‘She won’t buy it.’
‘Why not?’
‘You don’t exactly come across as a therapy-friendly person.’
‘I don’t need to. She works with criminals. And addicts. And vets.’
‘So?’
‘So she won’t want to risk losing referrals from the courts or the VA. She’ll see me.’
‘I hope so. We can’t let her skate on this. After what she’s done …’
‘If she’s guilty, we won’t let her skate. That’s for sure. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We don’t know how she fits into the picture. Maybe she’s another victim. Maybe she’s getting blackmailed, too.’
‘I doubt it. She sold us out. But … okay. I’ll keep an open mind. For now. Until we’ve spoken to her.But she’s going to need a damn good story to convince me.’
Dr Martin’s practice was in Canton, just north of the Patapsco River. A park ran the whole length of one side of her street. It was narrow, full of grassy patches and kids’ play areas, and it was separated from the traffic by an ornate iron fence. Buildings were lined up opposite it. They were mostly three stories and looked like they’d been built around the turn of the twentieth century, given the intricate brickwork and prominent keystones that ran along the top of their walls. Most were painted soft pastel colors. The first floors were mainly taken up with bars and restaurants and boutiques. Bright awnings jutted out, with bold white lettering that stated the businesses’ names. Dr Martin’s office was at the end of one block, on the second floor above a real estate broker. Patten pulled over fifty yards farther on. Reacher opened the door, unfolded himself, and climbed out. He said, ‘Back soon.’
Reacher was back very soon. He was only gone for three minutes. He came out of the building, walking fast, and headed toward the car. He stopped by Gilmour’s door. Gilmour rolled down his window and said, ‘Was she not there? Or was she already with a patient? I don’t hear any sirens …’
Reacher said, ‘Do you have a picture of Dr Martin?’
‘I don’t know. Why?’
‘You take pictures of everyone. Do you have one of her? Yes or no.’
Gilmour took out his phone and started to scroll through his photo library. ‘Yes. Found one.’
