The Hard Way Read Online Free PDF

white décor, huge places full of stuff he had no need of. “What did she buy?”
    “Nothing,” Groom said. “I waited twenty minutes on the curb, and she didn’t bring anything out.”
    “Maybe she arranged a delivery,” Gregory said.
    “She could have done that on-line. No need to drag me out in the car.”
    “So maybe she was just browsing,” Gregory said.
    “Weird place to browse,” Reacher said. “Who does that?”
    “School is back soon,” Groom said. “Maybe Jade needed stuff.”
    “In which case she’d have gone along,” Reacher said. “Don’t you think? And she’d have bought something.”
    “Did she take something in?” Gregory asked. “Maybe she was returning something.”
    “She had her tote,” Groom said. “It’s possible.” Then he looked up, beyond Reacher’s shoulder. Edward Lane was back in the room. He was carrying a large leather duffel, and struggling with its bulk.
Five million dollars,
Reacher thought.
So that’s what it looks like.
Lane dropped the bag on the floor at the entrance to the foyer. It thumped down on the hardwood and settled like the carcass of a small fat animal.
    “I need to see a picture of Jade,” Reacher said.
    “Why?” Lane asked.
    “Because you want me to pretend I’m a cop. And pictures are the first things cops want to see.”
    “Bedroom,” Lane said.
    So Reacher fell in behind him and followed him to a bedroom. It was another tall square space, painted a chalky off-white, as serene as a monastery and as quiet as a tomb. There was a cherrywood king-sized bed with pencil posts at the corners. Matching tables at each side. A matching armoire that might have held a television set. A matching desk, with a chair standing in front of it and a framed photograph sitting on it. The photograph was a ten-by-eight, rectangular, set horizontal, not vertical, on the axis that photographers call landscape, not portrait. But it was a portrait. That was for sure. It was a portrait of two people. On the right was Kate Lane. It was the same shot as in the living room print. The same pose, the same eyes, the same developing smile. But the living room print had been cropped to exclude the object of her affection, which was her daughter Jade. Jade was on the left of the bedroom picture. Her pose was a mirror-image of her mother’s. They were about to look at each other, love in their eyes, smiles about to break out on their faces like they were sharing a private joke. In the picture Jade was maybe seven years old. She had long dark hair, slightly wavy, as fine as silk. She had green eyes and porcelain skin. She was a beautiful kid. It was a beautiful photograph.
    “May I?” Reacher asked.
    Lane nodded. Said nothing. Reacher picked the picture up and looked closer. The photographer had caught the bond between mother and child perfectly and completely. Quite apart from the similarity in appearance there was no doubt about their relationship. No doubt at all. They were mother and daughter. But they were also friends. They looked like they shared a lot. It was a great picture.
    “Who took this?” Reacher asked.
    “I found a guy downtown,” Lane said. “Quite famous. Very expensive.”
    Reacher nodded. Whoever the guy was, he was worth his fee. Although the print quality wasn’t quite as good as the living room copy. The colors were a little less subtle and the contours of the faces were a little plastic. Maybe it was a machine print. Maybe Lane’s budget hadn’t run to a custom hand-print where his stepdaughter was concerned.
    “Very nice,” Reacher said. He put the photograph back on the desk, quietly. The room was totally silent. Reacher had once read that the Dakota was the most soundproof building in New York City. It had been built at the same time that Central Park was landscaped. The builder had packed three feet of excavated Central Park clay and mud between the floors and the ceilings. The walls were thick, too. All that mass made the building