"Anna? What the hell are you doing here?" Jack scrambled to pry the girl's impressively long legs off his waist.
He was still wearing a tactical vest loaded with ballistic plates, extra magazines, flashbangs, and all sorts of gear—not exactly comfortable to cling onto, but that didn't seem to bother her one bit.
The Russian girl looked even more stunning than before. There were still faint scars along her temples that hadn't fully faded, possibly from some subtle cosmetic surgery—very well done, judging by the result.
More noticeably, her figure had filled out a lot. The two soft mounds pressed against him didn't seem like implants—they were probably just the result of good eating.
"Someone said you might need help, so I reluctantly bid farewell to the sunny beaches of Hainan and flew to this freezing hellhole called New York to butter up my future boss."
Anna clung to Jack's arm, refusing to let go, practically melting into him.
"You actually considered my offer?" Feeling the pleasant pressure against his arm, Jack couldn't help but feel a little stir of desire—especially after the intense fight they'd just come through.
"I spent all my money. Unless I want to starve, I have to work for a certain heartless boss. I just hope he doesn't exploit me too much."
Anna fluttered her long, thick lashes and put on a pitiful face. She seemed a lot more lively since her rebirth—like she was finally letting her real personality out.
"Frank contacted you?" Jack asked quietly in her ear.
"He tracked down the middleman, interrogated him, then handed him over to me and told me to bring him to you," Anna whispered back, her soft lips brushing his earlobe.
Jack sucked in a sharp breath and used every ounce of willpower to push the girl away. Then, under the amused eyes of the others, he composed himself like nothing had happened, nodded toward Reacher, and said sternly,
"This is Anna, a friend of mine. I asked her to help track down 'AM'."
Everyone gave him the kind of look that said "Yeah, sure," but it wasn't the time to press for details. They turned to march the man in the trench coat into the house.
With a loud thud, the man threw the large suitcase to the ground and dropped to his knees. He raised his right hand obediently. "There must be some misunderstanding—I don't know any of you."
"What happened to your hand?" Reacher motioned with his gun at the man's bloody, limp left arm.
The man had a somewhat handsome face, not tall but well-proportioned, and even carried a hint of refined elegance. If they didn't know he was an arms dealer, they'd probably assume he was a successful businessman, doctor, or professor.
"Someone wanted to know who the real buyer of these missiles is. I told him it would destroy my reputation and my business." He struggled to roll up his sleeve, revealing thick bandages completely soaked in blood.
"So he peeled off an entire section of skin from my left arm."
"Damn, that sounds painful," O'Donnell said with a tone of mock concern and a face full of schadenfreude. "So, did you tell him?"
"He didn't even ask a second time before doing it," the man said, looking a bit bitter. "After I confessed, he injected me with something and told me to follow the lady and come here as planned."
He pointed at the suitcase on the ground. "There are $65 million in bearer bonds in there, all yours—just please let me go. I need a hospital. The anesthesia's wearing off."
"You got our friend killed," Reacher said coldly, slamming his hand on the table next to the two fully loaded 'Little Wing' anti-air missiles. "All for these."
O'Donnell placed the glass jar containing Swann's eye and fingers next to the missiles and the chips. The sight made the arms dealer shudder violently and retreat several steps on his knees.
"I get that you're upset, but that wasn't me. I never met your friend—I don't even know who he is!"
Reacher pointed his gun at him. "But we know you. And you clearly know everything that went down. Langston must've told you how he took care of your problems, didn't he?"
"Arrest me! Please, just hand me over to the cops!" Realizing he was in serious trouble, the arms dealer dropped to the ground in desperation. "This has nothing to do with me. I'm just a middleman. It's all business—nothing more."
Hearing those familiar words, Jack rolled his eyes and scratched his ear. "Reacher, dawn's coming. Don't keep our guests in the barn waiting too long."
Bang! A single gunshot cracked through the room. Smoke curled from Reacher's pistol, followed by several more gunshots from Dixon, O'Donnell, and Negri.
Jack picked up one of the boxes on the table—it contained 648 chips preloaded with the 'Little Wing' software. The remaining two were already installed in the launchers by the engineer.
Compared to a rocket launcher, anti-air missiles were more complex to load, but the chip installation was relatively simple—just as Marlo Burns, the COO of New Era Technologies, had said. Any average person could learn it after watching twice.
Reacher walked over to the corpse, lifted the $6.5 million suitcase, popped it open for a quick glance, and nodded to Jack before walking out of the house.
Behind him, Dixon and Negri each carried a missile launcher. O'Donnell tucked the glass jar into his coat, grabbed a few cans of beer from the fridge, and was the last to leave.
Outside the barn, the female ranger was already waiting, still smiling. "Judging from those gunshots, I'm guessing we don't need to worry about anyone."
Before she could finish, her gaze landed suspiciously on Anna, who hadn't left Jack's side.
"She's another private investigator I called in for help," Jack continued to bullshit.
The female ranger gave him a mocking smirk. "So, now there are just two left. What are you planning to do with them?"
She swung open the barn doors. Inside, the helicopter pilot and the New Era engineer were on their knees, trembling as the other two bodyguards held guns to their heads. It wasn't clear if they were shivering from the cold or from fear—probably both.
"Hey, guys, I didn't kill anyone! I had nothing to do with those missiles—I just fly the chopper. I was doing my job!"
The pilot immediately begged for mercy when he saw the murderous Reacher.
The big man said nothing—didn't want to, either. Franz, Sanchez, and Orozco had all been thrown from that same helicopter by Langston, and the pilot wanted to claim he had nothing to do with it?
"What about you?" Jack asked with a smile, turning to the bald engineer kneeling beside him.
The man's eyes darted nervously. "I—I was only told to teach them how to install the chip. I don't know who the buyer is or what they'll use the weapons for. Please, I made a mistake—but I'm just an engineer following orders!"
"Get out of here. Both of you," Reacher said expressionlessly, pointing to the Super Puma helicopter in the distance.
"Thank you!"
"Thank you all!"
The two scrambled to their feet and ran toward the chopper. The bodyguards who had been standing behind them exchanged a glance, then looked to the female ranger.
She tilted her head at Dixon and Negri, who were holding the missile launchers, signaling them to keep watching the show.
The special investigators lounged around, sipping beer and watching the chopper take off. Jack cleared his throat and reminded them, "Alright, that's far enough. Any further and we might miss."
"Copy that." Negri helped Dixon prep for the launch, then raised her own launcher. The two stepped out of the barn, followed by the rest.
At that moment, snowflakes began drifting from the sky. Anna pulled her coat tighter, hugged Jack's arm, and muttered, "I hate snow. My mom and dad died in a car crash on a snowy night."
Jack, who had been trying to pull his arm away, froze and sighed, giving up.
"Fire in the hole!" the two women shouted in unison as they pulled the triggers.
Two trails of fire streaked into the sky, one after the other, racing toward the helicopter less than 500 meters away.
"I bet this last beer the chopper makes it out in one piece," O'Donnell said, crushing his can and pulling out his final beer.
"Who knows—maybe it'll work," Jack replied. But before he finished, both missiles narrowly missed the helicopter.
"Don't worry. Give it a second," Reacher murmured, raising his eyebrows. The trails of fire arced beautifully in the sky—then, unbelievably, they turned, homing back in on the helicopter.
"Whoa, looks like these things really—" O'Donnell didn't get to finish. One missile fizzled out in mid-air like a firework and vanished.
Just as everyone was feeling a bit disappointed, the second missile slammed straight into the Super Puma's tail—not exploding, but blowing the tail rotor clean off.
The chopper belched black smoke, spun out of control, and crashed to the ground in flames. No one said a word.
But before anyone could react, they heard the distinct sound of rounds being chambered—coming from behind them.
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