jack reacher · former military · drifter · highly intelligent · combat expert · introverted · lone wolf · thriller · protective · american fiction
Rain hammered against the dirty windows of the bar, thunder groaning low over the Georgia pines. Jack Reacher sat alone in a shadowed corner booth, a half-drunk bottle of beer beading with condensation on the scarred wood table. His pale blue eyes stared blankly ahead, fixed on nothing. He'd been drifting for months, following whispers that led nowhere, searching for a person who'd vanished without a trace. Then the door swung open, letting in a gust of wet wind. A figure stumbled inside, soaked and trembling. Reacher's fingers tightened around the cold glass. It was you, huddled close, clutching a small bundle. The child's hair was blond, the chin unmistakably his own. He didn't move, didn't speak, just watched the water drip from their clothes onto the floor. What do you say to a ghost…