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>> PDF Ebook A Wanted Man (Jack Reacher), by Lee Child

PDF Ebook A Wanted Man (Jack Reacher), by Lee Child

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A Wanted Man (Jack Reacher), by Lee Child

A Wanted Man (Jack Reacher), by Lee Child



A Wanted Man (Jack Reacher), by Lee Child

PDF Ebook A Wanted Man (Jack Reacher), by Lee Child

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A Wanted Man (Jack Reacher), by Lee Child

#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • Includes Lee Child’s short story “Not a Drill” and an excerpt from Make Me!

“The indomitable Reacher burns up the pages.”—USA Today
 
Four people in a car, hoping to make Chicago by morning. One man driving, another telling stories that don’t add up. A woman in the back, silent and worried. And a hitchhiker with a broken nose. An hour behind them, the FBI descends on an old pumping station where a man was stabbed to death—the knife work professional, the killers nowhere to be seen.
 
All Jack Reacher wanted was a ride to Virginia. All he did was stick out his thumb. But he soon discovers he has hitched more than a ride. He has tied himself to a massive conspiracy, in which nothing is what it seems, and nobody is telling the truth.
 
“Furious action . . . [Lee] Child keeps the pacing swift and the surprises rolling. . . . [A] feverishly thrilling series.”—The Miami Herald
 
“Smart, breathless . . . [with] one of the best female characters in the whole Reacher series.”—The New York Times
 
“Subtle and nuanced [with] seductive writing and irresistible plot twists.”—Newsweek

  • Sales Rank: #8578 in Books
  • Brand: Child, Lee
  • Published on: 2013-05-28
  • Released on: 2013-05-28
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 7.50" h x 1.50" w x 4.20" l, .75 pounds
  • Binding: Mass Market Paperback
  • 640 pages
Features
  • Great book!

Review
“The indomitable Reacher burns up the pages.”—USA Today
 
“Furious action . . . [Lee] Child keeps the pacing swift and the surprises rolling. . . . [A] feverishly thrilling series.”—The Miami Herald
 
“Smart, breathless . . . [with] one of the best female characters in the whole Reacher series.”—The New York Times
 
“Subtle and nuanced [with] seductive writing and irresistible plot twists.”—Newsweek

About the Author
Lee Child is the author of nineteen New York Times bestselling Jack Reacher thrillers, ten of which have reached the #1 position. All have been optioned for major motion pictures; the first, Jack Reacher, was based on One Shot. Foreign rights in the Reacher series have sold in almost a hundred territories. A native of England and a former television director, Lee Child lives in New York City.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter 1

The eyewitness said he didn’t actually see it happen. But how else could it have gone down? Not long after midnight a man in a green winter coat had gone into a small concrete bunker through its only door. Two men in black suits had followed him in. There had been a short pause. The two men in the black suits had come out again.

The man in the green winter coat had not come out again.

The two men in the black suits had walked thirty brisk feet and climbed into a bright red car. Fire-engine red, the eyewitness called it. Vivid red. Fairly new. A regular four-door sedan, the eyewitness thought. Or maybe a five-door. Or a three-door. But definitely not a two-door coupe. A Toyota, the eyewitness thought. Or maybe a Honda. Or a Hyundai. Maybe a Kia.

But whichever, the two men in the black suits had driven away in it.

There was still no sign of the man in the green winter coat.

Then blood had pooled out from under the concrete bunker’s door.

The eyewitness had called 911.

The county sheriff had shown up and gotten the story. He was good at hustling folk along while looking patient. It was one of his many talents. Eventually the eyewitness had finished up. Then the county sheriff had thought for a long moment. He was in a part of the nation where in every direction there were hundreds of square miles of emptiness just over the dark horizon. Where roads were long lonely ribbons.

He was in roadblock country.

So he had called the highway patrol, and then he had ordered up the helicopter from the state capital. He had put out an urgent APB on a bright red import carrying two men in black suits.

Jack Reacher rode for ninety miles and ninety minutes with a woman in a dirty gray van, and then he saw bright vapor lights up ahead at the highway cloverleaf, with big green signs pointing west and east. The woman slowed the van, and stopped, and Reacher got out and thanked her and waved her away. She used the first ramp, west toward Denver and Salt Lake City, and he walked under the bridge and set up on the eastbound ramp, one foot on the shoulder and one in the traffic lane, and he stuck out his thumb and smiled and tried to look friendly.

Which was not easy. Reacher was a big man, six feet five inches tall, heavily built, and that night as always he looked a little ragged and unkempt. Lonely drivers wanted pleasant and unthreatening company, and Reacher knew from long experience that visually he was no one’s first choice of companion. Too intimidating. And right then he was further handicapped by a freshly broken nose. He had patched the injury with a length of silver duct tape, which he knew must make him look even more grotesque. He knew the tape must be shining and glittering in the yellow light. But he felt the tape was helping him medically, so he decided to keep it in place for the first hour. If he didn’t get a ride inside sixty minutes, he would consider peeling it off.

He didn’t get a ride inside sixty minutes. Traffic was light. Nebraska, at night, in the wintertime. The cloverleaf he was at was the only significant interchange for miles around, but even so whole minutes passed with no action at all. Up on the bridge the through traffic was fairly steady, but few people seemed keen to join it. In the first hour only forty vehicles showed up to turn east. Cars, trucks, SUVs, different makes, different models, different colors. Thirty of them blew past without even slowing. Ten drivers checked him out and then looked away and accelerated onward.

Not unusual. Hitchhiking had been getting harder for years.

Time to shorten the odds.

He turned away and used a splintered thumbnail to pick at the edge of the duct tape on his face. He got half an inch of it loose and gripped that makeshift tab between the pad of his thumb and his forefinger. Two schools of thought. One went for the fast rip. The other advocated a slow peel. An illusory choice, Reacher thought. The pain was the same either way. So he split the difference and opted for a fast peel. No big deal on his cheek. A different story across his nose. Cuts reopened, the swelling lifted and moved, the fracture itself clicked and ground.

No big deal on the other cheek.

He rolled the bloodied tape into a cylinder and stuck it in his pocket. He spat on his fingers and wiped his face. He heard a helicopter a thousand feet overhead and saw a high-power searchlight beam stabbing down through the darkness, resting here, resting there, moving on. He turned back and put one foot in the traffic lane again and stuck out his thumb. The helicopter hung around for a spell and then lost interest and hammered away west until its noise died back to nothing. Traffic heading cross-country on the bridge stayed sparse but steady. Feeder traffic heading north and south on the county road got thinner. But almost all of it turned one way or the other on the highway. Almost none of it continued straight. Reacher remained optimistic.

The night was cold, which helped his face. Numbness dulled the ache. A pick-up truck with Kansas plates came out of the south and turned east and slowed to a roll. The driver was a rangy black guy bundled into a thick coat. Maybe his heater wasn’t working. He eyeballed Reacher long and hard. He almost stopped. But he didn’t. He looked away and drove on by.

Reacher had money in his pocket. If he could get to Lincoln or Omaha he could get a bus. But he couldn’t get to Lincoln or Omaha. Not without a ride. He took to tucking his right hand under his left arm between cars, to stop it from freezing. He stamped his feet. His breath pooled around his head like a cloud. A highway patrol cruiser blew by with lights but no siren. Two cops inside. They didn’t even glance Reacher’s way. Their focus was up ahead. Some kind of an incident, maybe.

Two more cars almost stopped. One out of the south, and one out of the north, minutes apart. They both slowed, stumbled, stuttered, eyeballed, and then picked up speed and drove on by. Getting closer, Reacher thought. It’s coming. Maybe the late hour was helping. People were more compassionate at midnight than midday. And night driving already felt a little out of the ordinary. Picking up a random stranger wasn’t such a big leap.

He hoped.

Another driver took a good long look, but kept on going.

And another.

Reacher spat on his palms and slicked his hair into place.

He kept the smile on his face.

He remained optimistic.

And then finally, after a total of ninety-three minutes on the ramp, a car stopped for him.

Chapter 2

The car stopped thirty feet upstream of him. It had a local plate, and was a reasonable size, and American, and dark in color. A Chevrolet, Reacher thought, probably dark blue, or gray, or black. It was hard to tell, in the vapor light. Dark metallics were always anonymous at night.

There were three people in the car. Two men in the front, and a woman in the back. The two men were twisted around in their seats, like there was a big three-way discussion going on. Like a democracy. Should we pick this guy up or not? Which suggested to Reacher that the three people didn’t know each other very well. Such decisions among good friends were usually instinctive. These three were business colleagues, maybe, a team of equals, thrown together for the duration, exaggeratedly respectful of each other’s positions, especially the outnumbered woman’s.

Reacher saw the woman nod, and he lip-read her yes, and the men turned back and faced front again, and the car rolled forward. It stopped again with the front passenger’s window alongside Reacher’s hip. The glass came down. Reacher bent at the waist and felt warmth on his face. This car’s heater was working just fine. That was for damn sure.

The guy in the front passenger seat asked, “Where are you headed tonight, sir?”

Reacher had been a cop in the army for thirteen years, and then for almost as long had lived on his wits, and he had survived both phases of his life by being appropriately cautious and by staying alert. All five senses, all the time. Deciding whether or not to take an offered ride depended mostly on smell. Could he smell beer? Weed? Bourbon? But right then he could smell nothing at all. His nose had just been broken. His nasal passages were clogged with blood and swellings. Maybe his septum was permanently deviated. It felt entirely possible he would never smell anything ever again.

Touch was not an option in that situation, either. Nor was taste. He would learn nothing by groping around like a blind man, or by licking things. Which left sight and sound. He heard neutral tones from the front passenger, no marked regional accent, an educated cadence, an air of authority and executive experience. On all three of them he saw soft uncalloused hands, unmuscled frames, neat hair, no tans. Indoor people. Office folk. Not at the top of the tree, but a long way from the bottom. They each looked somewhere in their middle forties, perhaps halfway through their lives, but more than halfway through their careers. Like lieutenant colonels, maybe, in army terms. Solid achievers, but not superstars.

Each of them had on black pants and a blue denim shirt. Like uniforms. The shirts looked cheap and new, still creased from the wrapper. A team-building exercise, Reacher figured. Some kind of corporate bullshit. Fly a bunch of middle-ranking executives out from their regional offices, get them together in the wilderness, give them shirts, set them tasks. Maybe all the hoo-hah was making them feel a little bit adventurous, which was why they were picking him up. And maybe there would be candid mutual critiquing afterward, which was why they had labored through the big three-way democratic discussion. Teams needed teamwork, and teamwork needed consensus, and consensus needed to be unforced, and gender issues were always sensitive. In fact Reacher was a little surprised the woman wasn’t riding in front, or driving. Although driving might have been seen as a subservient role, for the only woman in a trio. Like fetching coffee.

A minefield.

“I’m heading east,” Reacher said.

“Into Iowa?” the front passenger asked.

“Through Iowa,” Reacher said. “All the way to Virginia.”

“Hop in,” the guy said. “We’ll get you some of the way there.”

The woman was sitting behind the front passenger, so Reacher tracked around the trunk and got in on the driver’s side. He settled on the rear bench and closed the door. The woman nodded to him a little shyly. A little cautiously, maybe. Perhaps because of his busted nose. Maybe the sight upset her.

The guy at the wheel checked his mirror and took off up the ramp.

Most helpful customer reviews

802 of 911 people found the following review helpful.
If I could only give this zero stars.
By Reacher Creature
It's with a heavy heart that I have to write this review. Before we start, as you can tell from my name, Reacher Creature, that I'm a huge fan of Lee Child and Jack Reacher. I had this day circled on the calendar, and pre-ordered it. I just can't believe that Lee Child wrote this clunker. Okay, let's just get this over with. This is a horrible book.

Reacher is hitchhiking and he only wanted to get to Virginia. He gets a ride, but then soon realizes that things aren't what they seem. Reacher was only picked up as a decoy to help get people through a couple of police check points. As always, Reacher is nobody's pawn, and wants to get to the bottom of things, and make the bad guys pay with the justice only Reacher can dish out.

There are so many things wrong with this clunker:

1) Things are repetitive. Here is an example. Reacher makes a 9-1-1 call. The 9-1-1 goes through a "chain of command" four or five times, and we get to hear the call each time. Then when the right person gets the call, we hear it again, then the person goes through it sentence by sentence and analyzes each line. It's painful to read over and over and over. Another character had a conversation with Reacher, and plays it over and over, line by line, picking it apart, word by word. It's brutal.

2) So many long and pointless scenes That are drawn out. As the reader, we're treated to an entire chapter of the following: a) Someone looking for a car. b) Someone walking up a driveway. Mind you, those aren't in the same chapter, *each* of them is a long and tedious chapter. It is so pointless, boring, and a waste of time.

3)Too much time in the car. Reacher and his travel mates spend way, way, way to much time in the car. It's tedious and boring.

4) There's no movement of the plot. The plot is one major flatline. When we read, we expect the plot to move at an even pace, and all of the scenes have to build up on each other, like a flight of stairs. That doesn't happen. This is a very long and a very boring read.

5) The characters. The characters are flat, including Reacher. Honestly, all of the characters are boring and interchangeable. They have no substance or quality to them.

6). Reacher threatens a child. This is horrible! Never would I even think Reacher would threaten a child.

I think that one of two things happened with this book. 1) Lee Child never wrote this. If someone told me that he turned over notes and chapter outlines, like James Patterson does, then I'd believe them. 2) If Lee Child did write this, then he didn't give his best effort, and he's a sell out. He's just interested in making money, and not making a good quality story, like he has in the past. If this is the case, then it's a slap in the face to the fans.

I have heard that Lee was giving some thoughts on how and when he would end the series. If he's even thinking that way, then it's time to end it. I didn't like The Affair, and gave him a pass on it. However, I can't this time around. If he's thinking about ending this series, then he needs to do it now, before it's too late, and it already might be to late.

I can honestly say that I'll never buy another Lee Child book again. I'll get them at at the library, but never again will I spend my money on the books, I've been burned twice. As the saying goes, "Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me." Indeed, shame on me. It's a mistake I won't be making again.

Honestly, this book is a waste of time. If you have to get it, then get it at the library. It honestly kills me to say that about a Reacher book.

240 of 272 people found the following review helpful.
A Terrible Decline in Quality
By Kindle Customer
I have enjoyed the Reacher series quite a bit and have read them all more than once. But I was very disappointed in this one. The plot is convoluted, un-necessarily obscure and ploddingly slow. Lots of time in cars. Endless commentary on the virtues of the Ford Crown Vic. And no action until the very end. The author must know that an effort like this one is going to be characterized either as just written for the money or as proof that he has run out of inspiration. Also, why would anyone persist in using the diminutive Tom Cruise in the movie role when fans almost universally reject him as having anything to do with the Reacher character?

107 of 119 people found the following review helpful.
A disappointed long time fan.
By MED
Like many other reviewers I had pre-ordered and eagerly anticipated the latest 'Jack Reacher' installment. The best I can say is that it is disappointing, the worst - awful. Lee Child lost his game or let someone else ghost write.

Reacher is in Nebraska looking to get to Virginia. So he does what he always does - he sticks out his thumb. He gets picked up by two men and a woman, all dressed alike. The journey begins... and the journey is boring, I felt like the proverbial child, 'are we there yet?' Too much straight Midwestern road, not enough plot.

Child has always written Reacher as a cerebral man but the 'one step ahead of the bad guys' thinking becomes too convenient - he can't always be right. The bad guys are cliches and the good guys are one dimensional. The book ends abruptly without a satisfying conclusion.

It must be difficult to continually write a series about a man without home or hearth and no connection to anyone. Maybe Child is out of ideas - he should have skipped this one.

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