The group exchanged looks, but Reacher's tone lightened as she spoke to Finnley.
"Since the mastermind previously controlled Morrison, they would only let their own people take the position of chief. Theoretically, you as the detective should succeed, but clearly, you're not with them. Tyler is."
"Thank you. Your trust means more to me than anything," Finnley nodded, his tone a mix of sarcasm and self-mockery, which brought a faint, almost imperceptible smile to Reacher's lips. It seemed their little conflict had come to an end.
"I need to call my friends at the FBI. We can't let these guys control the investigation," Finnley said, reaching for his phone, but Jack stopped him.
"Have you forgotten why I'm here?"
Jack then introduced himself to Roscoe, the only one unaware of his true identity, and recounted Hannah's family's ordeal over ten years ago, including the Kleiner family's attempt to use gang connections to target Zoe.
"They even tried to go after my... ahem, our police chief. So, you should understand now how ruthless the Kleiner Foundation is."
"Wait, you're really only 22? You were just a patrol officer with the LAPD for less than a year before being recruited by the FBI?" Roscoe asked incredulously. She had long suspected Jack's identity, especially after seeing him at the gruesome crime scene, unfazed like Reacher. But hearing his background, she still found it hard to believe, not just because of his resume, but also his age.
"That's not the point," Jack 'modestly' waved it off, meeting the eyes of each of them as he began his story from the beginning.
"After the congressman behind the Kleiner Foundation fell, we decided to act. A week ago, my two friends arrived here ahead of me. After rescuing a suspected federal agent, I arrived at the scene and erased evidence of their presence."
Finnley's face darkened upon hearing this. Though he'd been slapped in the face several times today, learning that his initial investigation path had been misled was infuriating.
"The rest of the story, you all clearly know. So, first, Reacher, you said yesterday that you'd give me an answer today..."
Seeing Reacher about to speak, Jack interrupted, "Actually, the answer doesn't matter anymore. I remember Finnley mentioning during your interrogation that you have a brother. Do you know what he does now?"
"I don't know. Since I left the army and started this life, we haven't been in touch. Why do you ask?"
Reacher felt a sense of foreboding, looking at Jack with suspicion.
"That call was from my girlfriend Hannah. She told me the federal agent we rescued is awake. He admitted he's from the Secret Service, and his full name is Joey Reacher. In this small, remote town, the odds of encountering two outsiders with the same last name are..."
Jack suddenly stood up, deftly avoiding Reacher's hand reaching for his shoulder. "Don't worry, he's out of danger."
"Where is he? Take me to him immediately," Reacher's initial impulse quickly gave way to calm.
"He's weak but no longer in danger. Believe me, he's safe under my friends' protection. We need to plan how to get you to the hospital safely," Jack reassured.
Reacher's normally stoic face was now clouded with anger, his eyes burning with fury.
"I need a gun, now."
Jack, thinking he was confused by anger, pointed to the Glock at his waist, "What's this? A toy?"
Reacher took the Glock from his waist and placed it on the table. "Not this police-issue toy. I need something like that big gun you have."
Jack's eye twitched, realizing Reacher had his sights set on the FK 7.5. "Sorry, this gun is too special to me. I can't give it to you."
"You need a gun? Wait here." Roscoe went inside and soon returned with a heavy wooden box.
"This was given to me by my foster father Gray a few years ago. He said he wanted to pass it on to family, and I'm his only family."
Roscoe opened the box, revealing a silver Desert Eagle and two loaded steel magazines.
Reacher's face lit up with satisfaction, "This will do nicely."
"Everyone knows I have this gun, so be careful. Use it where it counts," Roscoe said, handing the silver Desert Eagle to Reacher.
"I'll take good care of it," Reacher said, his gaze softening as he looked into her eyes.
He then expertly disassembled the Desert Eagle, thoroughly inspecting it before inserting a magazine and firing a shot at a nearby stump.
The bang startled Roscoe, "Are you kidding me? I told you to use it carefully."
"Never trust a weapon you haven't personally fired," Reacher said, flipping the safety back on and tucking the gun into his waistband.
Jack, meanwhile, was intrigued by the wooden box. He remembered that in the original story, Roscoe's foster father had hidden something inside.
Seeing Jack meticulously examine the box, Finnley asked curiously, "What are you looking for? It's just an empty box."
"Not necessarily. I dabbled in carpentry as a hobby and have seen similar boxes. This old model often has hidden compartments."
Jack continued his careful inspection, asking Roscoe, "You said your foster father committed suicide, right? When did he give you this box?"
Roscoe frowned, trying to remember, "About a year before he died. Why?"
Reacher also frowned, "That's unusual. Normally, people pass on their most valuable possessions just before they die, not a year in advance."
"Found it!" Jack pressed a latch disguised as a clasp, and with a click, a hidden compartment popped open, revealing a key.
"Shit," Roscoe swore.
"Watch your language," Finnley instinctively retorted.
"Sorry, the fiber optic cable in my neighborhood got cut today, so this chapter was delayed by an hour. Apologies for that. Please vote for me with your monthly tickets!"
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