By Val Cameron
Dale Welland flew to Mexico to flee banks, embezzlers, and the vacancy of his apartment after his female friend moved out. He selected the town of l. a. Paz as the identify intended peace, and whilst a stranger named Brent Markesson provided to take him crusing on a ship named a long way Reacher, Dale believed he'd discovered the peach he used to be searching for. "A man's succeed in may still exceed his seize, else what is a heaven for ..." every thing approximately Brent Markesson involved Dale - his boat, his way of life, and his useless spouse. Then Markesson provided handy all of it over, and all of sudden not anything used to be what it appeared - no longer the sailboat, no longer the lady, and particularly no longer the homicide.
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Dale Welland flew to Mexico to flee banks, embezzlers, and the vacancy of his apartment after his female friend moved out. He selected the town of los angeles Paz as the identify intended peace, and while a stranger named Brent Markesson provided to take him crusing on a ship named a long way Reacher, Dale believed he'd stumbled on the peach he used to be trying to find.
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Extra info for A Man's Reach
We've got to get on board, because Welland didn't stay in the States. He's back, and there must be a reason. The federales picked him up in La Paz and put him in jail. " Alpha leaned forward and Gamma trembled. "It is obvious that Welland knows what is on that boat. " "It might not be on the boat. " "Why is Welland there if the boat's clean? " "So? " He stared at Alpha. "He's a God damned computer programmer. " "Calls himself is right. Look again, but meanwhile watch every move he makes. You can bet he knows something, and he's playing in the game.
She went back to the keyboard. "Brent," she whispered in the empty office. There was only the sound of her own fingers on the keys. Love, she thought, but it was empty, sterile. In the middle of the dark night, her fingers stilled. Had he been alone? Or had he taken another woman into his bed, someone who could take her place without failing when the test came? Oh, God! What did it matter? She did not sleep. When it was time that Lorne would be awake, drinking his first cup of coffee and reading his newspaper, she dialed his number on the telephone.
Sailboats on the water. Catherine watched them sometimes, but they were not real, just a living, moving picture that was superior art. Reality was blips in the computer, endless printouts, the games she played with the money she earned. Perhaps nothing was real. It was all a game, a crazy maze she wandered through. A game without magic. Once, the game had been Brent, her one magic adventure. A book with no ending. By Friday night the apartment seemed like a haven. The computers had stepped up their campaign of chaos through the remainder of her week.