Dan Ames [Ames - The Man Who Strikes Fear

Book One in The JACK REACHER Cases

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Copyright 2019 by Dan Ames All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

S pecial Agent in Charge Edward Giles had lost his rage. Road rage, that is. For years, the drive home to his house on Long Island had been characterized by frequent shouting and obscene gestures.

For people who knew him, it would have been a revelation.

As an FBI agent in the New York office, he was known by his colleagues as being a very even-keeled, well-tempered investigator. Calm, methodical, and easily able to study the most heinous crimes imaginable with a serene sense of detachment.

Perhaps that was why he frequently lost his temper driving home. It was because hed spent the day bottling up his emotions and the commute provided the perfect outlet to release his tensions. That way he wouldnt kick the dog and shout at his wife the minute he walked in the door.

The rage, however, had completely disappeared two weeks ago.

He hadnt started seeing a therapist. Or popping antidepressants.

Instead, hed announced his retirement and given the office his two weeks notice.

Now, he didnt mind the traffic at all because he was in a good mood. As much satisfaction as hed had over the years as an agent at the Bureau, the amount of good hed done, there had still been pressure.

He was not one of those men who hated their jobs. Who cursed their co-workers behind their backs and dreamed of the day they could tell everyone to go to hell and storm out of the building.

All that being said, he was happy to be ending his career. He and his wife had a condo in Florida, a boat tied up at a marina down there and Giles planned to spend nearly every day out on the water, fishing, swimming, or just tooling around and enjoying the sun, warm weather and fresh air.

Perhaps for the first time since he was a kid, he would have a tan.

It was amazing how much faster the drive went sans the anger. It seemed like in no time he was pulling into the driveway of the four-bedroom colonial house with immaculate landscaping and a commanding view on the hill.

The home was Giles pride and joy. He was a man who liked order and had found it therapeutic to putter around the house on weekends, fixing things, sprucing up the exterior, squaring everything away. In his line of work, there werent always neatly tied endings. Usually, just the opposite. It was perhaps one of the reasons he found yardwork and home renovation so refreshing. There was always a very clear before-and-after.

Giles parked the car and entered the home from the side door and felt the prongs of a Taser slam into his neck.

There was no time to defend himself.

His muscles went rigid and then everything collapsed.

He was still conscious but felt enormous pain and he was immobile, save for twitching and jerking as the voltage continued to wreak havoc on his muscular and nervous systems.

Giles felt himself being dragged into the living room where he saw his wife pinned up against the wall.

The image made no sense to him.

Nancy was naked and her arms and legs were spread.

Giles realized she wasnt pinned to the wall.

Shed been nailed to it.

Blood seeped from each of her hands and feet, down the beige wall, the very wall hed respackled, primed and painted over the winter.

Whoever had done this to his wife had cleared away the furniture and torn the artwork from the wall.

Because there was a big space next to his wife.

He knew the space was for him.

His mind and body were in shock, but he was still an FBI agent and his training was kicking in. He fought to assess the situation.

Giles got his first look at the assailants. There was more than one of them, at least three. Probably men, dressed in black clothes, with plastic around their shoes and they wore surgical gloves.

And masks.

Giles felt his clothes being ripped from his body and then one of the men lifted him up against the wall while another one with a nail gun drove nails into his hands and feet. He tried to fight but he had no strength.

He wasnt sure when he started screaming but a scalpel had been produced and they were cutting off parts of his body. He saw one of the men holding something that had been sliced from his body and then the man approached his wife.

Giles couldnt see what happened because he was losing blood at an astonishing rate and he felt himself floating above the scene.

He couldnt see anything.

Couldnt feel anything.

And then he was gone.

O ne month.

It had been exactly one month since Lauren Pauling had officially sold her private investigative firm in New York, and moved in with Michael Tallon.

Tallons little adobe ranch near the Nevada/California border, within a stones throw of Death Valley, had been her home for the past thirty days.

It was their anniversary.

Of course, it hadnt been without incident.

A bizarre psychological experiment at a military base nearby had led to multiple murders and the worst kind of violence one could imagine. Some of it had even taken place here, inside Tallons home.

Theyd recovered, naturally. Tallon was an experienced Special Ops soldier and had seen more than his fair share of gore. Pauling, too, was no babe in the woods.

So theyd moved on.

Now, Pauling had cooked a meal she knew Tallon would love. Baby back ribs on the smoker behind Tallons house. Theyd been slow-cooking out there for the better part of the afternoon. Inside, she had some gloriously indulgent homemade biscuits with sauted green beans.

In the fridge, Pauling had a bottle of Tallons favorite beer, ice-cold and at the ready.

Pauling heard him pull into the driveway, and then he entered through the side door. She had a bottle of beer ready for him.

In his hand was a big bundle of red roses.

Ah, youre just full of surprises, she said. They embraced and she kissed him, then handed him the beer.

Flower for the lady. Beer for the gentleman, she said. Look at us, weve fallen perfectly into societys roles.

Not exactly, Tallon said, pointing at Paulings service weapon on her hip. Ever since the murders, shed been a little reluctant to be too far from her gun, especially when she was home alone. It was odd as shed lived a long time in New York and never felt that way.