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Lee Child: MatchUp

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Lee Child MatchUp
  • Название:
    MatchUp
  • Автор:
  • Издательство:
    Simon & Schuster
  • Жанр:
  • Год:
    2017
  • Язык:
    Английский
  • ISBN:
    978-1-5011-4159-1, 978-1-5011-4161-4 (ebook)
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    5 / 5
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MatchUp: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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Edited by Lee Child, this is the follow-up to FaceOff, but this time 11 female thriller writers with 11 male thriller writers. 

Lee Child: другие книги автора


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He perked up, but when he tried to straighten his shoulders, pain pulsed through them.

“No,” he said. “It’s perfectly quiet, except for a little bit of wind.”

“Right,” Joe said. “We’ve been waiting three hours and the natural sounds haven’t come back. No birds, squirrels, anything. Meaning, those guys are still up there.”

He was more than a little impressed that the game warden had determined that. Coburn had engaged in guerrilla warfare in Central America. When the birds quit calling and the monkeys stopped chattering, you unsheathed your machete because somebody was close.

“It also probably means they aren’t exactly sure what they’re going to do,” Pickett said. “Otherwise we would have heard something. Low talking. A branch snapping underfoot. Something. I think they’re still up there, but confused.”

“By what?”

“Think about it,” Pickett said. “It was around noon when they were peppering us with gunfire and watched us take cover here. But because they’ve only seen you, they might assume I was hit and died in here. They haven’t even caught a glimpse of me. They’re pretty sure you’re hit. And since that happened we haven’t shown ourselves. For all they know there are two dead men down here.”

He gave a curt nod of agreement.

Pickett asked, “Have you ever hunted?”

“You mean game?”

“What else?”

He turned his head aside, looked into the darkness, and said quietly, “Men.”

“Only bad men, though.”

“Sort of depends on who you ask, doesn’t it?”

Pickett said nothing for a moment, then cleared his throat. “I was thinking elk or deer.”

“Long ago in Idaho, with my dad,” he said.

He’d been twelve years old. His father shot a mule deer from the window of their truck before the sun came up, which was illegal. In the headlights, his dad had put the wounded animal out of its misery by hitting it on the head with a shovel.

“Didn’t like it much,” he said.

“Maybe you can still relate to my point.”

“Which is?”

“You can spend weeks in a wilderness like this, going after elk or moose. Stalking. Camping. Moving on foot. The first few years you hunt you’re filled with bloodlust. It’s how men are wired. We want to blast away and kill something and get our hands bloody. But it gets frustrating after a while because these animals we hunt are prey. That’s how they’re wired. They aren’t particularly smart, but they know not to charge into a confrontation. Instead, they avoid ’em.”

“What does that have to do with us?”

“Maybe nothing. But from what you tell me, these One Nation guys are just dumb rednecks. If they were smart, they’d hightail it out of these mountains while they’ve had the chance. Either that, or they’d wait until morning and sneak down here to make sure we’re dead. But these guys are dumb. And violent. They have bloodlust. So they’re itching to confirm their kills, bury our bodies, and get to working on this building again so they can go back to inciting a race war. In other words, they don’t have much patience and they’re probably hungry, like I am.” Pickett chinned toward the coolers and canned goods in the shadow of the trees. “They want their Dinty Moore stew.”

Coburn saw the logic in what Pickett said. Besides, in the shape he was in, he couldn’t launch an attack on a butterfly, much less two idiots with firepower and a cause.

“So we wait them out?”

“Till they make a move,” Pickett said.

“Or I drain dry of blood.”

“Whichever comes first.”

Фото

“EMILY.”

Pickett opened his eyes.

It had been an hour and a half since either of them had spoken. They had thirty minutes of light left, although it had been a while since they’d seen the sun. The dark walls of trees seemed to be closing in, and because the breeze had stopped it seemed incredibly still and totally silent except for Coburn’s whisper of a name.

“What?” he whispered back.

“Honor and Emily.”

He was puzzled. “That’s a new one.”

Coburn shook his head. “Honor is the name of my . . . woman. Emily’s her daughter. Five years old.”

He tried to keep his surprise from showing. “So you have a family?”

“Barely.”

Joe waited for more that didn’t come. Finally, he said, “I’ve got a great wife and three daughters. I don’t mind admitting that, if it weren’t for them, I don’t know what good I’d be.”

Coburn looked over hard at him. “You mean like me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You wouldn’t be far off the mark. She and I have only been together three months.”

“Marybeth and I met in college.”

Coburn shifted uncomfortably. “Honor and I met under more unusual circumstances.”

He waited for more.

“I crawled out of a swamp into her yard, held her at gunpoint, threatened her life, and tied her up.”

“Never would’ve taken you for such a romantic.”

Coburn puffed a laugh. “She was involved in this case I was working.”

He motioned toward Coburn’s belly. “Is that when that happened?”

“Yep. Didn’t know if I’d ever see her again. I started going out to the airport every day.” Coburn paused. “Anyhow, that asshole I told you about? My boss. Hamilton? Honor threatened him with bodily harm if he didn’t tell her where I was. She would’ve been better off staying in Louisiana. But one day there she was. With Emily and Elmo.”

“That sounds like a happy ending.”

Coburn shrugged. “Maybe for a guy who wants to settle down. Maybe for a guy like you. A guy who knows who Elmo is.”

He chuckled. “A little girl, huh? So you’re awash in estrogen.”

“You could say that.”

“Sometimes I think of my place as the ‘House of Feelings,’ ” he said. “It can be quite a shocker to spend the day alone out in the field and return home to that.”

“Four of ’em,” Coburn said, shaking his head. “I have trouble handling two. I’ve spent my whole life on my own. Keeping my own company. Not sharing anything with anybody, especially space. Now I’m having discussions about things like curtains. I don’t care what color they are. I just want to know if they shut.”

He nodded. “I hear you. And what’s the thing with throw pillows?”

“Hell if I know.”

They pondered the imponderable for a few seconds.

“Can Honor cook?” he asked.

Coburn smiled. “Oh, yeah. And don’t get me wrong. She’s wonderful. I can’t keep my hands off her. It’s the other stuff I gotta work through. I keep asking myself, Can I do this?”

“That’s not the question you should be asking.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Do you want to do it?”

He gave him time to answer, but nothing came, so he said, “You can do it, Coburn. If I can put up with a mother-in-law who never fails to remind me that her daughter married down, you can put up with curtains and throw pillows. Builds character. Maybe Honor will take the edge off you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“With all due respect, you could be less of a hard-ass. And one other thing. When we get out of this thing, go have Emily’s name added to your arm. Don’t chicken out this time.”

Coburn glanced at his still seeping wound. “If we get out of this thing.”

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