Biography Jack Reacher Make Me Ebook


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Make Me: (Jack Reacher 20) (Jack Reacher series) by Lee Child. Read online, or download in secure EPUB format. Editorial Reviews. Review. “Lee Child's Reacher series has hit Book No. 20 with a resounding Kindle Store · Kindle eBooks · Literature & Fiction. Make Me (with bonus short story Small Wars): A Jack Reacher Novel - Ebook written by Lee Child. Read this book using Google Play Books app on your PC.

Jack Reacher Make Me Ebook

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"The Affair" by Lee Child Latest Lee Child book I read while on holiday. A typical Jack Reacher novel - not so "gritty" as some of the others I've read - but with a. Read "Make Me (Jack Reacher 20)" by Lee Child available from Rakuten Kobo. Sign up today and get £3 off your first purchase. "Child's best for some. Read "Make Me (with bonus short story Small Wars) A Jack Reacher Novel" by Lee Child available from Rakuten Kobo. Sign up today and get $5 off your first.

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Check out our Digital Media Portal and comprehensive ebook guide for step-by-step information on accessing all the latest digital media available from the Free Library today! He saw a crossing fifty yards ahead, after the last of the elevators. A road, perpendicular, exactly east to west.

On the right it was bright with the morning sun, and on the left it was long with shadows. The crossing had no barriers.


Just red lights. Reacher stood on the tracks and gazed back south, the way he had come. There were no other crossings for at least a mile, which was about as far as he could see, in the pale light. There were no other crossings for at least a mile to the north, either.

Which meant that if Mother's Rest laid claim to its own east-west thoroughfare, he was standing on it. It was reasonably wide, and slightly humped, built up with dirt taken from shallow ditches dug either side.

It was covered with thick blacktop, grayed with age, split here and there by weather, and random like frozen lava on the edges. It was dead straight, from one horizon to the other. A possibility.

Wagon trains went dead straight when they could. Why wouldn't they? No one put in extra miles just for the fun of it. The lead driver would steer by a distant landmark, and the others would follow, and a year later some new party would find the ruts, and a year after that someone would make a mark on a map. And a hundred years later some state highway department would come by with trucks full of asphalt.

There was nothing to see in the east. No one-room museum, no marble headstone.

{DOWNLOAD} Book Guide - Make Me: A Jack Reacher Novel By Lee Child Summary and Trivia/Quiz [PDF]

Just the road, between infinite fields of nearly-ripe wheat. But in the other direction, west of the tracks, the road ran through the town, more or less dead center, built up on both sides for about six low-rise blocks.

The corner lot on the right had expanded northward about a hundred yards. Like a football field. It was a farm equipment dealership. Weird tractors and huge machines, all brand new and shiny. On the left was a veterinary supply business, in a small building that must have started out as an ordinary residential dwelling.

Reacher made the turn and walked on the old trail, due west through the town, the morning sun faintly warm on his back. In the motel office the one-eyed clerk dialed the phone, and when it was answered he said, "She went back to the railroad again.

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Now she's meeting the morning train too. How many guys are these people sending? Softer in tone. Encouragement, maybe. Or reassurance. The one-eyed guy said, "OK, sure," and hung up. Reacher walked six blocks down and six blocks back, and he saw plenty of stuff. He saw houses still lived in, and houses converted to offices, for seed merchants and fertilizer dealers and a large-animal veterinarian.

He saw a one-room law office. He saw a gas station one block north, and a pool hall, and a store selling beer and ice, and another selling nothing but rubber boots and rubber aprons. He saw a laundromat, and a tire bay, and a place for stick-on boot soles.

He didn't see a museum, or a monument. Which might be OK. They wouldn't have put either thing right on the shoulder.

Back a block or two, probably, for a sense of reverence, and to stay out of harm's way. He stepped off the wagon train trail into a side street.

The town was laid out on a grid, even though it had grown up semicircular. Some lots were more desirable than others. As if the giant elevators had a gravitational system all their own. The furthest reaches were undeveloped. Closer to the apex, buildings were shoulder to shoulder. The block behind the trail had one-room apartments that might have started out as barns or garages, and what looked like pop-up market stalls, for folks who had given over an acre or two to fruits and vegetables.

There was a CPA's office next to it, but it looked abandoned.

No museum, and no monument. He quartered the blocks, one after another, past low shacks, past diesel engine repair, past vacant lots full of weeds as fine as hair. He came out at the far end of the wide street. He had covered half the town. He saw the morning train pull in.

It looked hot and bothered and impatient about stopping. It was impossible to see whether anyone got out. Too much infrastructure in the way. He was hungry. He walked straight ahead through the plaza, almost all the way back to where he had started, past the general store, and into the diner.

At which point the motel keeper's twelve-year-old grandson ducked into the general store, to the pay phone on the wall just inside the door.

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He dumped his coins and dialed a number, and when it was answered he said, "He's searching the town.Out of sight, out of mind. At least not here. The Bone Labyrinth. The old stone building is the closest thing to a home he ever had.

James Patterson. A Study in Sherlock.

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