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Lee Child

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A Wanted Man: A Jack Reacher Novel Kindle Edition

by Lee Child (Author) Format: Kindle Edition

4.4 35,321 ratings

Book 17 of 29: Jack Reacher

Editors' pick Best Mystery, Thriller & Suspense

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#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • THE BLOCKBUSTER JACK REACHER SERIES THAT INSPIRED TWO MAJOR MOTION PICTURES AND THE STREAMING SERIES REACHER

“The indomitable Reacher burns up the pages.”—USA Today

Four people in a car, hoping to make Chicago by morning. One man driving, another telling stories that don’t add up. A woman in the back, silent and worried. And a hitchhiker with a broken nose. An hour behind them, the FBI descends on an old pumping station where a man was stabbed to death—the knife work professional, the killers nowhere to be seen.

All Jack Reacher wanted was a ride to Virginia. All he did was stick out his thumb. But he soon discovers he has hitched more than a ride. He has tied himself to a massive conspiracy, in which nothing is what it seems, and nobody is telling the truth.

“Furious action . . . [Lee] Child keeps the pacing swift and the surprises rolling. . . . [A] feverishly thrilling series.”—The Miami Herald

“Smart, breathless . . . [with] one of the best female characters in the whole Reacher series.”—The New York Times

“Subtle and nuanced [with] seductive writing and irresistible plot twists.”—Newsweek

Editorial Reviews

Review

Praise for the Jack Reacher series

“The truth about Reacher gets better and better. . . . This series [is] utterly addictive.”—Janet Maslin, The New York Times

“Jack Reacher is today’s James Bond, a thriller hero we can’t get enough of. I read every one as soon as it appears.”—Ken Follett

“Reacher is the stuff of myth. . . . One of this century’s most original, tantalizing pop-fiction heroes.”—The Washington Post

“I’m a fan.”—James Patterson

“The Reacher novels are easily the best thriller series going.”—NPR

“Reacher is a man for whom the phrase moral compass was invented: His code determines his direction. . . . You need Jack Reacher.”—The Atlantic

“I pick up Jack Reacher when I’m in the mood for someone big to solve my problems.”—Patricia Cornwell

“[A] feverishly thrilling series . . . You can always count on furious action.”—Miami Herald

About the Author

Lee Child is the author of nineteen New York Times bestselling Jack Reacher thrillers, ten of which have reached the #1 position. All have been optioned for major motion pictures; the first, Jack Reacher, was based on One Shot. Foreign rights in the Reacher series have sold in almost a hundred territories. A native of England and a former television director, Lee Child lives in New York City.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter 1

The eyewitness said he didn’t actually see it happen. But how else could it have gone down? Not long after midnight a man in a green winter coat had gone into a small concrete bunker through its only door. Two men in black suits had followed him in. There had been a short pause. The two men in the black suits had come out again.

The man in the green winter coat had not come out again.

The two men in the black suits had walked thirty brisk feet and climbed into a bright red car. Fire-engine red, the eyewitness called it. Vivid red. Fairly new. A regular four-door sedan, the eyewitness thought. Or maybe a five-door. Or a three-door. But definitely not a two-door coupe. A Toyota, the eyewitness thought. Or maybe a Honda. Or a Hyundai. Maybe a Kia.

But whichever, the two men in the black suits had driven away in it.

There was still no sign of the man in the green winter coat.

Then blood had pooled out from under the concrete bunker’s door.

The eyewitness had called 911.

The county sheriff had shown up and gotten the story. He was good at hustling folk along while looking patient. It was one of his many talents. Eventually the eyewitness had finished up. Then the county sheriff had thought for a long moment. He was in a part of the nation where in every direction there were hundreds of square miles of emptiness just over the dark horizon. Where roads were long lonely ribbons.

He was in roadblock country.

So he had called the highway patrol, and then he had ordered up the helicopter from the state capital. He had put out an urgent APB on a bright red import carrying two men in black suits.

Jack Reacher rode for ninety miles and ninety minutes with a woman in a dirty gray van, and then he saw bright vapor lights up ahead at the highway cloverleaf, with big green signs pointing west and east. The woman slowed the van, and stopped, and Reacher got out and thanked her and waved her away. She used the first ramp, west toward Denver and Salt Lake City, and he walked under the bridge and set up on the eastbound ramp, one foot on the shoulder and one in the traffic lane, and he stuck out his thumb and smiled and tried to look friendly.

Which was not easy. Reacher was a big man, six feet five inches tall, heavily built, and that night as always he looked a little ragged and unkempt. Lonely drivers wanted pleasant and unthreatening company, and Reacher knew from long experience that visually he was no one’s first choice of companion. Too intimidating. And right then he was further handicapped by a freshly broken nose. He had patched the injury with a length of silver duct tape, which he knew must make him look even more grotesque. He knew the tape must be shining and glittering in the yellow light. But he felt the tape was helping him medically, so he decided to keep it in place for the first hour. If he didn’t get a ride inside sixty minutes, he would consider peeling it off.

He didn’t get a ride inside sixty minutes. Traffic was light. Nebraska, at night, in the wintertime. The cloverleaf he was at was the only significant interchange for miles around, but even so whole minutes passed with no action at all. Up on the bridge the through traffic was fairly steady, but few people seemed keen to join it. In the first hour only forty vehicles showed up to turn east. Cars, trucks, SUVs, different makes, different models, different colors. Thirty of them blew past without even slowing. Ten drivers checked him out and then looked away and accelerated onward.

Not unusual. Hitchhiking had been getting harder for years.

Time to shorten the odds.

He turned away and used a splintered thumbnail to pick at the edge of the duct tape on his face. He got half an inch of it loose and gripped that makeshift tab between the pad of his thumb and his forefinger. Two schools of thought. One went for the fast rip. The other advocated a slow peel. An illusory choice, Reacher thought. The pain was the same either way. So he split the difference and opted for a fast peel. No big deal on his cheek. A different story across his nose. Cuts reopened, the swelling lifted and moved, the fracture itself clicked and ground.

No big deal on the other cheek.

He rolled the bloodied tape into a cylinder and stuck it in his pocket. He spat on his fingers and wiped his face. He heard a helicopter a thousand feet overhead and saw a high-power searchlight beam stabbing down through the darkness, resting here, resting there, moving on. He turned back and put one foot in the traffic lane again and stuck out his thumb. The helicopter hung around for a spell and then lost interest and hammered away west until its noise died back to nothing. Traffic heading cross-country on the bridge stayed sparse but steady. Feeder traffic heading north and south on the county road got thinner. But almost all of it turned one way or the other on the highway. Almost none of it continued straight. Reacher remained optimistic.

The night was cold, which helped his face. Numbness dulled the ache. A pick-up truck with Kansas plates came out of the south and turned east and slowed to a roll. The driver was a rangy black guy bundled into a thick coat. Maybe his heater wasn’t working. He eyeballed Reacher long and hard. He almost stopped. But he didn’t. He looked away and drove on by.

Reacher had money in his pocket. If he could get to Lincoln or Omaha he could get a bus. But he couldn’t get to Lincoln or Omaha. Not without a ride. He took to tucking his right hand under his left arm between cars, to stop it from freezing. He stamped his feet. His breath pooled around his head like a cloud. A highway patrol cruiser blew by with lights but no siren. Two cops inside. They didn’t even glance Reacher’s way. Their focus was up ahead. Some kind of an incident, maybe.

Two more cars almost stopped. One out of the south, and one out of the north, minutes apart. They both slowed, stumbled, stuttered, eyeballed, and then picked up speed and drove on by. Getting closer, Reacher thought. It’s coming. Maybe the late hour was helping. People were more compassionate at midnight than midday. And night driving already felt a little out of the ordinary. Picking up a random stranger wasn’t such a big leap.

He hoped.

Another driver took a good long look, but kept on going.

And another.

Reacher spat on his palms and slicked his hair into place.

He kept the smile on his face.

He remained optimistic.

And then finally, after a total of ninety-three minutes on the ramp, a car stopped for him.

Chapter 2

The car stopped thirty feet upstream of him. It had a local plate, and was a reasonable size, and American, and dark in color. A Chevrolet, Reacher thought, probably dark blue, or gray, or black. It was hard to tell, in the vapor light. Dark metallics were always anonymous at night.

There were three people in the car. Two men in the front, and a woman in the back. The two men were twisted around in their seats, like there was a big three-way discussion going on. Like a democracy. Should we pick this guy up or not? Which suggested to Reacher that the three people didn’t know each other very well. Such decisions among good friends were usually instinctive. These three were business colleagues, maybe, a team of equals, thrown together for the duration, exaggeratedly respectful of each other’s positions, especially the outnumbered woman’s.

Reacher saw the woman nod, and he lip-read her yes, and the men turned back and faced front again, and the car rolled forward. It stopped again with the front passenger’s window alongside Reacher’s hip. The glass came down. Reacher bent at the waist and felt warmth on his face. This car’s heater was working just fine. That was for damn sure.

The guy in the front passenger seat asked, “Where are you headed tonight, sir?”

Reacher had been a cop in the army for thirteen years, and then for almost as long had lived on his wits, and he had survived both phases of his life by being appropriately cautious and by staying alert. All five senses, all the time. Deciding whether or not to take an offered ride depended mostly on smell. Could he smell beer? Weed? Bourbon? But right then he could smell nothing at all. His nose had just been broken. His nasal passages were clogged with blood and swellings. Maybe his septum was permanently deviated. It felt entirely possible he would never smell anything ever again.

Touch was not an option in that situation, either. Nor was taste. He would learn nothing by groping around like a blind man, or by licking things. Which left sight and sound. He heard neutral tones from the front passenger, no marked regional accent, an educated cadence, an air of authority and executive experience. On all three of them he saw soft uncalloused hands, unmuscled frames, neat hair, no tans. Indoor people. Office folk. Not at the top of the tree, but a long way from the bottom. They each looked somewhere in their middle forties, perhaps halfway through their lives, but more than halfway through their careers. Like lieutenant colonels, maybe, in army terms. Solid achievers, but not superstars.

Each of them had on black pants and a blue denim shirt. Like uniforms. The shirts looked cheap and new, still creased from the wrapper. A team-building exercise, Reacher figured. Some kind of corporate bullshit. Fly a bunch of middle-ranking executives out from their regional offices, get them together in the wilderness, give them shirts, set them tasks. Maybe all the hoo-hah was making them feel a little bit adventurous, which was why they were picking him up. And maybe there would be candid mutual critiquing afterward, which was why they had labored through the big three-way democratic discussion. Teams needed teamwork, and teamwork needed consensus, and consensus needed to be unforced, and gender issues were always sensitive. In fact Reacher was a little surprised the woman wasn’t riding in front, or driving. Although driving might have been seen as a subservient role, for the only woman in a trio. Like fetching coffee.

A minefield.

“I’m heading east,” Reacher said.

“Into Iowa?” the front passenger asked.

“Through Iowa,” Reacher said. “All the way to Virginia.”

“Hop in,” the guy said. “We’ll get you some of the way there.”

The woman was sitting behind the front passenger, so Reacher tracked around the trunk and got in on the driver’s side. He settled on the rear bench and closed the door. The woman nodded to him a little shyly. A little cautiously, maybe. Perhaps because of his busted nose. Maybe the sight upset her.

The guy at the wheel checked his mirror and took off up the ramp.

Product details

ASIN ‏ : ‎ B007GCY8FS
Publisher ‏ : ‎ Delacorte Press; 1st edition (September 11, 2012)
Publication date ‏ : ‎ September 11, 2012
Language ‏ : ‎ English
File size ‏ : ‎ 4196 KB
Text-to-Speech ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Screen Reader ‏ : ‎ Supported
Enhanced typesetting ‏ : ‎ Enabled
X-Ray ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Word Wise ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Sticky notes ‏ : ‎ On Kindle Scribe
Print length ‏ : ‎ 417 pages

Best Sellers Rank: #6,573 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #23 in Crime Action & Adventure
- #23 in Mystery Action Fiction (Kindle Store)
- #29 in Military Thrillers (Kindle Store)

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4.4 35,321 ratings

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Lee Child

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Lee Child is one of the world’s leading thriller writers. He was born in Coventry, raised in Birmingham, and now lives in New York. It is said one of his novels featuring his hero Jack Reacher is sold somewhere in the world every nine seconds. His books consistently achieve the number-one slot on bestseller lists around the world and have sold over one hundred million copies. Two blockbusting Jack Reacher movies have been made so far. He is the recipient of many awards, most recently Author of the Year at the 2019 British Book Awards. He was appointed CBE in the 2019 Queen's Birthday Honours.

Photography © Sigrid Estrada

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Seeley James

The standard for literature

Reviewed in the United States on September 23, 2012

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Creative writing professors have been stuck on James Joyce for too long. I think a hundred years of exaltation is plenty for a dead guy. Professors who want to be relevant in the 21st Century should start teaching Lee Child. Where Joyce challenged the status quo and overturned dogma, his stories were aimed at a less educated, less traveled, largely agrarian society. Everyone had firsthand experience with all four riders of the apocalypse: pestilence, war, famine and death. The world is a different place.

Modern Americans and Europeans live in safer world. Our concerns about mortality are focused on dodging the Alzheimer's bullet before ninety. We need a different type of literature to excite a different set of senses. We crave literature that takes us on a joy ride and leaves us both thrilled and somewhat better educated for the time we spent reading it.

We want literature that respects and honors our ten thousand-year-old fascination with heroism as much as it gives us the heebie-jeebies. We need it delivered in the no-nonsense, time-is-money, instant-gratification vernacular of our time.

We need literature about pragmatic hitchhikers like this guy:

...he walked under the bridge and set up on the eastbound ramp, one foot on the shoulder and one in the traffic lane, and he stuck out his thumb and smiled and tried to look friendly.

Reacher was a big man, six feet five inches tall, heavily built, and that night as always he looked a little ragged and unkempt. Lonely drivers wanted pleasant and unthreatening company, and Reacher knew from long experience that visually he was no one's first choice of companion. Too intimidating. And right then he was further handicapped by a freshly broken nose. He had patched the injury with a length of silver duct tape, which he knew must make him look even more grotesque. He knew the tape must be shining and glittering in the yellow light. But he felt the tape was helping him medically, so he decided to keep it in place for the first hour. If he didn't get a ride inside sixty minutes, he would consider peeling it off.

There, I've cut the quote off early and spared you the gruesome details of the tape peel. You owe me.

Mr. Child sets the bar for literature in our time. Not because he sets a new standard for literary descriptions of common concepts delivered from new and unique perspectives. Not because it gives us ground breaking insights into interpersonal relationships and the intense longing inherent in our beings. Not because it defines man's inhumanity to man--or any of that other philosophical navel-gazing crap. (And yet, all those things are in this book.)

What makes Lee Child's writing unique and worthy of collegiate study? Purity of Story. Nothing in Mr. Child's works interferes with the story. No extraneous subplots, no unnecessary background, no diversions, no red herrings, only the details that deal with murder of an American citizen in America's heartland. Every writer working today can read Mr. Child's work and learning something about the craft. I've read all seventeen books and learned something each time. (Stop laughing, I had a lot more learn than most.) His writing is so engrossing that even when we attempt to study a specific passage, we get caught up in the story and read right through it and keep going because we're on a rollercoaster and loving it. Like the passage below that creates plenty of tension from the minute details of a car ride:

Reacher's eyes were closed and his nose wasn't working, so taste and touch and hearing were taking up the sensory slack. He could taste copper and iron in his mouth, where blood was leaking down the back of his throat. He could feel the rear bench's mouse-fur upholstery under his right hand fingertips, synthetic and dense and microscopically harsh. His left hand was in his lap, and he could feel the rough cotton of his pants, thick and fibrous and still slick with the manufacturer's pre-wash treatments. He could hear the loud zing of concrete sections under the tires, and the hum of the motor, and the whine of its drive belts, and the rush of air against the windshield pillars and the door mirrors. He could hear the give and take of seat springs as he and the others floated small quarter-inches with the ride. He could hear Don McQueen breathing slow and controlled as he concentrated, and Karen Delfuenso a little anxious, and Alan King changing to a shorter, sharper rhythm. The guy was thinking about something. He was coming up to a decision. Reacher heard the scrape of cloth against a wrist. The guy was checking his watch.

Stop begging. That's all you get. Just read the book.

Equally worthy of study are the puzzles Mr. Child includes in the opening of each book. The author opens with inane details like those above and reveals them as important and something you should have recognized. Almost as if he were tweaking our noses. The hero solves a few minor mysteries for you right away. This exercise serves to make the reader understand how smart the hero is and why we should trust him with the next ten hours of our lives. His established expertise allows us submit to the fiction. Reader submission is a key component of a good read. If we refuse to submit, we abandon the book. In this book, we see some mundane oddities early on that strike us as odd without knowing why they strike us as odd. Why is the water cold? Why matching shirts? What's with the gas gauge? And then Mr. Child exposes the reasons to the reader through the mental observations of the hero. And we are amazed. The revelations start like this:

There was no element of self-aggrandizement in what he was saying. The guy wasn't making himself bigger or better or smarter or sexier. He was telling stupid, trivial, technical lies for no clear reason at all.

Until the passage above, we were unaware that there were any lies. In the next passage, we understand how important the lies are, and from there on we can't put the book down.

But wait. There's more. In 17th Jack Reacher novel, Wanted Man, fans are treated to the fun side of Jack Reacher. A refreshing side. He has a sense of humor:

Then the phone rang in the office and the guy ducked back in to answer it. He came straight back out and said, "It's the FBI, for the man with the broken nose. That would be you, I suppose."

Reacher said, "Pretty soon it could be either one of us, if you don't stop yapping at me."

There are many other `Gems of Jack' that make longtime readers laugh. But don't think it's a comedy. Far from it. This is a serious book with serious and puzzling clues. What gets interesting is figuring out which bad guy is which and why. Guarantee you won't know until you find the Bible. (Not a spoiler, just a reference point.)

Some reviewers like to poke holes in the plots of thrillers. I'm not one of those. If I were to read a Star Wars book, I would first believe in light sabers. If I were to read a Harry Potter book (no, I've not. Let it go.) I would believe in Hogwarts. The bad guys in this story stretched my ability to just-go-with-it, but not to the breaking point. I was able to put aside my WTF? and enjoy the novel. That said, part of me thought the bad-guys' raison d'etre might have been part of a joke on the reader. If it was, then it was clever. If not. Hmm. Well. Yeah, there could be light sabers out there somewhere. Probably.

Bottom line: if you are shopping for an MFA and there is no mention of class that deconstructs Lee Child, keep looking. In the meantime, buy Wanted Man and read it twice. Read it the first time for a great story about an all American hero (told by a transplanted Englishman, naturally). Read it the second time to appreciate the new standards for American literature.

Peace, Seeley James

28 people found this helpful

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Paul Wagner (osuwags@carol.net)

not bad

Reviewed in the United States on April 10, 2024

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Not the best reacher book but not bad. Need to flush out minor characters better Wrapped up a little quick

Reviewed in the United States on April 26, 2024

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As ALWAYS Lee Child keeps it interesting & fast paced! I liked each aspect of the story! Didn’t like the part where Sorensen was killed but then it always has to have a tragedy! I would recommend this book to anyone who likes this type story, especially any Jack Reacher fan!

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Kindle Customer

A really, great, exciting, twisting,turning,read.

Reviewed in the United States on April 28, 2024

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Jack really rocks.starts out,setting up the scenes,the characters, throws some curve balls into
The mix,I was hoping he was going to get girl,,,but she got shot. Can't tell u anything else, like I said...jack rocks.

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R. Loe

Wish Lee understood sentence structure

Reviewed in the United States on October 11, 2022

Verified Purchase

Lee Child can weave an interesting tale about Jack Reacher but may drive readers who are familiar with proper sentence structure and use of punctuation to the brink. I know that’s the case for me. I purchased the entire Jack Reacher series of books after seeing the first season of the series. I never would have read so many of his books if I hadn’t already paid for them.
I have often wondered why, with all the money that Lee Child must have brought in from his writing, he can’t seem to afford a staff who will proofread and correct the many mistakes throughout his books. Same goes for his publisher.
I held onto hope with each successive book that he might learn something about writing and make his books easier to read. I hoped, with the addition of his brother on the last couple, that the books would improve but seemed to get only worse. Sometimes, 2 whole pages of back-and-forth banter are written with nothing to occasionally let you know who is speaking, so multiple readings may be needed at times to sort it out. I think almost all, if not all, of the pages have sentences with commas where none are needed, periods where commas are needed, clauses used as sentences, and a new paragraph starting from a clause that belongs in the previous sentence of the preceding paragraph. As I said, hard to read if you understand basic sentence structure.
There are often times where I wish Lee had done one iota of research to get facts right. I refer to passages in the stories where it was apparent that Lee Child had no experience or knowledge; I guess, more or less, the writing is off the top of his head.
Some problems are:
1: He thinks the flashing emergency lights of vehicles in the western states are the same as in much of the New England states (blue on fire trucks and red on police).
2: He didn’t know what the average shoe size in America is actually 10 ½ (stating it as 9)
3: He thinks a large man like Jack Reacher would have what Lee evidently thinks of as a large foot size of 11, instead of something closer to 14 or 15 (I am 6’1” and wear a 13.) I assume Lee has a small foot.
4: Lee has never been near a fast-moving train, thinking there is violent ground movement when the train is even over a mile away and hurricane force winds near one traveling 60 mph.
5: He seems to think that all gas stations and quick marts sell khaki pants and various shirts, packs of socks, and underwear.
6: Jack Reacher can knock anyone unconscious and very often dead with one punch. I can remember only a couple times when it took two.
7: He thinks face bones will “shatter” from a Jack Reacher punch and can knock out a gorilla or even an elephant. Jack also never has injuries to his hand or elbow from such amazing blows.
8: Jack Reacher’s hands are said to be as large as a dinner plate and his fists as large as Thanksgiving turkeys…really?
Yes, his books are hard to read for these and other reasons caused by lack of oversight by his publisher and lack of staff. Please, I hope never to find out he has a staff that lets this stuff through. Good storyteller, other than the lack of research on details and no idea as to sentence/paragraph structure..

Rating would be five for the story.
Won't buy future books

19 people found this helpful

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R. Beckett

Another gripping tale...

Reviewed in Canada on October 12, 2023

Verified Purchase

Fans of teacher will not be disappointed by this adventure. As usual teacher gets innocently in a convoluted series of events which he unravels to simplicity in the end.

David Cannon

Arrived on time and is as we expected so happy.

Reviewed in Spain on June 27, 2023

Verified Purchase

Arrived on time and is as we expected so happy

poohscat

Wasted words

Reviewed in Mexico on February 19, 2018

Verified Purchase

Child once again proves himself the master of useless information. If someone is found dead beside a monument, Child will fill pages explaining how much cement was used to build it, how high it is, what it was intended to be and how many men of different nationalities worked on it. Eventually, he will get around to the dead guy. When that happens, the book gets halfway interesting. If you enjoy being bored and have time to waste on meaningless trivia, go for it.

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amcgamcg

He reaches...and finds.

Reviewed in France on February 9, 2018

Verified Purchase

Perfect, because this book gives a reader eveything he'd ever want in a Jack Reacher. It's cinematographic. The hero is manly without trying hard and simultaneously fragile. Great atmospheres and great moves. Child pulls you Into the intimate-but-silent detective and you sympathize with the way he feels the need to be free.

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Dryline

Usual rollicking read

Reviewed in Australia on January 10, 2019

Verified Purchase

Good fun. Escape from daily grind into Reachers world. Who will they get to play him next ? ? ? ? Make more movies please.

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A Wanted Man: A Jack Reacher Novel Kindle Edition

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