Jack Reacher is working on his tan with a Norwegian blonde on the beach in Miami. The weather is hot and he is so cool you could skate on him. But he doesn’t like to stick around. He likes to be on the move. He was in the machine his whole life. Then the machine coughed and spat him out. Now he takes it easy. He’s not looking for trouble. But sometimes trouble looks for Reacher.
A lone gunman hides in a parking garage and shoots into a crowd in a public plaza in a small Indiana city. Five random people die in a senseless massacre. The shooter leaves a perfect trail behind him and the police quickly track him down. His name is James Barr. It’s a watertight case. After his arrest, James Barr refuses to talk. Then, to his lawyer, he utters a single phrase: “Get Jack Reacher for me.” But Reacher’s already on his way. What could connect this obvious psychopath with our wandering ex-army cop?
By the time Reacher hits town, Barr’s been beaten badly enough to forget everything about the day in question. So Reacher begins to piece together the wealth of evidence; he does the math and comes to a few conclusions of his own.