‘No, not Petrosian or the killer. You mustn’t do either thing they want.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘Because then they own you, Reacher. Two vigilante homicides, with their knowledge? Right under their noses? The Bureau would own you, the whole rest of your life.’ He leaned his hands on the window frame and stared at the street below. ‘You’re in a hell of a spot,’ she said. ‘We both are.’
