The Detachment (John Rain, #7)

by Barry Eisler

I watched the country going past, green hills and forests and terraced farmland, towns with names like McCrory and Bald Knob and Judsonia.

I was raised in McCrory. It’s a dot on the map of which no one who doesn’t live in or very near has never heard. To see it so casually mentioned in this book excited me even though I haven’t even visited more than a handful of times since my high school graduation.

Now, with too many yesterdays and fewer and fewer tomorrows, I find I’m increasingly troubled by knowledge I was once adroit in avoiding.