The Sentinel (Jack Reacher, #25)

by Lee Child

He was aware of the effect his appearance could have. He was six feet five. 250 pounds. His hair was a disheveled mess. He was unshaved. Children had been known to run screaming at the sight of him.

Reacher’s general approach to driving was to find someone else to do it. He was capable of operating a vehicle, in a technical sense. The army had provided thorough training. He’d never killed anyone with a car. At least not by accident. He’d never had any collisions. Not unintentional ones. His problem was mainly one of temperament.

“Someone smart told me that once,” he said. “You’re obviously not smart if you’re even considering walking into a trap.” “I never said I was smart. Stubborn, maybe. Obstinate even, on occasion.”

“Is that any less likely than a retired major being homeless?” “I’m not homeless.” “So that’s one lie you told.” “When?” “You told Rusty you don’t own a house. You just drift around. A night here. Two nights there. No fixed abode.” “That’s true.” “So you are homeless.” “No. My situation is not the same at all. It’s like the difference between being alone and being lonely. Two separate, distinct things.”