Die Trying (Jack Reacher, #2)

by Lee Child

Life was built out of freak chances, however much people would like to pretend otherwise. And he never wasted time speculating about how things might have been different, if this and if that.

Reacher was a quiet, contained man, relaxed, fit, clearly trained to the point of some kind of superhuman calm. He was probably ten years older than she was, but somewhere less than forty, about six feet five, huge, maybe two-twenty, blue eyes, thinning fair hair.

“You’re pretty quick for an old guy,” he said. “That’s how I got to be an old guy,” McGrath said back.

He had learned a long time ago that some things were worth being afraid of. And some things were not. Things that he had done before and survived did not justify fear. To be afraid of a survivable thing was irrational.

“Get a problem, solve a problem,” he said. “That’s my rule.”