 Penguin Random House Audio presents The Sentinel, a Jack Reacher novel by Lee Child and Andrew Child. Red for You, by Scott Brick. For Kara and Sarah, with thanks. CHAPTER ONE Rusty Rutherford emerged from his apartment on a Monday morning, exactly one week after he got fired. He spent the first few days after the axe fell with his blinds drawn, working through his stockpile of frozen pizzas and waiting for the phone to ring. Significant weaknesses, the dismissal letter said, profound failure of leadership, basic and fundamental errors. It was unbelievable, such a distortion of the truth, and so unfair. They were actually trying to pin the town's recent problems on him. It was a mistake, plain and simple, which meant it was certain to be corrected, and soon. The hours crawled past, his phone stayed silent, and his personal email silted up with nothing more than spam. He resisted for another full day, then grabbed his old laptop and powered it up. He didn't own a gun or a knife. He didn't know how to repel from a helicopter or parachute from a plane, but still. Someone had to pay. Maybe his real-life enemies were going to get away with it, this time. But not the villains in the video games a developer buddy had sent him. He had shied away from playing them before. The violence felt too extreme, too unnecessary. It didn't feel that way anymore. His days of showing mercy were over, unless his phone stayed silent. Twenty-four hours later he had a slew of new high scores and a mild case of dehydration. But not much else had changed. He closed the computer and slumped back on his couch. He stayed there for the best part of another day, picking at random from a stack of Blu-rays he didn't remember buying and silently begging the universe to send him back to work. He would be different, he swore, easier to get along with, more patient, diplomatic, empathetic even. He would buy donuts for everyone in the office, twice a month, three times if that would seal the deal. His phone stayed silent. He didn't often drink, but what else was there left to do? The credits began to roll at the end of another disc. He couldn't stomach another movie so he retreated to the kitchen, retrieved an unopened bottle of Jim Beam from the back of a cabinet, returned to the living room, and put a scratchy old Elmore James L.P. on the turntable. He wound up asleep, face down on the floor after. He wasn't sure.