61 Hours, by Lee Child (Delacorte Press; $28)

Lee Child is one of those terrific authors who never disappoint. His main character, Jack Reacher, is a homeless guy with panache. He breezes into a town, rights the wrongs, breaks a heart or two, and moves on again.

In this latest, Reacher hops a ride on a tour bus filled with older folk from Seattle enjoying the sights of South Dakota in the dead of winter. On its way to Mount Rushmore, the bus skids and lands in a ditch. The passengers are bused into Bolton, a small town whose main claim to fame was its successful bid to land a new prison and all the jobs that resulted.

But all is not peaceful up there on the northern plains. A 100-member motorcycle gang living on an abandoned army base outside of town is dealing methamphetamine. Lots of it. A big buyer from Chicago came to town and a witness clearly saw him buy some product from one of the bikers. Now the witness, a 70-something librarian, is a sitting duck. The cops know someone is coming soon to kill her. They at first suspect that Reacher is the hitman. When he convinces them that he's not the guy, they enlist his help to protect the witness and figure out just what is going on at the biker's camp. Throughout it all, snow and record cold present a challenge to those not used to the extreme weather.

Lee Child's books are so readable, I give him a pass for the flaws in his books. There were a few scenes in this book that left me saying, "Huh? Where did THAT come from?" It's always possible that I missed something, but some of these details were pretty significant. I was also a bit disappointed to have figured the mystery out way early in the book. I much prefer to be kept guessing until the end.

Please don't let these snarky criticisms dissuade you from reading Lee Child. Trust me, there are few better.