Page 120 of Bulletproof Jack: Hunting Lee Child's Jack Reacher

Chapter 47

Sunday, June 5

Detroit, Michigan

By the time she trudged up to her apartment, took a long hot shower and wolfed down a frozen burrito, she was too tired to care.

She was also too wired to sleep well. She tossed and turned for half an hour and then gave up the effort.

Kim padded into the kitchen to pour a glass of wine, planning to work on her report for a while before sleep. As she recorked the bottle of Brunello, she heard a muffled noise at her front entrance. Something like a light knock, which should never happen under any circumstances.

Her apartment building was one of the most secure in Detroit. There was an armed security guard at the front entrance. CCTV cameras everywhere. Elevator access to her floor required a key.

In short, there should be no one outside her apartment unless she’d granted permission in advance. Theoretically, anyway.

A foreboding sense ofdéjà vuoverwhelmed her.

She sipped the wine and waited for follow up sounds. Shuffling feet or even a hard fist pounding on the door.

She heard nothing like that at all.

Kim checked the CCTV, knowing she’d find nothing there, either. “Just like the last time,” she mumbled. When Lucas Stuart had died on her threshold.

It was late. But Gaspar wouldn’t be sleeping. He rarely slept more than a couple of hours at once. He’d told her to call any time, but she tried not to abuse the privilege.

Surely she could open the door to her own apartment without a lifeline tethering her to Gaspar. What the hell could he do from Miami anyway?

She inhaled deeply to stiffen her spine, set the wine glass on the table, and strode to the door. She retrieved her gun from the entry table and leaned forward to peer through the peep hole.

No one was standing within viewing range.

Kim glanced down to see a sealed envelope had been slipped under the door. Not the usual padded manila envelopes she received from Cooper at the start of a new Reacher project.

This envelope was four by six, heavy stock, cream colored. The flap was sealed with a self-sticking gold circle.

It had not been delivered by the postal service. It contained only her name printed on the front. No address, no return address, no postage.

She pulled a pair of surgical gloves from the entry table and gloved up before she retrieved the envelope.

Kim returned the gun and carried the envelope to the kitchen.

Before she opened it, she took several snaps with her phone and sent them to her secure server. She used a kitchen knife to slit the flap of the envelope and pulled out a postcard.

On one side were several images of the Tunnel at the Niagara Parks Power Station. The brief printed description said: “Travel deep below this restored power station and explore the 2200-foot-long tailracetunnelbuilt more than a century ago leading to a never-before-seen view ofNiagara Falls.”

The suggestion made Kim shiver. “No thanks. Been there. Seen all I need to see for a while.”

She picked up her wine glass with a shaky hand to sip the warm, red liquid courage. As the wine’s warmth settled into her body, she flipped the postcard over.

Taped to the back of the postcard was the unmistakable image of Liam Stuart’s drone.

The photo must have been taken at the bottom of the Devil’s Punchbowl. Kim recognized the creek bed and the walking trail beside it.

Below the photo was a hand-printed note.

Tonight. 8:51 p.m.

And the words “Come Alone. R.”

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