Page 47 of Bulletproof Jack: Hunting Lee Child's Jack Reacher

“You know where he is?” Morin asked, realizing he sounded pathetically hopeful.

“I know where he’s going. I’ll wait,” Fox said.

“When will that happen?” Morin asked but Fox had already disconnected.

He pushed a few buttons on the phone to pay the kill fee.

He waited for Fox to confirm receipt.

The bartender brought another Perfect Manhattan and placed it on the bar.

While Morin waited for payment confirmation, he gulped half of the numbing sweetness from the glass as he watched the big clock mounted over the back of the bar.

Too many minutes passed.

Still no word from Fox. Did he get the money or not?

After another five minutes, Morin knew something was horribly, terribly wrong. He felt the disaster in his bones.

He slid off the bar stool and landed squarely on his feet. The pleasant alcohol buzz he’d been building was replaced by crystal clarity.

Brax didn’t know anything yet. No reason to report failure. That sort of news travels fast enough on its own.

Morin realized now that he should never have sent Fox to do the job. He should have done it himself.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to fix this.

Morin left the restaurant and headed toward the garage where he parked his Range Rover.

Morin knew where Fox had planned to go next. He could handle this personally. Brax would like that.

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Chapter 20

Saturday, June 4

Niagara Falls, Ontario, CA

“This place is crawling with people tonight because of the holiday, whatever it is,” Russell said quietly.

Kim trudged behind the throng along the pedestrian walkway adjacent to the Niagara River.

From this vantage point tourists must have been distracted by the fireworks. They probably didn’t witness her frantic pursuit of Westwood’s killer.

Nor did they seem particularly aware of her muddy, disheveled appearance now.

Russell, being bigger and broader, attracted a few curious glances, but nothing alarming. No shrieks or frantic calls for police.

These people were the complete opposite of nosy.

Kim appreciated the lack of interest. The less explaining required, the better.

They walked past the entrance to Table Rock Centre, toward the stairs leading up to the hotel. There were no ambulance or police vehicles out front, which was odd.

Westwood’s body might have already been recovered. Surely he wasn’t still lying there on the cold pavement.

The stairway entrance and the Incline Railway were overwhelmed by the mob of people waiting to use them. Russell led the way around through the alley to the front of the building.

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