Page 48 of Bulletproof Jack: Hunting Lee Child's Jack Reacher

When they finally reached their vehicle parked in the garage where they’d left it, Russell grinned. “Are you feeling lucky?”

“Not especially,” she replied with a long exhale. “Why?”

“We could go up to Westwood’s suite. Take a look at his laptop. See if we can figure out what the hell is going on here. Decide what to do next. It’s not like he’s going to need the room,” Russell said. “Or we can try to find another hotel now, get cleaned up, come back later when we’re looking presentable and less likely to draw stares. Your choice.”

The idea was beyond tempting. She was wet and cold and muddy. A hot shower and fresh clothes would be more than welcome. But even a quick wash would help.

Connecting with Gaspar now instead of later might solve a few other problems.

The laptop and the zip drives had become urgent. But the data Westwood had stored was likely to be encrypted. She’d need special expertise to access it.

Leaving the laptop a bit longer seemed like the better answer.

A closer search of Westwood’s suite was a good plan, though. They might turn up intel they hadn’t found before.

The only real risk she could think of at the moment was that local authorities might identify Westwood’s body, run his passport, and show up at his suite before she had a chance to search.

But that probably wouldn’t happen until later. She and Russell would be long gone by then.

“Okay,” Kim said. “We’ll do the search now and leave Westwood’s electronics for later. We’ll stay twenty minutes, max. If we don’t find anything by then, we leave empty-handed.”

“Worried that Westwood’s shooter might show up?” Russell asked, cocking his head.

“Nothing would make me happier,” Kim replied dryly. “But no. The Falls area is a top terrorist target. Every inch is crawling with security. You can’t sneeze without hitting one of them.”

Russell nodded. “The longer we stay, the more likely we are to attract the wrong kind of attention.”

“If they found us, we’d be okay, eventually. Cooper and Finlay would intervene. But all of that would slow us down,” Kim said. “Let’s just get in and get out. We see anybody watching us, we split up and meet back at the SUV.”

“Roger that,” Russell said with a grin.

She pulled a baseball cap from her travel bag and snugged it onto her head, tugging the bill low. She was still wearing the yellow poncho, which was still good camo. She pulled the plastic hood over the ball cap.

“How do I look?”

“Like all the other tourists.” Russell didn’t have a baseball cap, but he arranged his poncho as artfully as possible.

“That’s as good as it’s gonna get.” he said, viewing his reflection in the SUV’s tinted window. He turned to her for inspection. “How do we look?”

“Like a couple of wet, exhausted tourists,” Kim replied.

“Perfect, you mean.” Russell grinned.

Kim shrugged and headed toward the busy front entrance of the Clark Hotel. The valet line was longer now that the fireworks had ended. Runners were bringing vehicles up four at a time.

The queue of bedraggled tourists wearing yellow or red plastic ponchos stretched all the way back and into the main lobby.

Instead of drawing stares, Kim and Russell easily blended with the others. What made them a curiosity now was swimming upstream like salmon during mating season.

Which couldn’t be helped.

Russell led the way through the throng, elbows and forearms widening a gap large enough to slip through before it closed again.

The lobby had been crowded before the fireworks show and now, a sea of soggy bodies logjammed the exits. Russell continued plowing forward, but progress was like moving Mt. Rushmore with a plush toy.

He swiveled his head, spied an opening, tilted his chin to the left. Kim followed closely lest she lose the chance.

Eventually, they reached the elevator lobby on the left of the reception desk. Russell pushed beyond the bulging pack of shivering patrons.

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