Page 10 of Bulletproof Jack: Hunting Lee Child's Jack Reacher

The man who killed him.

And the lax security guard who was to blame for conditions on the ground.

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Chapter 4

Friday, June 3

New York, NY

Nigel Morin was seated alone at the bar in the back of his favorite restaurant in New York City when the text came through from Detroit. He’d placed the phone on the bar near his drink when he arrived, where he could easily see the screen.

He looked rumpled and unshaven and tired. Which he was.

It had been a long week. With Braxton’s trip to Quan, the media spotlight was shining its blinding glare on everyone at the State Department. The plan was for Brax to use his considerable charm, along with the full power of the US Government, to calm those fears.

For now.

Morin resented the unwanted attention from all sides, and it fell to him to deflect the attacks. Brax didn’t give a crap what Morin had to deal with to do his job.

Brax never had cared and never would.

Morin shrugged. Brax was a jerk. Always had been, even back in college. No chance he would change after all these years.

Came with the package. Simple as that.

The bartender set the Perfect Manhattans he’d served while Morin waited to the left of the phone, keeping Morin’s line of sight clear.

Eventually, the phone’s screen had lit up with the message:Done.

A photo was attached. A big chunk of the man’s head was blown away. Morin could easily confirm the kill with a single glance.

He sipped the cocktail and held the slight bitterness on his tongue for a few seconds, savoring the result as much as the booze.

Fox was good at his job. The outcome had been assured. Morin had found Fox at the end of a long, tedious, thorough search of the dark web a few years back.

Fox deserved his reputation. He had never failed. Not even remotely.

So Morin hadn’t been worried about the elimination of Lucas Stuart.

But Fox’s text had come later than expected. Briefly, Morin had wondered about the delay in the way a man wonders why the sun shines or the wind blows. Purely rhetorical.

The job was finished. Nothing else mattered.

Morin pushed the button on the phone to deliver the contract payment to Fox’s offshore account. He sipped the Manhattan, waiting.

Twenty minutes later, Fox replied with a thumbs-up.

Payment had been completed, received, and acknowledged. The Lucas Stuart transaction was completed.

Morin nodded and drained his glass.

He wondered vaguely where Fox was now and when he planned to finish the next phase. Fox said the less Morin knew about his means and methods, the better for everyone.

Morin had always accepted the wisdom of those words and Fox had never let him down.

Not once.

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