Page 109 of Bulletproof Jack: Hunting Lee Child's Jack Reacher

She slowed to turn into the tunnel of dense trees. The winding path was little more than two rutted tracks where heavy vehicles had recently traveled. She slowed the SUV to a crawl as it bounced over tree limbs and dipped into holes along the way.

When she rounded a curve, she saw two parked vehicles. A sedan behind an SUV. Both vehicles were unoccupied and not running.

Kim stopped the vehicle and slid the transmission into park. “There’s a flashlight in the glove box.”

“You think they’re still here?” Russell said after he located the flashlight.

“I guess we’ll see.” Kim drew her weapon before she opened the door and stepped outside.

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Chapter 42

Saturday, June 4

Devil’s Punchbowl, Ontario, CA

Morin moved quickly through the woods, careful to avoid treacherous natural traps covered by dead leaves and debris on the ground. There were few poisonous snakes in this area, but any kind of animal encounter would slow him down.

Time had become Morin’s enemy.

Stuart had at least a ten-minute head start. Maybe more. It was also possible that Stuart was not alone or had already hitched a ride.

Morin carried his pistol in his right hand and scanned the woods as he traveled. Left to right and back again.

Looking for movement among the stationary tree trunks.

Listening for gasping to breathe, grunting with exertion, or sharp cries when confronted with unexpected hazards.

Morin was neither a hunter nor a tracker by nature or training. He lacked the skills as well as the grit for the job.

He was vicious by nature, but his enemies wore suits and ties and sat across long oval tables in skyscrapers in big cities around the world.

He slayed his opponents with treachery and cunning.

Stalking Liam Stuart was another thing entirely.

Aware that he was failing this test, Morin’s pride pushed him harder and faster toward the Devil’s Punchbowl. He felt confident he’d find Liam near the road, seeking to hitch a ride to take him out of shooting range or friendly fire.

Morin drew gulps of air into his parched throat. He was sweaty and cold and perspiring. Mucus ran from his nose and he wiped it away with the back of his free hand.

Twice, he’d stepped awkwardly and tumbled a few feet before righting himself and scrambling forward.

The plan was to put Stuart between Morin and his two operatives.

The three of them would round Stuart up, collect his drone, and move on to Ottawa for tomorrow’s test.

Morin would go back for Audrey, but only to control what she told Brax.

Once the FQT was completed tomorrow, and Quan’s ambassador to Canada was as good as dead, Morin would have plenty of time to take credit.

Brax would cut Audrey loose or find another hobby for his lover and Morin’s team could return to normal.

Cold, stinging sweat dripped from Morin’s brow into his eyes. His vision blurred and his eyes burned. He closed his eyes tightly, pausing to catch his breath.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw a vague image ahead on his right. Could that be Stuart? Who else would it be?

Stuart was standing with his weight balanced on both feet, holding a large elliptical object outward, away from his body.

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