Page 115 of Bulletproof Jack: Hunting Lee Child's Jack Reacher

Gaspar might be able to do something with the photos. If she got lucky.

She snapped a few more shots of the gorge, just to get a better look when she zoomed into the images.

The first gunman had landed in the pool of icy snow melt at the bottom of the larger waterfall.

The water came in from the top of the gorge and fell more than a hundred feet into the icy pool below.

Kim imagined a pile of bodies at the bottom of that pool. Briefly she wondered about the tales those silent witnesses could tell. Suicides, homicides, vertigo-caused accidental deaths.

Gaspar probably knew how many had been found there over the years. She made a mental note to ask him.

The wind gusts had picked up again and so had the cold rain. She shook off her macabre imaginings and stretched her neck northward looking for the second gunman.

She couldn’t see him from her location. His body might have snagged on the way down the gorge or something.

Nothing she could do for any of them except call a rescue service to haul the bodies out and notify next of kin.

She switched her phone from camera mode and called Russell first. He didn’t pick up after several rings.

“Where are you?” she asked, as if he had answered her call.

“Great. Now what?” Kim considered running all the way back to the cabin to search for him.

She heard three short blasts of a car horn from the overlook above.

Liam Stuart had sped away in the gray Range Rover, so he wasn’t trying to signal anyone now. Who else was up there?

The car horn sounded three longer blasts, followed by three short beeps again.

Unmistakable.

SOS.

Someone up there was in trouble.

Kim dropped the phone into her pocket, holstered her weapon, and ran through the pelting rain and gusting wind up the sloped hill toward the overlook.

When she reached the top, she saw a luxury sedan shot up by bullets. Russell had the driver’s door open and was attempting to render aid.

Kim trotted closer toward the scene. When she was close enough she could see a woman slumped over the steering wheel. Unconscious. Bleeding.

Michelle Chang.

Russell was pressing each of Chang’s neck and shoulder wounds with his hands in an effort to stop the bleeding. The blood still pumped, which meant her heart was still functioning.

“Otto, call an ambulance,” he said when she hustled close enough to hear him.

She grabbed her phone and made the call, relayed the relevant facts succinctly, and disconnected without giving any names. “The dispatcher says they’re on the way. Ten minutes out.”

Russell shook his head. “Hope she can hang on that long.”

“Me, too,” Kim said quietly.

“A stunning woman drove up and swooped Liam Stuart out of here,” Russell said. Probably reporting to pass the time as much as to pass information. “Range Rover. New York State Department plate.”

Kim widened her eyes. “Same as those two guys who ambushed us? The two we left in the trunk of that sedan?”

“And maybe those three shooters lying at the bottom of the gorge, too,” Russell said, nodding. “You get any photos?”

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