Page 122 of Bulletproof Jack: Hunting Lee Child's Jack Reacher

Kim had had plenty of time to work things out during the flight, which kept her mind off her queasy gut and her brain from running through the thousands of things that could go wrong.

When the helo landed, she removed her headset, opened the door, and stepped down onto the concrete helipad.

She gave her pilot a single thumbs-up, stooped below the rotor wash, and hoofed it to the casino’s exit.

Kim took the elevator down fifty-three flights and exited on the street side of the casino resort. The sun was already low in the sky. No time to waste.

Reacher had scheduled the meeting shortly after sunset. Presumably because the popular tourist spot would be less crowded, Kim assumed.

She had dozens of concerns, yet she was strangely calm about them. Foolishly, Gaspar claimed, she believed she would be perfectly safe meeting Reacher in a public place.

If Reacher had wanted to harm her, he’d have chosen a more secluded location, surely.

But what did he want?

Reacher and Cooper knew each other. He could have called Cooper directly if he’d wanted to volunteer for the classified assignment Cooper was considering him for.

The suggestion brought a smile to her face. Reacher was army, through and through. He’d never volunteer for anything.

Kim turned left at the exit, striding casually toward the tunnel’s entrance.

Foot traffic was light along the sidewalks at dusk. The fireworks would start a couple of hours later. Tourists were having dinner or napping or whatever tourists did between the sights they planned to see.

At the corner, the traffic light stopped Kim amid a group of kids corralled by a teacher and a couple of moms. All were engaged with each other and speaking a mix of French and English like a mischief of magpies.

When the light turned green, the tribe of magpies moved as one, like a flock, cackling and shouting, excited to be there.

The magpies moved into the roadway just as a flashy yellow convertible took the closest corner on two wheels and sped toward the intersection.

The bouncing, laughing, skipping children filled the street between the sidewalks.

Perhaps because she was not much taller than the children themselves, Kim saw the yellow car before the teacher or the moms.

The convertible noticed the group too late.

The driver stomped hard on the brakes and the convertible went into a long skid like a slow-motion film.

Horrified pedestrians began to shout as Kim darted into the intersection, arms wide, moving the kids toward each other and away from the careening vehicle.

A split second later, the teacher and the moms realized the danger and joined in Kim’s efforts to move the kids to safety.

They were screaming and crying and creating earsplitting noises so overwhelming that no chaperones could possibly think clearly.

At the last possible minute, the convertible’s driver turned the steering wheel away from the group.

The driver screamed as the car’s tires hit the median with a glancing blow that flipped the car over like a child’s toy.

The convertible landed on its top, the open space where the roof should have been.

The driver had not been wearing a seat belt.

When the car flipped, she was thrown from the driver’s seat onto the pavement. The jaunty yellow convertible landed on top of her.

Only one glance was required to know the driver had not survived.

Almost instantly, pedestrians pulled out their phones and began taking video and photos. Several rushed up to Kim to thank her for her quick action.

Kim tried to shield her face from view. She brushed off the grateful survivors and hurried along to a side street where she found a quiet alcove to catch her breath.

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