Page 69 of Bulletproof Jack: Hunting Lee Child's Jack Reacher

Ancaster, Ontario, CA

When Audrey threw the rock through the glass door, Krause came stumbling from the back of the house in a hurry, hair standing straight up, wearing nothing but boxer shorts.

“The police are coming! Get the hell out of here!” he yelled, rushing forward like an offensive lineman.

With one hand, he was attempting to belt a robe he must have grabbed on the way. The other hand gripped a pistol pointed down at the floor.

Audrey reached through the broken glass, twisted the deadbolt, and opened the door. She stepped inside and flipped on the lights so he could get a good look.

Krause knew her. The sooner he realized that, the smoother this thing would go.

She was soaked to the skin and none too thrilled about it.

“Krause!” she yelled over the blaring alarm. “Turn that damned noise off!”

He waved the pistol vaguely and stared as if she were a puzzling and dangerous specter. Which, of course, she wasn’t. She was just cold and wet and totally pissed off.

Krause should have been expecting her. A fact he seemed to have totally forgotten.

Audrey rushed forward, knocked his pistol to the floor, and grabbed him by the arm. She dragged him to the alarm panel beside the front door and shoved him toward it, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the hardwood floors.

“Turn. This. Damned. Thing. Off,” she yelled directly into his ear with considerable menace.

Krause seemed to awaken from whatever state of altered consciousness he inhabited. He pushed her away.

Then he swiveled his head, raised his hand, and punched a six-digit code into the keypad.

The alarm stopped.

Abruptly.

Audrey’s brain took half a moment to recognize and process the surreal silence.

“We don’t want the cops showing up here. Does this alarm trigger an automatic response from the police? Do they call you first? How does it work?” Audrey demanded, still twisting his arm painfully behind his back.

Krause shook his head sharply. “The alarm company calls me first. I tell them to stand down. Or they send someone out if I don’t say everything’s okay.”

As soon as he finished the last word, a phone rang from the back of the house. Krause shuffled quickly in that direction. Audrey followed.

They covered the open floor much more slowly than Audrey preferred. The ringing acted like a beacon pulling Krause toward the phone.

Audrey grabbed a towel on the way through the kitchen and used it to sop the water from her face and hands. She stopped in the bedroom doorway watching as Krause found the phone on his bedside table ten feet inside the room and picked up the call.

“I’m sorry. False alarm,” he said before the dispatcher had a chance to say anything at all. “My safe word is—” he glanced furtively toward Audrey, turned his back, and lowered his voice—“Stiletto 100.”

The words shot through her cold, soggy body like a taser charge, setting every nerve ending on full alert.

The Stiletto 100 was a top-secret project.

Krause should not have had access to it. Not even to the name itself.

How did he know? Who had he told? What was he planning?

Krause disconnected his call and tossed the phone and his gun onto the bed. He turned to face her, eyes glaring, mouth set like an aggrieved ape.

Before he had a chance to do anything more, Audrey raised her weapon and pointed it straight toward his heart.

“Sit down in that chair next to the bed, Krause,” she gestured. “Hands up.”

---