Page 96 of Bulletproof Jack: Hunting Lee Child's Jack Reacher

Morin slid the Range Rover’s transmission into park, pressed the stop button, and left the vehicle as quietly as possible. He stood with his left hand in his pocket and his right hand holding his pistol which he held down by his side concealed in the folds of his coat.

He walked carefully toward the sedan, half expecting Ruston to jump out at him from a hiding place in the trees.

He hoped she would.

He’d put two slugs in her skull without a second’s hesitation.

As he approached her vehicle, he could now see why the sedan was parked where it was.

A full-sized Chevy Suburban SUV with a New York license plate was parked directly in front of Ruston’s car, completely blocking travel farther along the two-track.

A quick glance established that thick trees lined the path on both sides of the Suburban and the sedan.

No room to move.

No way out.

The only way to get any vehicle out of here was to reverse all the way to the road. Visibility was close to zero. Driving backward between the trees effectively wearing a blindfold. At least two miles back.

Since the Range Rover was the last vehicle in the line, Morin held the advantage. Neither the Suburban nor the sedan could bash through the Range Rover to escape. Ruston, and whoever was with her, were both boxed in.

Morin glanced into the windows of the sedan to confirm it was unoccupied. He felt the hood. The engine hadn’t cooled. She could still be nearby.

Once again, where was she?

And who did she meet here?

And why?

And where were they now?

All good questions without answers.

Morin examined the exterior of the Suburban and tried to peer inside. The windows were heavily tinted. He could engage the dome light, but that would be like flashing a beacon.

He carried a flashlight in his pocket. Turning on the beam now would also make him an easy target.

So he left the light where it was, satisfied for the moment that the Suburban was also unoccupied and boxed in.

Two vehicles. No drivers. No passengers.

Which meant there were at least two people somewhere nearby.

Friends or enemies? Odds were fifty-fifty, he figured. Could be one of each.

Wind whipped through the treetops, rustling leaves and shaking cold raindrops onto Morin’s head that dribbled down his collar and onto his back. He barely noticed.

He stared into the darkness, swiveling his body in all directions, not sure what he was looking for exactly.

Ruston might have fought her last battle here. She could be injured or worse. Her body could have been dumped somewhere nearby. Hell, he might trip over her on the forest floor.

Morin took a few steps forward, swiveling his head, gaze sweeping one-hundred-eighty degrees, back and forth, as he moved along.

Twenty feet from the Suburban, he saw a square shape in silhouette ahead, off the trail on the right.

A small one-room cabin. Maybe eight feet by ten feet.

Probably no indoor plumbing. Maybe no electricity. No windows. No outdoor illumination.

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