Page 47 of Thorn

“Were you able to capture the license?”

“We have it. Lynx has got a field trip to take. But I’ll keep working on a destination point.”

“All right.” Thorn rubbed his palm over his five o’clock shadow. “What’s your take? She seems to be working protocol. She’s acting like a professional. There’s probably not anything that I would have done differently if I were in her shoes. Is she friend or foe?”

“Shit if I know, man,” Nutsbe said. “But I just got pinged by the airlines. We’ll keep working it from our end. It’s time for you to hang up and start running. I got a green light on your flight, and they’ve already started boarding passengers.”

Thorn was already in motion as he said, “Roger. Wilco. Catch you on the flip side.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Juliette

Paris, France

Sunday, 12:01 a.m.

Juliette dragged herself away from the monster that was holding her down in her dream. The street light filtered through the long window, past the heavy curtains. Her sheets were damp with perspiration, and she shivered beneath them. As she pushed herself up to sitting and let her feet find the floor, Juliette realized her vision was worse instead of better. The ringing in her ears was louder.

With a lunge, Juliette caught herself on the back of the bidet and yanked at the hem of her nightgown. Turning, she plopped onto the seat and struggled to get the gown over her head. She thrust her hand out, taking three tries before she could loop her gown over the towel rack to dry.

Juliette was thankful to have made it as far as the bidet, thankful that it was here in her room, directly across from her bed. While it wasn’t supposed to be used as a toilet, Juliette didn’t think that, even crawling, she could make it all the way down the hall to the communal bathroom. She’d read about a character who was doing surveillance, and he’d peed into a bottle. Easier for men to do than women.

Without getting up, Juliette turned and rested her forehead on the sink until the heat from her fever warmed the porcelain, and it was no longer comforting. She ran the cold water and dangled her hands underneath, gathering strength. If this was how an addict felt as they were detoxing, Juliette could understand the struggle to get clean. Right now, Juliette thought she would stab anything into her arm to make this torment of sensations stop.

In some ways, Juliette wished drugs were her problem. She’d know that sooner or later this would abate.

For a moment she thought about calling her dad. He knew the concoction that made her feel better. He could probably tell a hospital here. But that thought drifted away on the ringing of her tinnitus.

From her seat on the bidet, Juliette pulled the wash glove to her. She dipped it in the stream of water and did her best to wipe off the oily sweat of her fever. With trembling hands, she dragged a brush through her damp hair, braiding it and securing it with a hair tie. Her body shook convulsively, and Juliette thought that she should get away from the hard surfaces in case she had a seizure. She’d never had one before. But she had little control over her body right now and could certainly imagine that it might happen.

Another set of lights must have come on outside because the room seemed to brighten, all of a sudden. She needed to get that curtain closed. Juliette made a plan. She’d crawl to the window to shut out the light then get herself over to the armoire and take two bites of food. She thought she could keep two bites down. And while she was there, she’d see if there was an extra blanket. On her crawl back to the bed, she’d fill her water bottle, drink it down, and fill it again, take two pain pills, and then get back in bed and try to sleep.

Yes. That was her plan.

It was a good plan.

But that’s as far as she got with that plan. Instead, Juliette sat there naked on the bidet, with her hands draped into the sink under the cold running water.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Thorn

Paris, France

Sunday, Zero Forty Hours.

Thorn had hoped to nap on the plane. The woman sitting next to him had a baby in her arms and as soon as they took off, the baby had started to cry. The woman was jostling and crooning to her little one. Every few seconds, she would send Thorn a frown to tell him she was sorry.

Honestly? It wasn’t a problem. Thorn found the sound of a healthy baby crying to be wholesome. He’d been to enough countries where the babies were too malnourished to have the strength to cry. Their rounded tummies and stick thin arms and legs, the flies swarming their faces looking for moisture around the babies’ mouths and eyes…not a peep. Thorn could sleep through a baby’s hearty wails. What kept him up was when the infants were silent.

He’d tucked into the corner, resting his head against the side of the plane and told himself to sleep. Shoot, if he could sleep on a battlefield with explosions going off and a rock as a pillow under his head, this plane was as close to a five-star as he needed to grab some shut-eye.

But sleep hadn’t come to him.

With his eyes closed, he saw Juliette’s face. The fear. The determination. He thought through her choices, and he had to admit it, she had him confused. It was an odd kind of push-me pull-me of emotions. Emotions had no place in the field. You did what was necessary to complete your mission, and you washed your hands of it to move on to the next, and the next, and the next. It was exactly the way Brigitte had described it in his hotel room.

Something about Juliette made this different.

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