Page 15 of Thorn

Juliette’s hands dangled on either side of her folded body. As slowly as she could, she slid her fingers toward her boot. When she got them that far, she kept her upper arm still, bending her arm, she slid her hand up her leg under the drape of her hair. When her fingers reached her knee, she stilled to reassess.

She held her breath as she made the micromovements, appreciating the roughness of the road jostling the car and covering the shift of her body as she brought her right elbow in, tight against her thigh, up onto the seat where she could press some of her weight into it. And there she was stuck. Her breasts were resting in her lap. There was no space to slide her hand through to her hip. No joint that would allow her to bend where she needed to.

Perhaps a bump in the road.

Or a swerve of the car.

She waited patiently for either, primed, ready to take advantage of it.

She could hear the sounds of construction trucks with their low rumbles. Men shouted instructions back and forth to each other, but those voices were quite a distance from the car. And Juliette was a little afraid that if all she did was yell and call attention that the men would shoot the someone who might step forward to help her. And once they got away, that she would face their retaliation. In the back recesses of her memory a glimmer of what retribution felt like snaked out of a dark pit.

The car slowed.

Slowed.

Slowed.

This was it. Her minute of opportunity.

If only there was a bump. Or one of the voices sounded closer.

The car slid forward again, picking up speed.

Juliette had missed it.

Now what was she going to do?

Chapter Nine

THORN

Brussels, Belgium

Saturday, Fourteen Thirty-eight Hours

Thorn took a circuitous trip back to the airport in the now battered BMW rental.

With Nutsbe in his ear feeding him directions, Thorn crossed over every bridge, around every traffic circle he could find. He drove through a couple of parking garages for good measure on his way back to the other rental car.

“From the satellite images, you look clean. I’d go ahead and pull in,” Nutsbe said.

Thorn tapped on his blinker. “Were you watching the garage?”

“I had the software keep an eye on your car. The computer tagged each person whose been down there. All I can say is none of the known players were picked up by the camera. But remember most of those cameras are off line. I have a camera feed that has the second rental car in the far corner of the screen and our software was able to enhance it.”

Thorn pulled into the empty space next to the second rental and got out, his head on a swivel. “So if I pop this trunk,” he walked to the BMW, his thumb rubbing over the trunk button on the fob, “I’m not going to blow up?”

“Shouldn’t,” Nutsbe said.

Thorn thrust a middle finger in the air, and Nutsbe chuckled.

He stood to the side of a column, reached his hand around and popped the trunk.

With a beep beep the trunk opened, and Nutsbe yelled, “Boom!” into Thorn’s comms.

“Hysterical,” Thorn muttered under his breath as he peeked into the trunk space and assured himself his bag was still safely stowed. “It’s been a weird day.” He slammed the lid down and strode over to the driver’s door. “What are they saying happened earlier with shots fired in the stairwell? I didn’t see police activity on the way in.”

“The story is that someone threw fireworks down the stairs. The scene must have been staged by the perps. The shooters probably picked up their casings and threw down the right kind of debris to make that scenario work, then they headed out. That means a lot of pre-planning.”

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