Page 17 of Thorn

“Where’d you develop this habit?” Thorn slid his focus toward her, trying to read her for any information. Just who was he dealing with?

“I developed the habit in the DGSE just as you Lars Iversen − AKA Thorn, Navy SEAL, retired, now working for Iniquus in Washington DC, under Titus Kane, Panther Force − developed your skill sets through your work.”

She had some damned good connections to get all that when he had nada on her.

DGSE – French intelligence. Did he believe her?

She touched a hand to her chest. “Brigitte,” she said.

Her accent was not quite the same French accent as Thorn had heard around him during his security detail with the US diplomats. But this was Brussels and Thorn had learned his French in Africa.

“And when Iniquus is done scrambling the radio waves around your car, you can ask Titus all about me,” she was saying.

If she was bluffing, she would be the poker champion of the world. How the hell would she get that information if she wasn’t who she said she was? Okay, Thorn was rattled. He much preferred being one step ahead, instead of scrambling to keep up, and Brigitte understood that was the case. He’d bet good money that’s why she was smiling that secretive-cat smile.

The rest of the drive was in silence.

Chapter Ten

Juliette

France

Saturday 2:51 p.m.

Juliette was growing agitated. She was trying to keep herself rational and calm, so she could make the best possible decisions. She tried to listen to her own good counsel from around the tinnitus that obscured her inner dialogue.

She’d have another chance to escape, eventually.

They’d have to slow down again, sooner or later.

If Juliette pulled her eyes to look as far left as they could shift, she could see that blue jeans guy had pushed his gun under his thigh with the muzzle pointing forward toward the driver. Juliette wondered if the car bounced would the trigger rub against the man’s leg and shoot the driver? She willed it. She pulled up the thought and tried with the sheer power of wishful thinking for the gun to go off.

When the bang actually sounded, she froze with surprise.

The driver was yelling and pulling at the wheel. Obviously, he wasn’t hurt enough by the gun shot to kill him. Her first thought was disappointment. Her second thought was that his cuss words were vile. And how would she, a student in a Lebanese high school, learn the Russian language well enough that she’d know the meaning of such words?

From out of the barrage of cuss words, Juliette picked out the words, “flat tire.”

Not even a gun shot.

Her momentary thrill of power was dashed. Had she been in any other circumstance she would have laughed at herself and the absurdity of that moment.

Before she landed too solidly on that thought, she felt the car stopping. The driver had straightened them out and moved them to the side of the road. He jumped out of the car, Juliette assumed to check out the damage. He spoke to blue jeans through the window. It seemed that as they’d passed through the construction site, they’d driven over some debris and had a bolt lodged in the tire.

“Is she still out?” the driver asked.

Blue jeans reached over, pinched up the flesh on her thigh, and twisted it viciously.

Juliette’s face scrunched tight in agony, but that pain was hidden by her hair. She was able to keep the rest of her body slack.

“Completely out,” blue jeans responded. “Let’s get to it.”

Both doors popped open. Both doors slammed closed.

Juliette waited for the trunk and voices of the men conferring before she dragged her purse over to her. She fished out her phone, her passport, and her wallet. Nothing else in there was important – a brush, her lip gloss, a plastic container of tissues…

She slid the phone in one back pocket and the wallet and passport in the other as the car was jacked up, tipping her toward the ditch. The land outside of her window dipped down and then rose quickly into a bank. Juliette thought it would be too steep and too obvious for her to try to scramble up that embankment. The car tipped more, and now she thought that if she opened the door to get out as she’d planned, it would stick in the dirt. She’d only have one way to run and that was toward her kidnappers.

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