Page 42 of Thorn

The man ran his hand over his head. “I just got home. I thought it safest to go visit a friend until whatever was happening was done. I don’t want any trouble. No. Soak it in water? No, I haven’t done that yet.”

“May I have the shirt with the blood?” Thorn asked.

The man stared at him for a moment and then moved out of the room toward the back of the house. He came back with a tiny navy blue and white striped shirt. He unfurled it and turned it to the side to show the blood to Thorn. “She wasn’t bleeding a lot. After I took my son, he calmed, and I let him continue to play in our front yard. I saw that she spoke to the woman who is my neighbor’s caregiver. Then she was waiting in the road. I assumed she was waiting for another taxi. When she was walking toward me, I thought maybe she needed a bandage. I got up to go in and fetch one for her when the car pulled up. That’s all I know. Idon’twant any trouble. I don’t want my family to be in danger.”

Thorn held out his hand for the shirt, careful to take it by the hem and not touch the blood stain. “Thank you for your help,” he said, and walked out the door.

Thorn stood beside the cab, considering the house with the cat outside. The lights were off. If it was an old woman and a caregiver, the chances were that if he knocked on their door, they wouldn’t answer, and they’d call the police. The police would have their own questions about him, and honestly, it was just better to be humming below the radar for the sake of speed.

Speed, when it came to someone trying to disappear, was paramount.

Chapter Twenty-One

Juliette

Paris, France

Saturday 9:46 p.m.

Juliette emerged from the taxi after paying the woman. Her hand rested on the hood and the opened door as the scene swam in her eyes. She was so close to crawling into a bed. So close. As she gripped at the car and her body swayed, she heard the woman say, “I’m coming, just a moment.”

The driver had tapped on her emergency flasher and rounded toward Juliette. Reaching into the back seat, the driver retrieved the crutches and handed them off, then grabbed up the backpack. “I’ll help you in,” she said, pulling the backpack over a shoulder.

Juliette was both grateful and worried. She thought that if she looked too sick − or drunk, or drugged − that the motel wouldn’t let her stay. But her crutches might be the cover she needed.

The woman walked over to the door and held it wide as Juliettekatchunkedforward. She stumbled as she crossed from the darkness outside to the illumination inside the tiny lobby area. She laughed it off, saying in French, “My first day on crutches. I’ll figure it out sooner or later.”

The driver set the bag by the desk, wished everyone a good evening, then left.

Juliette moved toward the clerk, plastering her game face in place. First, she covered for her red, sweaty face. “Whew, who knew it was so much work to use these things?” Then she smiled and spoke to the man beside the computer screen. “Bonsoir, monsieur.I’m Roxanne Olsen. I called and made a reservation a short time ago.”

The man looked her over. “Yes, a two-hundred-euro deposit. And I need to see some I.D.”

It had specifically said that they didn’t need I.D. on their website, but obviously she was lifting red flags for this guy. She had thought this might happen and had come up with a plan. She opened her new phone case and pulled out the money and one of Roxanne’s business cards. “Deposit. And I’m sorry, but my purse was stolen earlier this morning on the train. Luckily, I had my money and gift cards tucked in my phone and that was in my hand. I have my card, other than that…”

He picked up the card and looked it over. “You are American?”

“Yes.”

“You are a writer?”

“Yes, I’m here in Paris working on a new story.” She reached out and tapped the card. “I do romance, and what city is more romantic than Paris?”

He nodded and moved to tuck the card into the register.

“Oh,” Juliette said. “I need that. It’s the only thing I have with my name on it.”

He stared at Juliette, then at the card. He set it in front of his keyboard and typed the information in. It included Juliette’s actual home address and Roxanne’s home office number. Juliette wasn’t sure if that was dangerous or not.

Her immediate danger was fainting.

She needed to eat, take more pain pills, and sleep. She wasn’t sure that would fix her. This wasn’t an abnormal occurrence. About every couple of weeks, but nothing like clockwork, this happened to her. Her father would take her to his Montrim lab and hook up an IV. He said it was, for the most part, electrolytes and hydration. Since she didn’t know the cocktail, Juliette couldn’t tell a doctor or hospital what she needed. Of course, she could just call her dad and ask.

Juliette didn’t know why, but that’s where that thought ended. She knew she wouldn’t be calling her dad. Something had shifted for her when she visited her childhood apartment in Toulouse, and that something had solidified when she was soundly dismissed at her grandmother’s house. Her memory pictures lined up with both places, but living breathing people contradicted those pictures.That was strange, right?she asked herself.

“Mademoiselle?” The man held up an old-fashioned room key on a plastic keychain. He’d canted his head and was scowling.

“What? Oh, sorry. I was running a character conversation through my head.” That was a typical sentence that Roxanne used when Juliette was trying to talk to her, and she got that far-away look in her eyes.

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