Page 53 of Thorn

He wasn’t willing to wait. After a quick canvas for cameras, Thorn hid his actions behind the bulk of his body.

Pulling his lock drill, fashioned from an electric tooth brush, from the side pocket of his bag, Thorn plucked the tooth-cleaning head from the top and pressed the lock-picking drill into the opening. After inserting a shunt to hold the pins open, it was a quick one, two, three with the drill, and the lock was tumbled. Thorn cast his gaze down the street both ways before he pushed through the door, flipped the lock back in place, and whistling, took the stairs two at a time.

“I’m in and heading up. No one was in the lobby. Hide nor hair of anyone. The place looks dead.” As soon as the words passed his lips, Thorn immediately regretted them.

“In,” Honey said over the comms.

Thorn had arrived at the room. He put his ear to the door and could hear the water running. Okay, now they were getting somewhere. He rapped his knuckle gently against the door.

No answer.

He rapped again, in French he said, “Repairman.” He put his thumb over the peep hole.

No answer.

He thought, perhaps, Juliette might not be able to hear him. But when he rapped a third time, and much louder, he listened with his head to the door. There was no change in the sound of the water, which meant that she wasn’t reaching into the flow as she washed or filled a cup. He watched as Gage and Honey strode up the hallway.

He mouthed the situation to them, their comms shifting his whispers into an audible feed.

With them blocking the view. Gage put his finger over the peep hole, and Thorn pulled out his lock picks. This time he chose to do the work by hand rather than have the whir of the electronics bring any attention their way or make them memorable.

It was a cheap lock, and he had easy access.

The chain kept the door from opening. Thorn could take it down with one swift kick.

Knocking again, he called out, “Repairman.” When no one answered, Thorn reached his hand through the door, he felt the wall until he came across a light button and pushed it in. Thorn pulled out his phone, tapping to start videotaping and thread his arm back through the crack.

When he pulled his phone back and rewound, Thorn found that he had captured a dimly lit narrow room, water running into the sink, a closed drape, and a naked body, laying crumpled on the carpet.

From the position of the woman on the floor, Thorn couldn’t identify her as Juliette. His instinct was to bash down the door and charge in to see if he could help her − whoever she was. Thorn fought against his instincts as he and his teammates threw their bags to the floor, pulling out equipment.

Gage lay on the carpet, reaching through the bottom of the door with his gas detector. While they waited for the machine to check the air quality, Thorn pulled a rubber band from his lock pick kit along with a large bandage. He wrapped one of the taped ends around the band to attach it, then looped the band over the chain. “How’s it coming? I’d rather just kick it in.”

“I’ll let you know,” Gage said from down at Thorn’s feet. “You might as well keep going with that.”

Honey had Nutsbe on video chat, so he could monitor the scene.

With practiced fingers, Thorn moved the knot loop of his rubber band up the chain to the point where the catch ball rested in the slide. He put his arm as far as possible around the door, stretching the band up at an angle, then pressed the bandage’s other sticky end to the door. “Ready,” he said, pulling his arm back out.

“I don’t have anything yet,” Gage said.

The problem with a downed person with no obvious sign of trauma, especially when they hadn’t seen another living, breathing soul in the place, was that there was a reason. If the rescue team rushed in, they could succumb as well. It sucked. But there were solid reasons for this protocol. Though every second tightened Thorn’s gut down another notch.

He busied himself getting his neoprene gloves on, pulling a stethoscope around his neck, and grabbing up his medical response kit.

“Nutsbe here,” Thorn heard over the comms. “I have Dr. Jaffrey linked in. He’ll be talking you through your medical checks.”

“Clear,” Gage called as he reached for the doorknob. He pulled the door slowly shut. When he opened it again, the chain dropped from its slot and the door swung wide.

Thorn treated it as both an emergency and possible crime scene. He was the only one to go in, not that his teammates would have fit. His stethoscope in his ears, he held the bell to the woman’s back and was rewarded with both a heartbeat and the sound of air filling her lungs.

“Check for bleeds before you turn her,” Dr. Jaffrey’s said.

Methodically, Thorn ran his hands under the woman, pulling his hands out and checking them for blood. Finding none. He moved to turn her over, making sure that he held her neck and vertebrae straight.

Juliette.

His breath came out in a rush deflating his lungs. Fear coursed through his veins. He did his best to tamp those emotions down. He needed steady hands and a sharp mind. Thorn would think about why this was such a kick in the balls later.

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