Page 58 of Thorn

“If George Matthews was a good guy, he might want to look like a team player,” Honey was saying. “A bad guy might want to bring in someone who would fudge data.”

Juliette, though… Thorn pulled up his memory of the bathroom mirror, and his soaped message from Brigitte. The Mossad thought she was the danger. Thorn looked over at her sleeping form. How in the world could Juliette, in her condition and with her disabilities, be dangerous?

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Thorn

Paris, France

Sunday, Twelve Thirty Hours

“Checking in,” Thorn said over his comms. He’d just finished eating a meal. Gage and Honey had brought him what supplies Thorn might need if he were holed up there for a few days. Thorn’s duffle and computer were stowed next to Juliette’s backpack in the armoire. “I’ve seen hide nor hair of the medic. Do you have an ETA?”

Nutsbe was in his ear. “No, man, how’s Juliette holding up?”

“I was digging through her things. She bought some fever reducer. When she was in that café in Orléans, she bought herself a pretty good-sized order of food. I’m thinking she knew she was going to be down for the count. Her temperature hasn’t changed. She’s just not conscious enough to get anything in − even sips of water. Sponge baths aren’t doing the trick.” He moved back over to the stool next to Juliette’s bed and wiped the damp cloth over her lips. “I need you to let the contractor know that I don’t have any idea when she last had fluids. The pinch test tells me she’s dehydrated. I’m not going to watch her die because they can’t get their damned act together.” This last part Thorn said as a whisper. If she was at all lucid, Thorn wasn’t about to plant the seed that she might not make it. “Even if I took her to the hospital and told them I found her in the street, I’m just about willing to do that.”

“It shouldn’t be long now,” Nutsbe tried to reassure him. “Are her vitals still in range?”

“Affirmative.” Thorn hated to say that. Even in the time that he’d been hands-on tending Juliette, he felt like she was drifting further and further away. He’d admit it. He was scared for her.

“We have something cooking−”

Nutsbe was interrupted by a tapping at Juliette’s door.

“Someone’s here,” Thorn mouthed. “Could it be a medic?”

“Negative,” Nutsbe responded.

“Juliette?” It was a woman’s voice. Who would have known she was here? Thorn had found both of her phones, the one from the States and the burner phone. He’d scrambled the room while he opened them up to check whom Juliette had called. And since her “Ciao, I’m headed for Toulouse to visit my grandmother” texts to Roxanne, she’d reached out to no one. The searches on her regular phone stopped in the United States. The searches on her burner phone were to find the movie theater, to check on train schedules to Paris, and to find a cheap hotel that didn’t expect an I.D. She’d looked on backpacker and student sites. Smart.

Thorn went to the door to look through the peep hole. Someone was covering it. All he could see was black. He loathed not having a weapon on him. What he had was surprise on his side.

The curtains were drawn, the lights were out. He reached up and unscrewed the light bulb.

There was a scrape at the lock.

Thorn had put the ineffectual chain lock in place – just because it was an extra step for someone to take. And in a room this size, with so little in the way of fighting space, every second of warning counted.

He stood right at the door.

The lock tumbled, the knob twisted, the chain held.

“Juliette?” Came a woman’s voice. “Can you let me in?” She was speaking in Arabic. Thorn wondered if Lynx happened to ask Roxanne what language she spoke when she was communicating with Juliette. Maybe he’d been speaking to her in English all this time when − no, that wasn’t right. She’d texted Roxanne in English. She should understand it just fine, if she could hear him.

A hand slipped along the wall until it came to the light switch and pressed the buttons. The woman sighed when the light didn’t come on.

Thorn grinned.

It was best if he let this person get the door open on her own. He’d trap her once he could shove her out into the hall. And that was a great idea, if she was alone. And not such a great idea if she had back up. He mouthed that part to Nutsbe.

The woman’s hand slipped back out.

“Checking satellite footage,” Nutsbe said. “Single female parked a car out front, and walked in. I haven’t seen any other vehicles in the area and nobody staged in three blocks around.”

The hand came back through with a telephone, taking video of the bidet and sink, the closed curtain over the window, and the sleeping Juliette on the bed. It never rounded all the way around to capture him. He noted that mistake and vowed he’d never make it in his future missions.Always check behind the door.

Time passed as the woman checked her video.

---