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“Oh?” Thorn shut the door and slid the chain back in place.

When he turned back, Brigitte was contemplating the lock, then tipped her head to the side and shook her finger. “That wasn’t nice.”

Thorn whispered, “I didn’t know it was you.”

She pointed up at the ceiling and lowered her voice, too. “You unscrewed the lightbulb?”

He pressed the light switch off, then reached up and screwed the bulb back in. “When I heard you in the hall, I didn’t want you to flash the light on and wake Juliette. You know you really need to work on the clandestine part of your trade craft. You’re kind of like a bull in a china shop.”

“Okay, enough of that.” Brigitte moved to the end of Juliette’s bed where she wouldn’t block the faint light coming through a crack in the curtains. “How is our girl?”

Thorn had to check the possessiveness he felt. There was no “our” anything. Especially no “our girl.”

“She’s sick,” Thorn said.

“Really? Is that how you’re going to play this? I’m the one who told you that she was the pink rabbit. I directed you to this bunny trail. You would have gone home with your precious David DuBois and not even known that this was an issue of international importance.”

Thorn longed to ask her what the hell she was talking about, but his gut told him not to give her a centimeter. She couldn’t think that she had an upper hand. And Thorn couldn’t be seen as the lacky or side-kick here. It wasn’t ego. It wasn’t machismo. It was that Brigitte had started with that game, and it seemed to be the one she felt most comfortable playing.

Not playing that game might put Brigitte on her back foot, and she might slip up. Thorn might just learn something important, like Brigitte thought it would be better to talk to Juliette in Arabic. Not French. Not English. Arabic.

Why?

Chapter Thirty

Thorn

Paris, France

Sunday, Twelve Fifty Hours

“Brigitte found you,” Nutsbe said over Thorn’s covert comms. “That’s fun. Did you check yourself? Maybe she stuck a tracker on you while you two were rolling around the other day. She may not be the best at getting through a door, but you’ve got to admit, that would be some awesome trade craft.”

Brigitte was watching him, so Thorn didn’t respond.

“You’re about to have a visitor,” Nutsbe said. “Your medic and an assistant are coming up the back stairwell. They’re bringing supplies. And along with them, they have a portable X-ray machine. ‘Why?’ you’re asking me, with that mind-meld thing you’re trying out. I’m guessing that Brigitte is probably staring right at you. Well−” He chuckled. “Whew! That mind-meld thing is pretty effective, by the way, just turn down the telepathic volume a bit. You’ve set it too loud, and it’s hurting my head.”

Thorn moved over to the window and pushed the dusty sheers to the side.

“’Get on with it,’ you’re thinking,” Nutsbe said.

That wasexactlywhat Thorn had been thinking. He popped the closure on the French door and pushed it open, stepping out to check the scene in front.

Nutsbe said, “The medical team wants to take X-rays of Juliette’s head. And as to the why, I’m not going to explain because you’ll have questions, and you’re not alone right now. You have the lovely and talented Brigitte keeping you company. Besides, the team will be knocking in three, two−” Tap, tap, tap sounded at the door. “One,” Nutsbe finished.

Brigitte opened her eyes wider and looked over at Thorn, asking him silently who it could be.

Thorn had been waiting until the team was at the door, so he could get Brigitte out on the balcony without her knowing that he had forewarning.

Thorn tipped his head to the French door. She hesitated for a brief moment then walked out.

Thorn shut and locked the door.

Nutsbe said, “I’ll be listening on comms.”

After dragging the chain off the hook, Thorn peered through the peep hole – just because Brigitte probably had her eye on him, and he didn’t want her to know that he had comms up.

Two men stood where Thorn could see their faces through the aperture. He opened the door and moved out of their way.

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