Page 64 of Thorn

Lynx had changed her voice. It was more commanding. “He’s not here. He can’t hurt you. He won’t hurt you anymore. We won’t allow it.”

But Thorn only vaguely paid attention to her. He was scrolling back through the last photos.

A snap shot of each of the Omega crew from the airport, wearing black. Tibor Yegorovich was on crutches and looked like he’d be staying with the car.

The next picture was them conferring and pointing.

A picture of thePetit Coin.

A picture of five other men rounding the same corner that Thorn had taken before he popped the lock on the front door that morning. They were headed toward the alley.

The next text said:I give it two – three minutes tops. Get out. Get out now.

It had to be Brigitte.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Thorn

Paris, France

Sunday, Twenty-one Thirty Hours

Thorn snapped the computer shut.

He was talking through his comms as he explained the situation to Lynx and Nutsbe. “I need back up.” He was on his feet and moving. He’d already worked out a plan and staged the room should he have to make a dash with Juliette. He called out, “Give me a two-minute count down.”

Lynx’s voice began, “One hundred twenty seconds, one nineteen…”

Now, he worked his plan double time. He crammed his laptop into his duffle he’d staged on the bidet should a quick exfil be required. He zipped it shut and pulled the straps over his shoulder. With asnap, snap, he clipped the hip and sternum straps into place.

He flung back Juliette’s covers. Yanking them free, he dropped them out of the way. He lifted her head, took the pillow and tossed it to the side.

“One hundred and twelve, one-eleven…”

Thorn grabbed up the surgical tape that he used to secure Juliette’s port sites. Ripping and biting at the tape, he pulled off sections. One hand wrapped her wrist with a thick surgical bandage, with the other, he wrapped the tape around her wrist, staging her for if things turned from bad to worse. After that, he released the IV tubing.

“Ninety seconds. Eighty-nine. Eighty-eight…”

Grabbing the saline bag from its stand, Thorn tossed it toward the window and out of his way. A flick of the hand, he collapsed the stand and folded the feet. He was glad he’d practiced that earlier. He thrust it now − a fat and short configuration, like a closed umbrella − into the side pocket of the duffle. It could function as a weapon if push came to shove.

Thorn opened the door and searched the hallway.

Clear.

“Seventy-six—"

Swinging back toward Juliette, he said, “My name is Thorn. I’m here to help you. I’m moving you to safety.” He caught her by the wrist and scooped under her back to lift her torso upright. “I’m going to put you over my shoulders.” After she had been riled and fighting in her delirium, Thorn needed her to be still. Passed out would be good here. If she were fighting him, it would slow him down. It might even bring the help of some good Samaritan. And while good Samaritan’s had their place this wasnotit.

“Seventy seconds. Sixty-nine…”

Thorn would have preferred to carry Juliette in his arms. It would have been more comfortable for her. But he needed at least one hand available for work. And it was damned hard to run with a weight across the chest. He sucked a breath between his teeth, knowing that he was probably going to hurt her head even more.

Still, nothing good was racing up the back stairs.

Out of this mess was the only goal.

Thorn pulled Juliette across his back in a fireman’s hold, reaching through her thighs, using his arm to trap her leg in place on his chest as he grasped her wrist with tight fingers to keep her from slipping off his back.

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