Page 71 of Thorn

Juliette

Paris, France

Sometime

“What is your team doing with the men you captured?” His voice was a rich bass. Strong, steady. It wasthatman, Thorn. He’d been with and fought for her. He was the one with the gentle, competent hands. He’d found her, again. The thought of him sparked a small flame of hope. Something about him made her feel like she needed to survive. That she had to fight a little harder. A little longer. And stay at least a step away from the precipice that called her to fly free.

“We’re going to leave their fighters tied in place. They’ll sort themselves after we’re gone.” That was a woman’s voice that Juliette didn’t recognize. “We don’t have a way to handle them. And they look like the muscle, the brains took off.”

“Ma’am.” Thorn’s hand rested on Juliette’s shoulder. “I’m going to roll you to your side. We have a stretcher here that we’re going to use to get you off the roof.”

Juliette wanted to open her eyes and look at him, but she was so tired. She’d rest just a moment more…

***

Juliette curled her fingers into her sheet and blanket. Something was wrong with the sensation. With her eyes still shut, she licked at her lips. Where was she? Her mind went back to the flight to France, her trip to talk to her grandmother. The fire from the apartment that had destroyed all her childhood pictures, surely wouldn’t have destroyed the pictures her grandmother had of her. Juliette just wanted to see what she’d looked like as a baby. She wanted to know what her mother looked like. She’d have to look like her mom; she looked nothing like her father.

And for the first time, her brain stuttered over a simple fact. There were no pictures.

When she’d asked her father, he’d talked to her about her childhood memorabilia, but that was only half the story, wasn’t it? Juliette thought back to the interactions. He’d pointed to the burn on her inner thigh, a pink mark that wrapped her like a garter belt. He’d said that she’d been burned in the fire and her mother had saved her. Her mother was her hero − she’d risked life and limb to save Juliette.

But now, lying here in no-man’s land of consciousness, that story didn’t hold up. She had lived beyond her youth, beyond the fire, beyond her time in France. Why were there no new pictures? Even if they were a family culture that didn’t take a lot of photos, it was improbable that there wasn’t even one.

Her head was noisy.

It was a clash of tinnitus, heat, and thoughts.

Memories were exploding through her mind, and she gripped at her bedclothes and hung on for dear life.

Where was she?

She thought of the Russian men. They were scientists, and she’d seen them before. They’d kidnapped her before. George had been there, tied up beside her looking terrified. But she’d escaped from them here in France. Had she escaped them before?

When she tried to think about it, her body shook with terror.

A gentle hand ran down her arm and rested on her clenched hand. “You’re safe.” It washisvoice.

Juliette worked to blink her heavy eyelids open. She found herself in a dark room. The only light came in from a street lamp shining through a crack in the drapes not far away. The dark shadow of a giant of a man was beside her.

Where was she?

Her mind raced. She’d driven a car. She’d bought a phone. She’d found a ride. Paris. She was in Paris. She’d found a small hotel room, and the fever had been a slash of red across her vision. She vaguely remembered falling and the rough feel of carpeting beneath her cheek and that was all she could remember. Was she still in that room? The sheets clasped in her fingers were soft and they had been rough and cheap before.

The man was talking to her, but Juliette’s mind was so busy that it was just waves of sound that her ear recognized but didn’t register.

The man stopped touching her. He stood, his body looming over her. Her muscles contracted, bracing, making herself smaller as she cowered on the bed.

There was a click and a soft light came from behind her. Her eyes scanned the room as she turned her head. It looked like a hospital room. Her gaze settled on his face.

Wracking her brain, she was fairly sure she’d never met him before. He moved slowly and showed her his hands. Juliette thought it was to help her feel safe. And oddly, she did. Something about this man felt solid and kind. She wanted to see his eyes, to look into their depths and see if she could trust him, or if he was just playing one of those roles, like had happened when she was held prisoner− good cop, bad cop.

Juliette stopped breathing.

Had they caught her again? Was she going back? A sound crawled up her throat and pushed past her lips, she sounded like a wounded animal as she tried to huddle farther away.

The man sat down on a chair.

He showed her the flats of his hands, again, and then he used sign language as he said, “Hello. My name is Thorn. I was sent by the United States government to protect you.”

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