Chapter twenty-Seven

Thorn

Paris, France

Sunday, Zero Nine Forty-five Hours

G age drew their car into the alley behind the hotel.

They dropped their comms into their ears, wrapped their microphones around their necks and did a sound check.

"No comings or goings of anyone who might be Juliette?" Thorn would normally call her their "mark," but that felt like putting her into his crosshairs and seemed impossibly wrong. "Lynx said that Juliette had good days, so she might not be on crutches or staggering."

"Nothing to report," Nutsbe said. "I loaded up the schematics. She's on the third floor in a back bedroom. You shouldn't have much in the way of foot traffic getting in your way."

The team opened the file on their phones. "Those halls and rooms look mighty narrow," Honey pointed out.

"You may have to duck and walk sideways, Honey," Nutsbe said. "But the other guys should fit just fine."

"It sounds like he's joking," Gage said. "But looking at this, he's not kidding."

Thorn held his phone in the flat of his hand, so the team was all looking at the same view. "I'll walk around, go in the front door, and make my way up this stairway. Gage and Honey, it looks like someone propped open the back door." He lifted his chin toward the building. "Why don't you take the back stairs?"

"Roger that," Honey said. "Just give us a heads up as you get in there."

Thorn climbed out of their rental car. He snagged his day bag, a lower profile backpack. Between them, they'd chosen the equipment most likely to be of help on a mission like this. Their duffels were in the trunk, their computers hidden beneath the seats, trackers on, and just in case, Nutsbe had placed a computer lock on the car from his satellite image.

Thorn sauntered down the alley, around the corner, and up to the hotel's front door. The awning cast a shadow across the building where a sign hung on the window indicating they'd be back at ten hundred hours.

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.

He moved her braid from around her neck. "She's hot as a furnace," he said, reaching for the thermometer wand, pointing it, and getting an instant reading. "105.4 Fahrenheit."

"Any signs of seizure?" Jaffrey asked.

"No vomit. No bruising. No abrasions from the carpet,' he said as his gaze travelled from head to foot, checking her. "She might have rolled around, she's got lint and debris from the carpet stuck to her skin. It looks like she passed out."

"All right. Lift her onto the bed and get her as comfortable as possible. Nutsbe indicates, that shy of a true life or death situation, the client will send in medical help."

Thorn didn't like this decision at all. He'd been figuring a way to wrap Juliette in a sheet and run her down to their car and get her to the emergency room. He'd been primed for the dash. He didn't like getting a thumbs down.

From his kneeling position on the other side of Juliette, Thorn reached out and yanked the bedding out of the way. Her pillow fell to the floor by the stool that she'd been using as a night table.

Gage picked it up and lay it at the top of the bed. He pushed the stool outside the room to make a little more space to maneuver. He came up behind Thorn, turning off the water in the sink as he did.

The sudden silence was broken when Honey asked, "Dr. Jaffrey, you don't think she's at high risk? Nutsbe told you about her on going health issues?"

"Affirmative," Dr. Jaffrey said. "I need to know if she starts having breathing problems or has a seizure. For now, use tepid water to get her cleaned up then tuck her in bed."

"There isn't enough room for me to get in there and help you," Gage said.

"I've got her." Thorn had his head down toward Juliette's ear. He wasn't sure she'd be able to hear him. He didn't know if there was a comfortable distance, or pitch, or even language choice that worked better than others. All the same, he said, "My name is Thorn. I'm here to help you. You're lying on the floor, and I'm going to move you to the bed." He shifted so that he was on his left knee and his right boot was planted on the carpeting. He turned his head to check and make sure that his back was going to clear the rim of the sink so that when he had her curled into his arms, he could simply press up from a one-sided squat.

"This is me pulling your arm around my neck."

She was limp, lifeless, but Thorn felt his words were making their way in. "There you go. I'm going to roll your head against my chest, so it isn't dangling." His tone was as warm and encouraging as he could make it. He didn't want her to become frightened. He didn't want to do anything that would add to her discomfort. "I'm just sliding my hand under your knees." He felt Gage's hand on his shoulder. When Thorn pushed to standing, Gage's hand helped Thorn keep his equilibrium.

Thorn could feel Juliette was this side of conscious, and she was trying to help him by tightening her arm muscles around his neck.

He held her there against his chest as Gage spread a towel across the length of the mattress. Good idea. That'll help keep her sheet dry as I get her bathed. Thorn stepped forward and slowly lowered Juliette to the bed.

Naked was a non-issue for Iniquus operatives. In their line of duty, they'd seen all levels of dressed and undressed. In their medical and tactical training, their subject's level of exposure became a circumstance like a blood pressure reading. But something about Juliette made Thorn want to protect her modesty. He reached out and grabbed a hand towel to drape over her torso.

"Ready for vitals?" Thorn half-hoped they'd be on the cusp of danger just so he could get her transported to a medical facility that could help her. But as he called the numbers out, he knew she was stable enough that Jaffrey wouldn't budge.

Thorn thought it was foolhardy not to have her in a hospital with an IV of fluids at a minimum. High fevers could have serious ramifications on the brain, and Juliette was already living with her brain disabilities. The thought that these decisions ? decisions made by their contractor, which may or may not have Juliette's best interest at heart ? might just make Juliette's life even more difficult was untenable.

Dr. Jaffrey signed off on the comms, letting them know that once the med-tech arrived from the contractor, Jaffrey would no longer be in the loop.

Honey held out the phone so Nutsbe could see the situation. "Nutsbe, I'm not liking this. If you could see her in person, you'd know she's in dire straits. Don't you think you could convince them?"

"Negative," Nutsbe said as Thorn pushed the stopper into the sink and filled it with lukewarm water. "The client had a strategy in place if we found her ill," Nutsbe explained. "They believe a hospital in a foreign country would make security difficult. They would contact the Red Cross and Dr. DuBois, who apparently has power of attorney, to make all legal and medical decisions concerning Juliette."

That didn't rest easy with Thorn. Even if Iniquus had been sitting on Dubois, Thorn had no idea what had happened after that plane landed in DC. DuBois could have headed back to that chichi mansion in center city to call his lawyers and bring on the headaches.

With any luck, Zoe would be getting back in touch soon with some idea about genetics. Of course, Juliette could have been adopted, and they'd be no closer to an answer.

Honey watched the hall.

Gage had moved to the window and had his eye on the front street.

Thorn rolled Juliette into recovery position on her left side. "You're going to feel some soap and water on a washcloth now, ma'am. I think you'll rest more comfortably if you were cleaned up a bit."

Juliette's eye lashes fluttered but didn't open.

Thorn gently lifted her braid out of the way then started at her neck, rubbing the French-styled washing glove over her arm and back. After rinsing the suds from the cloth, he used long careful strokes to wipe away the soap. He patted that portion dry and moved the hand towel to cover her from hip to thigh, then he turned to her legs. Long and shapely, he was surprised after the talks of her disability that she was this fit.

Thorn consciously shifted away from those thoughts. Except for their tactical use, he wasn't about to contemplate a female as a woman when she was vulnerable. That was a moral and ethical line.

When he got to her feet he stalled. His mouth went dry and his nostril curled.

Honey stepped forward. "What is it?"

Thorn had to step to the end of the bed to make room for his teammate. They were tightly packed into the tiny space.

"Here are the scars that Lynx was telling us about. Lynx said the caregiver had mentioned burn scars on her feet. Roxanne seemed to believe they were from the accident that killed Juliette's mother. What do they look like to you?"

Honey pulled a flashlight from his pocket to shine onto the silver marks that curled from the pads of her feet, up her ankles and over the tops.

Honey's face turned to stone.

"Torture?" Thorn asked.

"Yeah," Honey said softly. "I'd say that's right."

To the RN in Northern Virginia, an accident was probably a fine explanation for these scars. But Thorn had seen this too many times to be mistaken. Too many men who fought next to him had survived torture sessions with their feet that looked just like this with methodic burn stripes. But he'd never seen it outside of the Middle East.

Thorn wondered if the amnesia Juliette experienced following her brain surgery wasn't the kindest thing that could have happened. Torture was a hell of a burden to carry through life.

Thorn saw that she had a nightgown hanging on the towel rack. He pulled it down and dressed her in it. He laid a cool cloth over her head and tucked the sheet and blankets up under her chin. It was the most he could do when she was all but passed out.

He needed IVs.

She needed lab work.

She needed a damned hospital.

But here they were and here they'd stay.

Thorn's gut said this was a big mistake.