“Greg!” the woman repeated, even louder this time, then launched into an angry, muttered monologue. “You’ve got to be kidding me. He pocket dialed me again? We’re supposed to be leaving, and instead I’m stuck here with a kid who doesn’t talk. And I swear to God there’s some car circling the block. You’d think the money would be motivation enough. Hell. Incompetence is gonna kill me.”
Then the line went dead and Maryse exhaled, trying to curb her side-by-side jumps of hope and fear. “The kid who doesn’t talk. She has to have been talking about Camille. We have to get to her, Brooks. We have to find her. Call her back and... Oh, God. She said they were supposed to be leaving. What’s the best thing to do?”
“I don’t know what the best thing to do is, but the first thing...we need to figure out who the woman is.”
“The call went to someone named Dee.”
“Dee?” Brooks reached out and took the phone from her shaking fingers, then tapped across the screen—far more precisely than she had done—and a frown creased his brow.
“Does that name mean something?”
“I think it does.”
He pocketed the phone, then strode across the room where he pushed through the papers that had come loose during his fight with the fake concierge. After a swift search, he lifted one sheet from the messy pile and scanned it.
“‘Dee White,’” he read aloud, then looked up at her. “She’s the real daytime concierge. The woman who was supposed to be at the counter when the man with the gun was there instead.”
Maryse eyed the still-unconscious man on the bed. “So they were working together.”
“Looks like it. And neither of them has any connection to you or your daughter?”
“Not that I know of.” It was the truth, even if it wasn’t as complete an answer as she could’ve offered. “Does that paper say where they’re from?”
“Just that Ms. White lives on rue Riel.”
Hope surged through her again, and this time she didn’t try to tamp it down. “Brooks...that’s only ten minutes from here.”
“You want to go there?”
She swallowed her fear and looked him in the eye. “I don’t want to. I have to.”
* * *
As he followed the simple driving directions Maryse had outlined before they exited the hotel, Brooks strummed his thumbs against the steering wheel. What they were about to do went against his training and his better judgment.
He’d left behind a suspect. A felon. Secured and unarmed, yes. But unguarded, too. There was nothing to stop the man from waking up, somehow breaking free, then walking out of the hotel room. It wasn’t just a bad decision; it was a crime. A step well above the occasional jaywalk that made up the entire history of Brooks’s lawbreaking behavior.
On top of that, he was carrying a possibly—likely—illegal weapon and willfully taking a civilian straight into what was guaranteed to be a very dangerous setting.
You could’ve said no, he reminded himself.
But when he sneaked a look at Maryse, he had to admit it wasn’t quite true. Her need to rescue her daughter herself was palpable, but underneath her outward stoicism he knew she must be terrified. Brooks had learned over the course of his career that people gave away a lot about themselves in times of immense pressure, so there were a few things about Maryse he was pretty sure of.
For one thing, he sensed she needed someone to rely on in the wake of that fear. For another, he got the feeling that she didn’t have someone like that in her life already. And he somehow doubted that going through the proper channels would provide it.
So. No. He couldn’t have said no. Not so long as he really wanted to help her, and not so long as he let his instincts and conscience have a say in the matter.
And that aside...you have no real authority in this country.
That, at least, was true. Sure, he could probably call in some favors and find a way to get a good word put in with the local police, but it wouldn’t guarantee him any insight into an ongoing investigation. So this was the best alternative to that, really. And she trusted him, at least a little.
But not enough to tell you her whole story.
That was true, too, and he wished he could find a way around it.
“Brooks?” Her hesitant voice wrapped softly around his name, interrupting his internal argument.
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“The woman on the phone was talking about money. And the guy who pretended to be the concierge mentioned it, too.”
“Pretty standard in a hostage situation like this one. If you want to pay it—”
“I would want to,” she said quickly, and with no uncertainty.
“You would want to?”
“I’d drain my bank account to get her back. But the person—or people—who took Cami didn’t ask me for money.”
“No ransom note?”
“Well. There was a note.” She chewed on her lip for a second before going on. “But it didn’t bring up any money. It sounded like they just wanted Cami and that was it.”
“Wanted her for what?”
“Personal reasons.”
Cursing himself for not asking about the terms of the kidnapping in the first place, Brooks swerved the car to the side of the road, then faced Maryse. “I know we’re strangers, and whatever secrets you’re keeping are yours and not mine. But if this is a custody issue...”
“What? No.”
“Then you really need to give me something else to go on. Something to negotiate with.”
She looked down at her hands. “I don’t know what to tell you. I didn’t think money had anything to do with this.”
Brooks fought an urge to demand to know what she’d meant by “personal reasons,” and instead he asked, “Is it possible that it’s both personal and about the money?”
“I guess it could be.”
Frustration nipped at him. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me something more?”
She lifted her eyes to meet his gaze, indecision playing across her features. Then she shook her head. “It would take more time than we’ve got. And I don’t think it would help get Cami back.”
“Maryse...”
Please, she signed. Can we just keep going?
Frustrated, he nodded curtly, then pulled the car back onto the road. She was right that time was of the essence. It always was in a kidnapping case.
He guided the car through the rest of the streets quickly, not speaking again until they reached rue Riel. He found the house with the correct address—a nondescript one-story—then circled the block and parked on the next street over. It would put them just far enough away that they wouldn’t draw attention to themselves, but would still be able to make a quick exit if necessary.
He turned to Maryse again, trying to keep his irritation from his voice. “I’m assuming I won’t be able to talk you out of coming with me.”
Her determined look was back. “No.”
“Can you at least do me a favor?”
“What favor?”
“Most of the work I do is in gangs and guns, so hostage negotiation isn’t my specialty. But this won’t be my first one. I think if Dee sees you right away and recognizes you, she’ll panic. And the last thing we need is a panicked, out-of-control kidnapper.”
“So what do you want me to do?”
“I want you to expect not to rush in there like a SWAT team. We’re not going to find an excuse to walk up to the front door and knock, either, because I highly doubt Dee White would just let us in.” He paused to make sure she understood, then went on as she nodded. “I want you to hang back. Be my lookout while I assess the layout and access points. From there, we come back to the car and we decide on our next move.”
“I can do that,” she
acquiesced quickly.
“Perfect.” He reached for the handle, but her voice stopped him before he could push the door open.
“You think I’m crazy for not telling you the whole story, don’t you?” she asked.
“Crazy? No. Not the right word.”
“Counterproductive, then.”
“It’s easier for me if I can see all of the puzzle pieces,” he admitted.
“I’ve been on my own with Cami for her entire life,” she said. “This is—literally—the first time I’ve ever trusted someone to help me with anything that has to do with her. Not because I haven’t needed or wanted it, but because it would put us both at risk. And I want your help. I really do. But it’s hard for me to make a leap this quickly.”
He examined her face. The short but impassioned confession had deepened the flush so that it covered her throat, too. It also made him want to ask a hundred other questions. But her eyes held a guarded hope, and a hint of something else, and he wanted to fulfill both desires—to help and to respect her need for privacy.
“You’re asking me to be patient,” he said slowly.
“Yes.”
“I’ll try, sweetheart. But patience has never been my strongest characteristic, and in my job, it’s hard to sit around waiting.”
“You’re a good cop, aren’t you?” she asked.
“I like to think so.”
“I didn’t mean to say that you’re good at your job...” She trailed off, a hint of pink dotting her cheeks, and her hands flashed, What I meant to say was that you’re a good man.
“I’m not perfect, but I try.”
He reached for the door handle again, but this time it was her hand that stopped him. Her fingers landed on his elbow, and warmth immediately crept up his arm.
“Brooks... Cami isn’t your job,” she reminded him softly. “And neither am I.”
Frustration slipped away at the emphatic statement. He met her eyes and nodded.
“You’re right. You’re definitely not a job.”
He gave her jawbone a light stroke, then slid from the car and hurried to the passenger side to open her door. He swung it wide, and she started to step out. As she moved, though, her boot caught on the rubber seal at the bottom of the door frame, and she fumbled a bit in an attempt to get it free. Automatically, Brooks reached down to help. One hand gripped her boot, and the other landed on the curve of her calf. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake the sudden memory of how that same calf had poked out temptingly from the bedsheet at the hotel room.
Without meaning to, he slid his fingers over it. Maryse let out a little gasp, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the heated contact or from the fact that her foot suddenly came free. When he lifted his eyes, though, he was sure it was at least partially the former. He saw desire—the same pull of attraction he felt—reflected in her gaze.
His hands lingered for another heartbeat before he forced himself to pull away, and he stood and held out his palm for her to take. For a long second, Maryse stared at him without moving.
“I’m okay,” she finally told him.
“You said you wanted my help,” he pointed out.
“I do.”
“So take it.”
She continued to hold still, and Brooks almost pulled his offer of assistance away. Then her hand snaked out and landed in his, the guarded look dropping into a smile.
“Thank you.”
And as he assisted her from the car, Brooks was sure there was something symbolic in the small, simple gesture of trust.
Chapter 8
The look in Brooks’s eyes was intense. And full of way too much meaning for five hours of knowing each other. It was also smoldering enough to take Maryse’s breath away so badly that her chest kind of ached as he led her up the sidewalk. His warm fingers wrapped around her cool ones, and his presence cut through the chill in the air and warmed her from the inside out. He continued to hold her hand until they reached the house three doors away from their destination, where he dropped it in favor of pulling her into an embrace.
“Sorry to steal your trick, but...” He trailed off, then dipped his head down and spoke into her ear. “To anyone looking, we’re just a couple of lovers on a winter stroll. So without being obvious, I want you to look past my shoulder to the corner. There’s a big tree over there. No leaves, but an enormous trunk. Tell me when you spot it.”
Maryse lifted her arms to Brooks’s shoulders, then stood up on her tiptoes and pressed her cheek to his neck. With her eyes half-open, she focused on finding the described tree.
“The oak tree?” she asked.
“That’s the one.”
“Okay. I see it.”
“Good.” One of his hands found the small of her back and rubbed it in a small, pleasant circle. “Dee White’s house is around the corner, just a few lots past the one with the tree. So when we get there, we’re going to pause again. I’m going to leave you in that spot, and I’m going to run back as if I forgot something in the car. Then I’m going to slip in between the houses on this side and approach from behind to get a look in the house, okay? If I see an opportunity to retrieve Camille, I’m going to take it.”
“And if you don’t see one?”
“Then I’ll find an excuse to get inside. Traveling vacuum cleaner salesman.”
Maryse couldn’t make herself smile. “Okay.”
He gave her a squeeze, then adjusted so that she was on his left, tucked under his arm and out of view of anyone who might be watching from Dee’s side of the street. They walked at a leisurely pace, Brooks bending to kiss her head every few steps. The intervals of affection were just enough of a distraction to keep Maryse’s nerves at bay as they approached the big tree. But when they actually reached it, her worry spiked again.
“What if none of this works?” she asked.
Brooks guided her to the oak, then pushed her back to the cool trunk and put his arms on either side of her. “It will.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I just am. If I can’t break in and take her, I promise you, I can put on a convincing show.”
“Convincing enough to make a kidnapper give up?”
He stepped closer, pushing his body to hers and pressing their foreheads together. “Trust me. In another life, I’d have been an award-winning actor.”
Maryse’s breath caught in her throat as his lips grazed hers.
“You’re that good at pretending?” she murmured against his mouth.
“Very good.” One of his hands crept up, then slid between the buttons of her coat and skimmed across her waist, and he added, “Plus...the closer it is to the truth, the easier it is to do.”
“And this is close enough to the truth to be convincing?”
“Damned straight.”
The lip graze became a full-blown kiss, sucking the air out of Maryse’s lungs. The hand Brooks had inside her coat traveled up her side, then around her back, then caressed the bottoms of her shoulder blades before it came back to her waist again. And through the exploration of her torso, the kiss got deeper. His tongue darted out to trace the lines of her mouth, then found its way inside, where it met with her own.
Maryse reacted to the attention with an eagerness that surprised her. She stroked the short edges of Brooks’s hair and kissed him back as best as she knew how. Like she was trying to make up for the last six years of abstinence in a solitary moment. She could hear her own little gasps of enthusiasm. She didn’t care. He’d said he wanted the world to see a pair of lovers, and there was no better way to do it than this. And for the too-short time that the deliberate display of affection lasted, the world around her disappeared. The cold didn’t exist. Her fear took a step into the background. Even thoughts of Camille barely dampened the intensity, especially when her
brain quietly reminded her that she was doing this for her daughter. The fact that she was enjoying it was just a tiny bonus.
And it was Brooks, not her, who at last pulled away.
“Think that’ll be convincing enough?” he said, his voice ragged and his eyes hooded.
“I think so,” Maryse breathed.
“I want you to do something else for me, okay?”
“Yes.” Her face reddened at the quick, forceful agreement, and Brooks smiled down at her.
“Reach up under the back of my sweater to the waistband of my jeans. I’ve got our friend Greg’s gun tucked back there.”
“You should hold on to it. It’ll do you more good than it will me.”
“I need you to take it. If I think you’re out here unarmed, it’ll distract me.”
“And what about you being in there unarmed?”
He shook his head. “I’ve got plenty of training and experience with hand-to-hand fighting. Can you say the same?”
“No, but—”
“Please.”
Maryse bit back an urge to tell him that she really didn’t know how to use the weapon. She was sure if she emphasized her incompetence with gun use, he’d insist she wait in the car. So she nodded instead and slid her hands to his waist, noting his sharp inhalation as she moved them along his belt until she reached the warmed metal near his back pocket.
“Got it,” she said.
“Bring it around slowly,” he replied. “And try not to shoot me.”
“Not funny.”
But she did as she was told, holding her breath as she dragged the weapon so that it was between them. Brooks’s hands closed overtop of hers, and he guided them together to the pocket on the inside of her jacket. The gun felt heavy and unnatural against her hip.
“If all else fails,” he said. “You can just whack someone in the head with it.”
“If I can even get it out fast enough. That didn’t work so well with Greg.”
“But you’re experienced now. So you can do it if you have to. And, sweetheart...if your daughter’s in there, we’re going to get her back.” He dropped another kiss on her mouth—this time lightly—then turned back up the sidewalk.
Silent Rescue Page 8