Silent Rescue

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  More than workable.

  He stood and zipped up the suitcase. As he lifted it from the bed and started toward the door, his reflection caught his eye again. The smile was back in full force, and there was no way he could wipe it from his face. Not completely, anyway.

  Because however bad the circumstances were, he had to admit that he was looking forward to pretending to be Maryse’s significant other.

  Chapter 11

  Maryse clicked her seat belt, then tugged it to make sure it was secure. For some reason, the tightness seemed important right that second. A little bit of added safety. Not that Brooks didn’t provide a large measure of it. His physical presence—big, strong and undeniable—was more than enough to make her feel protected.

  So why do I feel like I need something else?

  As they pulled onto the road, she eyed Brooks as surreptitiously as the small space would allow. Then swallowed as she clued in to what was bothering her. It was him. His big, strong, undeniable presence itself was making her nerves twitter uncontrollably. He made her feel safer, yes. But vulnerable, too. It got worse when he tipped his head her way and offered a smile. It was definitely an added flutter factor. And when he swiveled his gaze back to the front windshield...she wanted to see it again. She wanted to feel the syncopated rhythm of her heart.

  “I’ve never had company,” she blurted.

  She was rewarded with another glance, this one surprised. “What?”

  “At my house,” she said. “I’ve never had company.”

  “Ever?”

  “No. The closest I’ve ever come is having one of the moms from Cami’s school step inside for dropping off her kid. I’ve never even offered anyone a cup of tea.”

  “Hmm. I thought all moms were IV coffee users.”

  “Funny.” She sighed. “But I’m serious, Brooks. Even though we settled here years ago, I’ve never felt settled.”

  “You were afraid of letting anyone in.”

  “Literally and figuratively.”

  “But Camille has friends.”

  “She’s made a few at school. But the program she’s in is small, and with her deafness...” Maryse shrugged. “She’s not exposed to big groups, and she kind of keeps to herself.”

  Brooks was silent for a minute before replying. “You know that I’m not going to judge you based on how dusty your knickknacks are, right, sweetheart?”

  “I know.”

  “So what are you worried about?”

  “Everything.”

  “Something less vague might be helpful.”

  Maryse squeezed her hands into fists. She’d already told him more than she’d told anyone. There wasn’t another soul on the planet who knew about her brother and who he was to Camille.

  Except Caleb Nank and whoever took her on his behalf.

  Her stomach knotted. That truth alone was enough to motivate her to speak.

  “I’m worried that if I do let someone in, it’ll become an expectation. They’ll come over unexpectedly. They’ll expect tea.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Whoa, what?”

  “That’s a lot of uses of expect and its various forms.”

  “Whoops. Sorry.”

  Brooks’s hand dropped down to nudge her knee teasingly. “Should be.”

  She sighed and leaned back against the headrest. “All I’ve ever wanted to do was keep Camille safe and happy. When my brother left her behind and told me to run, I did. For a full year, I moved around, assuming at every step that someone was watching. But it’s hard to do with a kid—especially one who needs regular medical attention. And I was never very adventurous.”

  “So you crossed the border and found a place so cold that no one in their right mind would follow?”

  “I crossed the border because I thought maybe whoever was after us wouldn’t be able to. And because I finally clued in that maybe my brother left us the passports for a reason.” She corrected with a smile. “And it does get hot here in the summer, just FYI.”

  “Right.”

  “Seriously. We have a pond on our property. In July, we use it for swimming, and in January, we use it for ice-skating.”

  “I’m guessing you actually ice-skate October through April, then chip away at the permafrost for a single, icy plunge at high noon on one mid-July day.”

  In spite of herself, Maryse laughed, and some of the tension in her body eased. “Sometimes we go sledding.”

  “Sledding?”

  “You know. Sliding down a snow-covered hill?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, I know what sledding is, sweetheart. I just prefer sitting in my pool on a piece of inflatable plastic to sitting in the snow on a piece of wood. Less chance of splinters or broken legs, and the only thing that’s cold is my beer.”

  “Well. So long as you have a hobby you love.”

  “You don’t have one?”

  “Besides sledding and ice-skating and my annual polar bear swim?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  Maryse took a moment to think about it. And she was stumped. She had as few hobbies as she did friends.

  “Nothing?” Brooks pushed.

  She shook her head. “I guess not. Everything I do is with Camille. Or for her.”

  “Ah.”

  Her cheeks warmed. “It’s not as lame as it sounds.”

  “It doesn’t sound lame.”

  “No?”

  “No,” he said, his face serious. “I’m impressed by your commitment to her.”

  “That sounds like something someone would say if they wanted to offer admiration for something lame that they would never want to do themselves.”

  “So you do have a hobby.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Psychoanalysis.”

  A lopsided grin tipped up his mouth, and Maryse’s pulse jumped. Then it tripled as he dropped a wink her way.

  “You might want to find a new one, though,” he added. “You’re not good at this one.”

  “I’m not?” The question came out a little breathy.

  “Uh-uh. You clearly can’t tell the genuine admiration from the grudging kind.”

  “Maybe it’s just hard to imagine that you think sacrificing any semblance of a personal life for the sake of my kid—”

  “Stop right there.”

  Maryse blinked at the abrupt change in his tone. “Why? I mean—”

  He cut her off a second time. “If we weren’t in such a hurry, I’d pull over the car dramatically and tell you exactly how wrong you are about what I think of everything you’ve done for that little girl. Even though you don’t know Nank, or anything about him, you must’ve known it was dangerous. So I don’t just admire you. It’s incredible to me, Maryse, that you put aside your life to raise her.”

  The heat in her cheeks came back, this time searing. “I’ve broken a few laws in the process, I’m sure.”

  “More than a few, I’m sure,” he replied.

  “And you’re a cop.”

  “I am.”

  “So I’m not all that admirable from a cop’s point of view.”

  He went quiet, and for several long minutes, the silence hung between them heavily. They were out of the main part of the city now, and heading toward the small community where Maryse lived. She kept her gaze ahead, her eyes on the increasingly bare landscape. She was afraid that if she looked directly at Brooks, the tears that waited just under the surface would find their way out.

  It wasn’t that she was intentionally selling herself short. She knew she’d made hard decisions, then stayed committed. But that didn’t mean what she’d done was above criticism. And if anyone could find the flaws in her chosen path, it was a police officer like Brooks. He’d said he wasn�
�t perfect. A statement she could relate to easily.

  She stared out the windshield, thinking about what she could’ve done differently. It was a question—a series of questions, really—that had kept her awake for a lot of nights. Especially in the beginning. Could she have gone to the authorities back then? Tried to clear her brother’s name?

  Anything at all?

  Brooks’s voice—firm but soft—interrupted the old, internal worries.

  “I’m a cop,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean I only see things in black and white. And it doesn’t mean you should’ve made a different choice.”

  Another twinge of doubt bit at her. “But maybe if I’d made different choices, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Or maybe Nank would’ve got his way a long time ago.” Brooks’s hands were tight on the wheel. “You made the right choices, sweetheart. Camille is lucky to have you as her mom.”

  “Thank you.”

  It was funny that hearing him say it was so soothing. Her dedication had been unwavering for six years, and though she questioned the steps that got her where she was, she hadn’t had a moment of regret. In fact, aside from the fear of being caught—which had become more and more muted over time—Maryse had never thought she was missing anything. She said as much aloud, and Brooks’s grip loosened. It was almost as though he’d been genuinely concerned that she might not feel that way.

  Strange.

  “I’ve always thought parenting required a special kind of selflessness,” he said to her, shaking his head a little as he spoke. “Not everyone has it, and not everyone is willing to try and gain it, either.”

  And something in his tone made her sure he was no longer talking about her and Camille.

  * * *

  If Brooks could’ve somehow reached his foot around to kick his own butt, he would’ve. He hadn’t meant to leave a potential opening like that.

  But you did, didn’t you?

  Maryse’s next question, spoken in a carefully neutral voice, told him she’d picked up on the fact that he’d been referring to more than the current situation.

  “You don’t think you could do it?” she asked.

  Brooks heard the secondary implication in spite of her casual tone. Or maybe you just don’t want to?

  It bothered him that she might think that. So much so that it overrode his general need to keep his past to himself.

  “Me?” he said. “No.”

  “No?” She sounded disappointed.

  “I don’t think I could do it. I know I could. I wanted to, in fact.”

  “You did?”

  “Try not to sound too surprised.”

  She colored. “If you wanted to, how come you didn’t?”

  Brooks smiled. “Unlike you...I didn’t have a baby left on my doorstep. And the conventional way requires a woman.”

  “Right.”

  He didn’t have to look over at her to know that the pink in her cheeks had likely turned crimson.

  His smile widened for a second, then fell as he told her the truth. “If I’m being honest...I had the woman. Or thought I did.”

  “What happened?”

  Surprising himself, he didn’t hesitate. “My girlfriend—fiancée, actually, for all of about three weeks—and I were looking for a house. We’d been shopping since I gave Gia the ring, and we just couldn’t seem to find something we both liked. She was pushing for a condo. But I’d been renting an apartment for years, and I was over the single guy life and ready to move on to something more. She kept complaining about her parents’ house and how perfectly domestic it was and telling me how she didn’t want that.”

  “Hard to find a compromise,” Maryse said.

  “Very,” Brooks agreed. “There’s not much middle ground between a one-bedroom condo and a four-bedroom house with a white picket fence. And believe me, we tried. Row homes and bigger, ground-level suites. I finally found one I thought could be perfect. A bungalow with three bedrooms. Big yard. Pool. Good neighborhood and close to schools. I was pretty damned excited to show it to her.”

  “But she didn’t like it?”

  “She hated it. Found fault in every bit of it. We were standing in the middle of the living room having this quiet argument while the Realtor stood awkwardly to one side. I got frustrated, and I told Gia that I didn’t want to move again in a few years. She had no clue what I meant. When I brought up kids and needing space for them, she was shocked. Told me she never wanted kids. And that shocked me. The fight ended, and so did our relationship.” He paused and chuckled, finding true amusement in the memory for the first time. “Feel a bit sorry for that sales agent now. Although I did buy the house, so I guess I shouldn’t feel too bad.”

  “You bought it?”

  “I said it was perfect, didn’t I?”

  “But...weren’t you worried about it being a bad reminder?”

  “No. Well. Maybe for a few days. Then I decided it was ridiculous to pass up on a good deal that suited what my future needs. And the truth is...” He trailed off, wondering what it was that compelled him to disclose everything.

  He cast a sidelong look at Maryse. She was leaning forward a little, her body language telling him she was interested in what he had to say. There was no judgment in her eyes, no indication that she had any bad feelings about his story.

  “The truth is what?” she prodded, sounding curious rather than prying.

  Brooks plunged on. “After those few days, I didn’t feel like I was missing anything. Gia and I were a couple, and then we weren’t. I sifted through my life and I realized how little we had in common. How rarely our priorities lined up. It seemed strange that we’d managed a harmonious, four-year relationship at all. We weren’t meant to be together. I was actually glad it was over.”

  Maryse didn’t answer, and for a moment, he thought the admission wasn’t sitting right with her. The old guilt—not over ending the relationship, but over the fact that he was happy about its demise—crept in. But when Maryse did speak, it was clear that she understood.

  “And you feel bad about that,” she stated. “Because you’re not supposed to be glad when an engagement gets broken.”

  “Exactly. Gia dealt with it properly. Called her friends and rallied them into a frenzied hatred. Had her dad come by and tell me where to go. She was basically a montage of breakup clichés.”

  “Did she flush the ring down the toilet?”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. “Returned it and used the money to buy herself a solo vacation.”

  From the corner of his eye, he caught her smile as it tipped her mouth into a tempting curve. “Perfect.”

  “Pretty much. And she came back from Mexico much happier, actually.”

  “The power of tequila and cabana boys.”

  “Yep.”

  “Did her good mood last?”

  Brooks felt his jaw want to tighten, and he forced it to stay loose. “Not really. Mostly my fault. I wasn’t miserable enough for her. She wanted the screaming and the crying and all the other emotional crap.”

  “But you couldn’t fake it.”

  “No.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Hid in the house she hated. Went to work and came home and not much else. After a few months, Gia decided that was good enough. My hermit status had to be an indicator of my unhappiness. She spread that around town, everyone assumed I was as heartbroken as she was, and a year later Gia moved away and life carried on.”

  “Did you stop wanting that life?”

  “The kids and the white picket fence? Not at all. Just never found the right woman.”

  The statement carried an undeniable weight. And suddenly, Brooks was picturing her in the life she was asking about. Maryse, seated at his handcrafted wood table. Maryse, loungin
g on a chair beside his pool. And Camille, too. Her little blond head bobbing as she pranced around the cactus-dotted garden. The three of them laughing together as Brooks struggled to keep up with their rapid-fire sign language.

  Seriously? he chastised himself. You’re imagining all of that? Now? Already?

  “Brooks?”

  He felt a trickle of heat crawl up his neck, and if he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought he was about to blush. Had she read something into his silence? If so...how much?

  He cleared his throat and adjusted his collar. “Yeah?”

  “The turn is just up there.”

  He blinked and refocused his attention on the landscape. In spite of the relatively short distance traveled, the scenery had changed dramatically. The city had given way to country, and a big green sign ahead announced that they were nearing LaHache, the town where Maryse and Camille lived. He flicked on the turn signal and followed the curve of the road. In moments, the highway was invisible. In its place was a long strip of frozen farmland—pretty but cold.

  “So this is home?” Brooks asked.

  “Is it weird to say home-ish?” Maryse replied.

  “Weird, yes. Surprising, no.”

  “No?”

  “Mmm-mmm. Like you said, you never felt settled. I’m guessing LaHache was just a safe option for you. Far from the threat, and—” He cut himself off as something about his own words made his mind buzz.

  “What?”

  “I’m not sure,” Brooks admitted. “Something about what I just said makes me want to sit at my desk at the PD, make a bunch of charts, then draw a bunch of lines connecting things together.”

  “If you had time.” She sounded apologetic now.

  “Kidnapping cases are always time sensitive, sweetheart. This is only different because I don’t have a collection of other detectives and police resources at my fingertips. And before you say anything, that’s not your fault, either, and I’m not even close to asking you to let me get some reinforcements in. I respect your decision.”

  “Brooks...”