Maryse turned over the possibility in her mind. It had been bad enough to know that a gang of career criminals had Camille. It was a whole other thing to wonder if someone in law enforcement was involved, too. A police captain had an awful lot to lose if he was caught, and she didn’t want to think about what it would mean for her daughter.
She swallowed nervously. “So much for a distraction.”
“Sorry, sweetheart. I wasn’t trying to make you worry even more.”
“It’s like a snowball in my gut. It keeps building and building, and every time I think there’s a little bit of hope...” She shrugged. “The hill gets a little steeper and the snowball rolls even faster.”
“We can talk about something else, if it’ll help.”
“Is it fair that I want to say yes to that?”
“More than fair. A brain break is a good thing. It’ll give us a chance to rest. And besides that, we still have another hour until we get to the airport, then a few hours on the plane. Plenty of time to make that snowball into an avalanche.”
In spite of the heaviness in her heart, Maryse laughed. “Was that supposed to be reassuring?”
“Yep. That’s what I’m here for,” Brooks told her. “Being a butt-kicking cop is only a secondary role.”
“Before we change the subject, can I tell you one thing?”
“You can tell me anything.”
“Whatever your boss’s reason was for sending you up here...I’m glad he did. There’s no way I could do this without you.”
Chapter 14
As the conversation shifted to lighter topics—favorite foods, favorite bands and favorite pastimes—Brooks continued to sift subconsciously through the case.
He couldn’t accept that his boss was working for Nank. Or that the older man—whom he’d known since he was a kid, and who had been a friend of his own police officer father—would deliberately put Brooks in harm’s way. He itched to call the station. Might even have done it, if it weren’t for his increasingly personal obligation to Maryse.
He sneaked a glance her way. Her face was relaxed, the only hint of tension in the way her eyes darted out the window now and then. But he knew her head, like his, couldn’t be far from the details. For six years, she thought she was safe. Moving through life at her settled-ish pace. Worry always there, but pushed to the back of her mind. The small town probably seemed like a good choice.
Brooks’s thoughts paused. Why had she picked LaHache? It was quaint, no doubt. Did it have some other significance?
He tried to bring his attention back to the current conversation, but the nagging sensation of needing to connect the dots persisted.
Obviously, Maryse needed somewhere that doesn’t appear prominently on any map, but what was it about that place specifically that drew her? Was there a reason? Or was it another coincidence?
He didn’t realize he’d muttered his concerns aloud until she answered in a soft voice.
“It’s not a coincidence,” she said. “We visited LaHache when we were kids. My mom had this crazy idea that she should take us on a winter road trip. Seattle to Quebec. She grew up near Montreal, and that was our end destination. But somehow we managed to miss it. Don’t ask how—my mom always just said it was fate. But we kept driving north and eventually we hit the town. We stayed for a week. I never forgot how much fun it was or how much I liked it.”
“Did your brother feel the same?”
“Yes. I think so. I mean, Jean-Paul was always kind of flip about emotions. If things got serious, he’d make a joke and change the subject. But he once told me it was the last happy memory he had of us before our mom died.”
Brooks considered her statement, weighing what to say next. He was curious about her childhood and her relationship with her brother. He was sympathetic toward the loss of her mother, and he wondered whether her father was alive or if he was gone, too. The loss of his own parents had shaped his early adulthood. He wondered if it had shaped hers, too. But in the end, he settled for a question that might help them with their current problem instead.
“Would Jean-Paul have told anyone else about your road trip?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I never thought he’d stick with a girl long enough to— Oh.”
Brooks nodded at the clear understanding on her face. “It makes sense that if he cared enough about a woman to stick with her through the pregnancy that he might’ve trusted her enough to share a few secrets.”
“And you’re thinking that it somehow got back to Nank?”
“It’s at least a possibility.”
She frowned. “But Dee White has been in Laval for a year. The other concierge said so.”
“I have a theory about that. And—” He cut himself off as a flash in the rearview mirror caught his eye.
They’d just cleared a wide corner, and zipping out from behind the same curve was another car. It wasn’t one he recognized, but its speed was entirely unnecessary, and his gut instinct told him the motivation behind the sudden approach was anything but good.
“And what?” Maryse prodded.
“And it’s going to have to wait. Have a look behind us.”
She swiveled her head and let out a gasp. “Are they following us?”
“I’d bet my right arm on it.”
“What are we going to do?”
Brooks mentally reeled through their options. Trying to outrun the other car would be unreasonable. The highway was long, and with the exception of a few curves like the one they’d just passed, it was more or less a straight shot. Even if that hadn’t been the case, a high-speed chase along a major highway would undoubtedly draw attention. If anyone was going to get pulled over, he sure as hell didn’t want it to be them.
Deciding it would be a better bet to beat their pursuer to the next major turnoff and try to lose them in a more crowded area, he pushed down on the gas pedal, accelerating to a speed that was still within reason.
“Are we any farther ahead?” he asked, his voice as grim as his shift in mood.
Maryse, who still faced the other direction, nodded. “A little bit.”
“Good.”
A directional sign loomed ahead, bringing hope. When they neared it, though, Brooks saw that it announced that another thirty kilometers lay between them and the nearest town. A quick calculation told him that was almost twenty miles.
Too far.
A car whizzed past in the other direction, and he knew that if he punched the gas much more, someone would alert the police.
“They’re getting closer,” Maryse said, turning his way.
“Dammit.”
He shot a cursory look in the rearview mirror. The driver of the other car clearly didn’t care about getting caught. The vehicle was definitely gaining on them again.
“What’s he planning?” he muttered.
“They.”
“What?”
“It’s a couple in the front seat. They’re close enough to see.” She paused. “I’m pretty sure it’s Dee and Greg.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He knew without even looking that she had to be right. Just like he knew he never should have left the man alone in the hotel room.
But...how did they find us? And why the hell are they even bothering to?
There didn’t seem to be a point. The girl was gone. Already on her way to Nank, so—
Damn, damn, triple damn.
A possible explanation—no, a likely one—jumped to mind. They’d informed the crime boss that he and Maryse were coming, and he’d cut the couple some kind of deal in exchange for chasing them down. And even if they got away, they’d now lost the element of surprise. Which was bad.
Very bad.
“Brooks?” Her soft voice
cut through his mounting concern.
He worked to maintain his composure and to contain his worry. “Yeah, sweetheart?”
“This might sound weird...but I think I know what they’re trying to do.”
“Better tell me quick, then.”
“I know this area. I think anyone who’s driven the road between LaHache and Laval does. That means that Dee and Greg probably do, too.” She spoke rapidly, gesturing out the front windshield. “About five miles up, there’s a rest stop. A few years back there were several back-to-back crashes. They were all reported as road-rage incidents, but it turned out the same man committed all offenses.”
“He was using the road and the rest stop as a weapon.”
“And I think they’re going to try to do the same thing.”
“And this time the accident might be fatal.”
She nodded. “And if that doesn’t work, they’ll have us cornered anyway. There’s no way to get out of the rest stop without turning around completely. And it’s out of view of the road, so...”
“A good spot for an execution,” he filled in.
“Yes.” It wasn’t much more than a whisper.
“So we just don’t let ourselves be pushed off the road.”
“I don’t know if we’ll be able to avoid it. The road gets really narrow right before the turnoff. It’ll be a choice between the rest area and a ditch.”
“Then we need to get past it quicker than Dee and Greg can catch up.”
Forgoing his need to maintain a low speed and an even lower profile, Brooks pressed his booted foot to the gas pedal. The car groaned a protest, then jerked and shot forward. Another glance in the mirror told him the distance between them and their pursuers had increased only marginally. A look out the windshield also told him they hadn’t gained enough ground, either, and there was no sign yet of the infamous rest stop.
“C’mon, c’mon,” Brooks urged under his breath.
The speedometer was climbing steadily, but the car shook at the rough treatment. And Maryse had one hand squeezed tightly, gripping the seat under her thigh, and the other lifted to the handle above the door.
Brooks fought a need to slow down in order to reassure her.
Safety over comfort. But as quickly as that reminder came, so did another. Since when is driving twenty miles above the speed limit safe?
He shoved aside the thoughts and pushed on, and a few seconds later, he spotted the sign ahead. Relief flooded through him. He didn’t know yet what they would do once they passed the spot, but at least they’d have a few moments of reprieve. As he turned to tell Maryse they were almost there, his eyes skimmed over the side mirror. Then stayed there. Dee held the wheel in the car behind them. But Greg was hanging out the passenger window.
What the— Oh, crap.
Brooks barely had time to react. He swerved just as a shot echoed through the air. The bullet missed. But the abrupt motion sent his head flying into the steering wheel. A sharp pain slammed through his jaw. The world spun. The road blurred. Then—for the second time that day—everything went black.
* * *
As the car careened across the road into the wrong lane, Maryse screamed Brooks’s name, and it exited her mouth at a pitch she didn’t even recognize as her own. It was almost a shriek.
But he didn’t react. His head just slumped to one side, making her want to cover her face and hide. She wanted him to lift his face and take the wheel and guide them to safety.
But she knew the latter was unlikely and the former would get them killed. So with as much calmness as she could muster, Maryse undid her seat belt, pushed Brooks’s head back, forced her shoulder under his heavy arm and grabbed the wheel. But she knew almost immediately it was a mistake. Though she’d given herself some control over the direction of the vehicle, she’d accidentally pressed down on Brooks’s leg, sending his foot into the gas pedal. The car immediately accelerated. And lifting her elbow to release the pressure did nothing to slow it again.
Panic building, Maryse shifted her gaze from him to the front windshield. The road sloped down in front of them, and even if their speed decreased considerably more, their current course had them headed straight for a deep ditch. And if by some miracle the car managed to get enough air to carry them over the ditch instead of into it, they’d hit a solid wall of brush and trees.
And things got worse quickly.
Dee and Greg zipped past. Maryse heard a screech, and she knew they must have pulled a wild U-turn far up on the highway ahead. In a moment, the criminal duo would be bearing down on them.
She needed to slow the car. Like, two minutes ago.
Leaving one hand on the wheel, Maryse freed the other and tried to dislodge Brooks’s foot by shoving his thigh. The effort was in vain. His leg was dead weight. She shook his shoulder, but his body just slid forward even more.
“Brooks!”
He’s not going to wake up, no matter how loud you yell. Do something constructive, dammit.
Maryse lifted her gaze to the window again, and tears pricked at her eyes. Just ahead, the other vehicle had recovered from its turn. It now sat blocking the road. They clearly thought it would be enough to stop her. And it might’ve been, if she had any choice. But right that second, it was just going to result in a T-bone collision.
Maryse cast her gaze heavenward. A break. You can give me one anytime, universe.
But she was pretty sure the only break she was going to get was one she created for herself.
And how are you going to do that?
Even if she managed by some miracle to swerve out of Dee and Greg’s way, she’d likely crash the car into something else. What she needed was control of both the speed and direction of the car.
Taking a breath, she tried again to free Brooks’s foot, this time by reaching down to his calf. It was just as fruitless as her first effort. She couldn’t fit her torso between him and the steering column cover. She started to sit up again, but her hand brushed a hard piece of plastic under the seat. She paused and dragged her fingers back to it.
The adjustment handle.
Struck by an idea, she gripped it tightly and pulled. Immediately, Brooks’s seat slid back. But it wasn’t quite far enough. She grabbed the handle a second time and yanked even harder. Finally, her efforts were rewarded. The seat flew back as far as it could go. The car decelerated abruptly, and for a second, Maryse’s hand slipped from the wheel. The car skittered and jerked, the tires bumping hard against the pavement.
Thinking quickly—and knowing there wasn’t a way to move Brooks out of the seat—she clambered over the center console and straight into the unconscious man’s lap. She took hold of the wheel again, shoved one leg between both of his and found the gas pedal. In moments, she had what she needed. Or at least part of what she needed. Because she also had to come up with a plan, and judging from how close she was to where the other car was now—she could see the hot exhaust in the cold air—she had about ten seconds to do it.
Chicken.
The word popped into her mind without explanation, but it only took her a moment to figure out why it had surfaced. And only a moment more to put it into action. She held the wheel straight. She fixed her gaze on Greg, who sat in the passenger seat, his gun-arm out the window. And she slammed on the gas.
She was near enough to see the widening of the man’s eyes. He shook his head like he couldn’t believe what was happening. He flailed with the gun. He dropped it. Then he mouthed something and grabbed Dee’s arm.
Maryse pressed down harder and angled the car just an inch to the left. An adjustment that put her in line to hit the front end of the other vehicle.
Greg’s motions became frantic.
Maryse closed her eyes.
This is going to work.
She lifted her lids again wi
th just enough time to be triumphant. The tires on the other car squealed, and the scent of burning rubber filled the air as Greg kicked it into Reverse. They were almost quick enough. But not quite. The passenger side door scraped against the other vehicle’s front bumper, and the ear-piercing screech of metal on metal filled the air. Maryse held tight to the steering wheel and refused to let the grazing impact slow her down. She glanced in the rearview mirror. Dee and Greg didn’t seem to be recovering well. The frame of their car sagged down on the side, and the bumper hung to the ground in a satisfying way.
Maryse breathed out. “Chicken.”
It had been one of Jean-Paul’s favorite games. It had scared the hell out of her every time he challenged one of the other local hoodlums. He’d wrecked two cars. He’d broken ribs. He’d even had his license suspended at one point. But he’d never lost.
Thankful that she’d at last been able to channel some of her brother’s guts, Maryse continued to keep her foot firmly on the pedal for another few miles. When she was satisfied that she’d put enough distance between her and Dee and Greg, she eased up and dropped down to the speed limit. She started to lean back, then froze as Brooks groaned underneath her.
Brooks.
In the intensity of the last few moments, she’d forgotten about him. It almost made her laugh. It should’ve been impossible to forget that she had two hundred pounds of very attractive man beneath her rear end. Really impossible. And now that she was reminded he was there, she realized she was going to have to pull over and do something about it. His groan was a bit reassuring—at least he was definitely breathing—but it was still just a groan, and she needed to check on him.
She glanced at the clock. They had another hour and a half until the suggested check-in time, and probably another hour and a quarter before they actually arrived at the airport. Which meant they could stop in Laval—or one of the two towns before the city—for at least a few minutes.
But...
Silent Rescue Page 15