“Which you did. And which you are.”
“Yes. But he doesn’t know that I’m helping you. Which is why I need you to put on a convincing act.”
“By doing what?”
“Letting me make it look real.”
Maryse took several slow breaths. Then nodded. Something was off. But once again, she couldn’t argue. She didn’t see herself as having another choice.
* * *
Brooks paced the length of the living room for what had to be the hundredth time. He half expected to look down and see a path worn through the rug. He glanced up to the door, waiting. Masters hadn’t turned up with the pizza yet, and Maryse seemed to be taking an extra-long time in the shower. In fact, he didn’t know how the water couldn’t be ice-cold.
He paced again. Then paused. Since knocking on the bathroom door, his stomach had been churning. Something was off but he couldn’t point to what. Though he was being sarcastic before when he said he’d like to just confront Nank directly, he was really considering it now. Nank believed taking Camille settled some kind of debt between him and Maryse’s dead brother. As far as Brooks knew—and he was more than familiar with the shady undertakings involved—keeping his business intact was the only thing that motivated the man. Sure, the guy had to have some pride. But pride was something that got in the way of success. Just like greed.
Brooks paused in front of the sea of sticky notes, staring hard at the one with Caleb Nank’s name in thick black writing.
“Not you, buddy,” he said aloud to the empty room, then strode back and forth past the coffee table again.
The thing that made Nank stand out in a world of prideful, greedy criminals...he didn’t appear to be either. Not really. He wanted money. He had money. He held on to the money. His business thrived, but it didn’t swell to the point of breaking. There was no overreaching, and that was the key. Nank wasn’t after an empire; he was content with a slow rise and keeping what he had.
Brooks paused a second time. Maybe that’s it.
Whatever debt Nank felt he was owed jeopardized what he had going. What could a six-year-old deaf child have to do with the man’s underhanded business? Camille had been an infant when Maryse took her from the Las Vegas area. She couldn’t have witnessed anything that happened.
He ran a frustrated hand over his chin. Again, he felt like he was missing some key piece.
No concrete connection between Dee and his own boss.
No concrete connection between Nank and the kid.
“C’mon,” he muttered. “Give me something.”
As if on cue, a sharp rap that sounded from outside the room grabbed his attention. It was intrusive—more than a knock but less intense than the sound of someone trying to break in. He stilled, his eyes darting toward the bedroom. Maryse was still in there, unguarded. Unclothed, even.
The bang came again, and Brooks didn’t know which direction to move. He wanted to warn her immediately, but if he could head off the intruders before they even got inside, it would be better.
Assuming you can stop them.
He hadn’t thought to ask Masters about a weapon, or about who else might know about the safe house.
Stupid.
A third thump told him whoever was there was growing impatient. He wished he didn’t have to go past the front door to get to the kitchen. There’d be more options in there for something to be used as a defensive weapon. A knife. A cleaver. Hell. He’d gladly take a pepper mill at the moment.
He swept his gaze across the room, searching quickly. Aside from the mess they’d brought in with them, it was tidy. Almost free of adornment. Then his eyes landed on the bookshelf. Lots of reading material for anyone who had to be holed up there for a while, but it wasn’t the books themselves that caught his attention. It was a small, horse-shaped bookend.
Brooks strode toward the shelf and snagged the item in question. It was solid—probably brass—and fit in his palm perfectly with the legs sticking out between his fingers.
“Okay,” he muttered.
Careful to keep as quiet as possible, and avoiding the windows—which were covered, but could still give him away in a silhouette—he turned his determined gait toward the knocking. He inched closer to the door, stopping only when he was near enough to reach out and touch it. He pressed his hands against the wood and peered through the peephole.
“Damn,” he swore as he pulled back.
He didn’t know who he’d been expecting to find, but it sure as hell hadn’t been his boss. Taking a wary stance, he slid the multiple locks open and swung the door wide.
Captain Fell had his fist raised and ready for another smack on the door. When he spotted Brooks, he dropped his hand to his side. Close to his holstered weapon.
“Detective Small,” he greeted in a growl. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I feel like I should be asking you the same question,” Brooks replied.
The other man’s eyes found the brass horse. “You planning on poking my eyes out with that thing?”
“Not yours, specifically.”
“Expecting bad news?”
“Pizza, actually.”
“You want to tell me—You know what? Never mind. I’ll ask later.” His boss frowned, then shook his head. “Where is she?”
Brooks tensed. “Why?”
“Because she’s in a mess of trouble.”
“You going to be more specific?”
“You going to let me in?”
“I’m guessing I don’t have much choice.”
Captain Fell smiled a toothy smile. “Not so much. This safe house is property of the LVMPD, after all.”
Brooks sighed and stepped out of the way. His boss tipped his head and slipped inside.
“Lead the way,” the other man said.
He started to gesture toward the living room, but a thought made him stop. “You didn’t know I was here?”
“No.”
“What about Maryse?”
“Who?”
“The woman who’s in a whole mess of trouble.”
His boss turned his way. “What are you talking about?”
“Maryse LePrieur,” Brooks said. “The person you’re looking for.”
“I’m looking for Deanna Whitehorse.”
“Who?”
“A fugitive.”
Brooks stared at his boss for a long moment. “Deanna Whitehorse.”
“That’s what I said.”
Dee White.
Fear reared in his heart.
“She’s—” His boss cut himself off. “What the hell’s the matter, Small?”
He didn’t bother to answer. He pushed past the other man and bolted up the hall. He slammed into the bedroom and pounded on the bathroom door.
“Maryse!”
The water still hit the tub, but there was no answer. Why the hell hadn’t he listened to his gut?
“Maryse!”
This time, he didn’t wait for a reply. He drew back a few feet, lifted his boot and smashed it full force into a spot right below the doorknob. The wood heaved and gave way immediately. The door flew back and hit the wall with a resounding thump.
Empty.
“Damn, damn, damn!” Brooks hollered, kicking the door once again.
He spun back and smacked straight into Captain Fell.
“Small!” snapped the other man. “What the hell is going on?”
“She’s gone.”
“Deanna Whitehorse?”
“Maryse. And I need to go, too.”
His boss slapped a hand onto his shoulder. “Back the truck up. Who’s Maryse? I got an anonymous tip telling me Deanna Whitehorse would be at this address, willing to talk if I showed up alone. No mention of you, no menti
on of anyone named Maryse.”
Brooks shook off the captain’s grip and pushed back into the bathroom, scanning for a clue. His eyes landed on the mirror. He took three quick steps toward it, then snatched up the picture tucked into its corner.
Camille.
There was no mistaking the passport-sized photo. He spun back to his boss and held it out.
“Here.”
“What is it? A picture of a little girl?”
“Evidence.”
“That you’re putting your prints all over?” Captain Fell’s face screwed up in irritation. “Listen, Small—”
Brooks spoke over his boss’s words. “No, you listen. I have to—”
A groan cut them both off, and they turned together. Masters stood in the bedroom door frame, one hand on his head. He nodded at Brooks, then cringed and eyed up the captain nervously.
“Hey, boss,” he greeted him.
“You’re involved in this, too?” Fell threw up his hands. “Of course you are. Why am I even asking?”
Masters smiled weakly. “You guys know that tiny little woman with a bad attitude? I’m pretty damned sure she knocked me out and stole my cousin’s taxi.”
Brooks didn’t think his heart could drop any further, but it did. “She took her.”
His partner and his boss answered in unison, “What?”
“Dee White. Deanna flipping Whitehorse. She took Maryse and she left you that message, Captain, because she knew you’d try to stop me from chasing after her. I guarantee it.” He snagged the picture back. “And this is the clue Maryse left behind to tell me, in case I didn’t figure it out on my own.”
Realizing he sounded a bit wild and out-of-control, but not able to do anything about it—and maybe not wanting to because, so help him, if Dee brought Maryse to Nank, he’d lose it for real—he tried to shove past his visibly groggy partner. Masters’s hand shot out and closed on his elbow. He tried to shake it away like he had with Fell’s grip, but his partner wasn’t shy about squeezing harder and holding him in place.
“C’mon, man,” Masters said. “We’ve got holes to fill in. The captain can help us with that. Give you some insight. Making a move without a plan and with bad information never works out.”
“I’m wasting time,” he growled.
“You’re going to waste more time if you take off like this. Five minutes.”
Brooks ground his teeth together. “Five minutes. But I swear to God, Captain, if you can’t help me, I’ll hand over my badge right now and walk straight through the door without looking back.”
Finally, like he knew he couldn’t win the argument, his boss lifted his hands in acquiescence.
Brooks spun, snapping over his shoulder, “Four minutes and forty-five seconds.”
Chapter 20
Brooks stared at his boss, incredulity filling his mind as he turned over the revelation the other man had just provided. Captain Fell sat on the couch, looking—for the first time since Brooks had met him—old and tired. His shoulders slumped, his sharp gaze was dull, and his suit was rumpled and too big. He’d said nothing for the last few moments, and it was Brooks who finally prodded him to add something new.
“You can’t be serious,” he said.
Captain Fell nodded. “I am.”
“You’ve been following a series of anonymous tips?”
“They’ve all panned out so far.”
“That’s...”
“Reckless?” the other man filled in. “I know.”
“Insane,” Brooks corrected.
“We’re required to follow up on any credible tips,” his boss reminded him.
“And log it. And inform the officers involved.”
“I did. The first couple of times. They were little drug busts.”
“Nank’s men?”
“Nank’s competition.”
“It never occurred to you that it might be Nank himself, stringing you along so he could solidify his own hold over the trade?”
The captain sighed. “Of course it did. But it still got us busts, Detective.”
“That’s all that matters?”
“If no one is getting hurt or killed in the process. It’s our job to take these guys off the street. I didn’t break any laws.”
“Maybe a few moral codes.”
“Maybe,” the other man acquiesced.
“And just so we’re clear...you sent me to another country on forced leave based on one of these tips?”
“Don’t make it sound like more than it is.”
“More than it is?” Brooks felt his hands start to ball into fists, reminded himself that his boss’s stupidity had led him to Maryse, then forced his fingers to relax. “How does this connect back to Deanna Whitehorse?”
Captain Fell shrugged. “Got a call this evening, telling us that a fugitive with that name would be coming through the airport. Got a description and a time, contacted TSA to get permission to grab her from the baggage area. Thought they changed their minds and scooped her instead. At least I did until I got the second call.”
Brooks inhaled. “You’re still being played. I’m 99.9 percent sure it was Nank’s men who snagged Dee. What’s she wanted for?”
“Fraud. Identity theft.”
“You verified that?”
Fell gave him an annoyed look. “Of course I did. Looked her up in the database. Got arrested on some con charges a few years back.”
“How many years back?”
“Why does it matter?”
Brooks shook his head, not even sure why he’d asked. It was just the first question that popped into his head, and it seemed significant.
“It just does,” he said vaguely.
“Maybe seven or eight? Can’t remember the exact date.”
Brooks’s fists were growing tight again. Eight years ago. When Jean-Paul Kline, posing as Elias Franco, had come to him. The first time he’d heard the name Caleb Nank. It might’ve been a coincidence. Except something told him it wasn’t. A half a dozen emotions played through him. Anger. Fear. Confusion. Something that bordered on paranoia. He forced them all aside to focus on what he needed to do right that second—get to Maryse. And a thought occurred to him then.
“Masters...the taxi... Does it have a GPS tracking system?”
“It could,” his partner replied.
“Can you find out?”
“Yeah. Gonna be an awkward conversation with my cousin, though.”
“I’ve got nothing but the utmost faith in you.”
“Flattery?”
“Honesty.”
Masters sighed. “All right. Give me a minute.”
He slipped from the room, phone in hand, and Brooks turned back to their boss. “I need your car and your gun.”
“I’d like to think you’re kidding.”
He shook his head and seized on the one thing he knew his boss valued most—his career. “Not even close. And I’m not above blackmailing you to get both. I’m happy to place a call to the chief and ask him how he feels about the Rain Falls captain running operations based on questionable anonymous tips.”
“To save this woman? Maryse? Explain to me again who she is to you.”
“She’s...everything.” It was a lame statement, and Brooks knew it.
His boss did, too, if the eyebrow raise he received as a result was any indication. “Bit of a leap.”
“Bit of the truth,” Masters interjected as he came back in.
Their boss turned to Brooks’s partner, the eyebrow still up. “Now you’re kidding me, right? At the moment, I’m searching for a reason not to suspend you and you’re still going to jump in with that?”
Masters shrugged. “Love, right? What’re you gonna do?”
Brooks sighed and waved off the topic. “Any luck with your cousin?”
“Good news. The taxi is wired. I told him we’re thinking of something new for the squad cars and he gave me the password for his tracking system. All you gotta do is let me download the app for you, and it’ll pinpoint the location within a block or two.”
Hope squeezed through the worry, and Brooks held out his phone. “Good enough.”
“You want backup?”
He shook his head. “Just because I’m letting my heart run my body doesn’t mean you need to risk your life, too.”
“You know it’s not like that,” his partner replied.
“You’ve got a wife and two kids at home, Masters. They need you a hell of a lot more than I do.” He turned back to his boss. “Keys and gun, Captain. Please.”
Fell reached into his coat reluctantly, then handed both over. “We’re both going to lose our jobs if this goes south.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
“Sure as hell hope she’s worth it.”
“She is.” Brooks managed a smile. “And don’t worry. If we take down Nank in the cross fire, I’ll make sure you get the credit.”
He tucked his reprogrammed phone into his pocket, fit the gun into his belt, then looped the key ring around his index finger. He moved toward the front door. Then paused as his gaze caught a flicker of movement on the other side of the drawn curtain. A quick peek told him that a neutral-colored SUV had pulled in behind Captain Fell’s vehicle, blocking it in.
He stepped back into the living room and asked in a hushed voice, “Either of you expecting anyone?”
“Nope,” said Masters, while their boss shook his head.
“Anyone know where you guys are?”
He got the same response for his second question, and he dropped a curse under his breath. “I think we’ve got some trouble.”
Masters came to his feet immediately, fumbling for a weapon. Brooks already had his—the one he’d procured from his boss—on the ready. Accustomed to working together, the two men formed a shield around their captain.
“Think we have time to get to the back door?” Masters asked in a low voice.
Brooks shook his head. “Nank’s men are smart. Probably covering it before they even try to get in. Bedrooms?”
Silent Rescue Page 21