A teenage Jean-Paul turned on Saul Black.
The bust led to Saul’s death. And the death of his son. Of Anne’s son.
Brooks remembered what Maryse had said about her brother going through a particularly rough patch when he was eighteen. Probably right around the time. The guilt would’ve been overwhelming.
Then...fast-forward a few years. Jean-Paul has a child of his own. A child Anne feels is owed to her.
“Holy hell,” he muttered.
“Small?”
“Masters, I need a connection between Nank and Anne Black.”
“Didn’t you hear anything I just told you?”
“No.”
His partner swore, then said, “They’re the same person.”
“What?”
“I was sitting there, staring at the name when it hit me. Caleb Nank. If you rearrange the letters, they make her name, too. Caleb Nank is her ultimate pseudonym.”
Brooks’s eyes whipped to the building. Maryse—the woman he was damned sure he was in love with—was trapped in there with the slipperiest criminal he’d encountered in twelve years of police work. And the criminal in question had a personal vendetta against Maryse’s daughter.
He slammed his phone off, dropped it into his pocket and hit the ground at a dead run.
* * *
Maryse shook with fear, her eyes darting between her daughter and the petite woman with a gun.
Dee smiled, cold and dark. “I take it you found my girls. One of them was her mother, you know.”
Maryse knew without being told that she was talking about the stack of boxed-up identities in the room behind her. And she wished she was impervious to the bait. But she wasn’t. Especially not with her daughter’s life hanging in the balance. She stared at the other woman, waiting for the smug explanation she knew had to be coming.
“He was working for me then, even though he hadn’t figured it out yet,” Dee said with a shrug. “And I was content to leave it that way. I’d already been waiting for five years, so what was another bit of time? He was trying hard to stay straight. Really thought his gig with People With Paper would pan out. Figured out quickly that it wouldn’t, though. I didn’t even realize until it was too late. He’d already gone to your detective. He thought he was smart. He thought he could outsmart me. Pretty obvious in the end that he wasn’t quite so clever.”
Maryse drew in a breath, still not making complete sense of what the other woman was saying, but knowing she had to keep her talking. “But it wasn’t enough, you said before. You killed Jean-Paul. I’m guessing his girlfriend died in the fire, too. But it didn’t make you feel any better.”
“For a little while, it did. I thought I got all three of them. That I destroyed his family the way he destroyed mine.”
“What happened?”
“I found out that she lived.” Dee gestured toward Cami, who stood wide-eyed and still.
“How?”
“Dumb luck. I’d been trying to find ways to move my girls across the border. I started feeling around for a place to set up shop. I was in Laval. You were in Laval. Shopping, maybe, I don’t know. I saw your daughter and bam. I just knew. She looks exactly like her father. And I knew that was what I’d been missing. She was what I needed.”
Maryse blinked. “Who the hell are you?”
The answer came from behind her instead of from in front of her. “She’s Caleb Nank.”
Brooks.
God, she was relieved to hear his voice. And terrified by what he’d said.
“Or Anne Black. Or Dee. Or maybe Deanna,” he added. “Depending on who you ask.”
And suddenly it all clicked. Nank and Dee were the same person. Maryse couldn’t fight a gasp. Brooks’s hand landed on her shoulder, but his reassurance did little to ease the frightened thump of her heart.
“Why’d you send me to Laval, Anne?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I was hoping you’d get yourself killed. You’re a sucker for anything related to the Nank case.”
“Couldn’t just walk up and kill me?”
“I could’ve. But where’s the fun in that? I like being in charge, Detective Small. I like pulling the strings and pretending I’m on the sidelines when I’m really the ringmaster.”
“The long con.”
“More or less.”
“Like with Jean-Paul. You held him responsible for your son’s death and you were perfectly happy to drag out his punishment.”
“He is responsible. He turned us in. Turned Saul in. If he’d just kept his mouth shut...”
“So now what?” Brooks asked, and Maryse tensed, waiting for an answer she knew she wouldn’t like.
“Depends,” Dee replied. “Do you want things to be hard? Or easy?”
She missed the rest of the interaction because her eyes were drawn to her daughter, who was gesturing in ASL. Tiny motions, almost unreadable.
The man behind you?
Maryse tipped her head just enough. Yes.
He says he loves you.
She swallowed, her heart aching so badly it burned. Yes.
Do you love him?
Yes?
Weird.
Maryse fought the tiniest smile. Yes.
He talks funny. He wants us to count to three and then lie on the floor.
He does?
Yes.
Then we probably should. Ready?
A small nod.
One, Maryse signed.
Two, added her daughter.
“Three,” Brooks whispered.
Maryse hit the ground, watching to make sure Cami did the same. As they landed, Brooks’s arm came up. The flash of metal warned her of what was about to come, and she reached across the floor to drag her daughter closer. The shot reverberated through the hall, and she didn’t have to look up to see that Brooks had met his mark. Dee—Anne Black—fell backward, and the big cop strode forward, his weapon still raised.
Maryse sat up and drew Cami into her arms, careful to keep the carnage out of sight. She opened her mouth, but whatever she was about to say was drowned out as a noisy, too-close thump filled the air.
A helicopter?
She tossed a worried look at Brooks, but he just shot her a smile in return.
“Masters,” he yelled over the noise.
And in minutes, the building was teeming with cops. Then with paramedics. A hundred voices flooded through, and though she clung to Cami, she quickly lost sight of Brooks. Before she could find him again, she found herself wrapped in a blanket, seated beside her daughter in one of the helicopters. Cami was already asleep, but Maryse was too wired to even think about resting. All she wanted was to see Brooks. To get some more answers and to hear him explain all the bits and pieces. But the sea of people was too thick, the hum of movement too overwhelming. Just as panic set in, his warm, familiar body slammed into the seat across from her. His knees brushed her, and he reached out to touch her face.
“Your brother was a hero, sweetheart,” he said.
She nodded. That much, she’d picked up on. He’d tried to do the right thing. He’d succeeded in saving Camille. And for that, Maryse would be thankful forever.
“Is it really over?” she asked, her voice raw.
“Over-ish,” he said.
“What?”
He bent forward and brushed his lips across hers before answering. “I don’t want to say over, because I have a whole hell of a lot of more work to do. Questions to answer, lists to cross off. It’s gonna be a while before all of this calms down.”
A twinge of disappointment hit her. “Oh.”
“But one thing’s for sure,” he added. “Camille and you won’t be separated. I made damned sure of that.”
There wer
en’t enough words to express her gratitude for the reassurance, so she settled for the simplest. “Thank you.”
Brooks leaned back as the helicopter whirred to life. But he wasn’t done talking yet. His hands flashed.
There’s another thing that makes me pretty sure it’s not over. That funny little person on your lap did give you my message, right?
Maryse’s face warmed. To count to three and drop?
That, Brooks replied. And the other bit. No big deal. Just that I love you.
Now her whole body heated. She did.
And?
And I love you, too.
See? he signed. Not over. Just beginning.
And for the first time in six years, Maryse wasn’t worried about what the next day would bring.
* * * * *
If you loved this suspenseful story, don’t miss
the exciting first book in Melinda Di Lorenzo’s
brand-new series, coming in September 2017!
And don’t forget her previous books:
WORTH THE RISK
LAST CHANCE HERO
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Don’t miss TAKE IT TO THE GRAVE!
A 6-part psychological thriller that will have you guessing till the very end!
“I know your secret. I’m going to tell.”
As Sarah Taylor-Cox stares at the anonymous letter, her body starts to shake with dread. She has everything to lose—a gorgeous husband, a beautiful baby, and a picture-perfect house in the Hamptons. And now, the lies she’s built her life on are starting to crumble, one by deadly one...
Collect all 6!
Take It to the Grave (Part 1 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Take It to the Grave (Part 2 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Take It to the Grave (Part 3 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Take It to the Grave (Part 4 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Take It to the Grave (Part 5 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Take It to the Grave (Part 6 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
“I know your secret. I’m going to tell.”
As Sarah Taylor-Cox stares at the anonymous letter, her body starts to shake with dread. She has everything to lose—a gorgeous husband, a beautiful baby, and a picture-perfect house in the Hamptons. And now, the lies she’s built her life on are starting to crumble, one by deadly one...
Keep reading for a sneak peek at the first episode of
Take It to the Grave (Part 1 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Prologue
The clouds gather thick and furious, shutting out the sun.
The smell of ozone is intense, warning me more effectively than the grumbling thunder. A storm is coming—a big one, perhaps the worst we’ve had in years.
The thought of Elliot gets me moving.
Elliot, with his soft skin and plump cheeks, the darling dimples at his elbows. Just four months old.
An image of another baby, another time, creeps into my mind, but I push it away, stumbling on the damp sand. The nightgown my husband is enamored with twists and turns in the growing wind, tangling between my thighs. I long to tear off the slick fabric, but I don’t dare take the time. I have to find my child.
“Elliot!” I scream his name even though he is too young to answer.
The thunder makes a mockery of my cries, stealing my breath before I can try again.
It’s no use, anyway.
The beach is empty.
Waves throw themselves at the shore again and again, churning themselves into foam.
The ocean fizzes around my ankles and I climb farther up the shore to keep from getting dragged into the angry water. My foot comes down on a broken shell, but I ignore the pain as it cuts through the skin. The agony that swells in my chest at the thought of losing my son is far worse than the throb of my wounded heel.
I can’t lose him—he’s everything.
Please don’t hurt him. Not Elliot. He’s so innocent...
But all babies are innocent, aren’t they?
The rain, when it comes, is as enraged as the ocean, and I’m soaked through in an instant. I can’t bear the thought of my sweet little boy in this downpour. He doesn’t have his jacket. The image of Elliot, shivering and turning blue in his little sleeper, drives me forward. My eyes strain to see in the dim light, every breath I take ending in a cry for my missing child.
I can’t leave him out here; I can’t.
Then I realize the beach isn’t empty.
There is someone standing by the rocks, watching me.
Waiting for me...
“Elliot!”
My scream travels farther this time, echoing through the storm. Strength I didn’t know I had floods my legs, and I run faster.
As I picture my missing son and how wonderful it will feel to wrap my arms around him again, I give no thought to my own safety.
I run toward the dark figure on the beach.
Sarah
I tilt my head and let the sun caress my face, resisting the urge to close my eyes. Elliot burbles on my chest, and I stroke the soft blond down on his head.
“Lucky baby,” I whisper. “Look what a handsome man your father is.”
Sometimes it’s difficult to believe how lucky we both are. Warwick is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen—it’s still hard to believe he’s my husband. He grins at me now, flashing the kind of teeth most people will never achieve without hours in a dentist’s chair. His father catches Warwick smiling at me and gives him a friendly nudge.
“Pay attention, son. We don’t want to burn the steaks.” My husband returns his attention to the grill. It’s a gorgeous day, perfect for relaxing on the veranda of our East Hamptons home.
Edward Taylor-Cox winks at me and the good-natured jostling between father and son continues. Though Edward’s hair is silver and the skin around his eyes crinkles when he smiles, he is still movie-star handsome. Warwick is destined to age well. I am a lucky woman indeed.
Lucky, lucky, lucky...
One of our maids breaks my reverie. “More iced tea, miss?”
I hadn’t noticed my glass was empty. This is the first truly nice weather we’ve had in weeks. Too bad House Beautiful couldn�
�t have come today, instead of last Thursday when it was raining. “Yes, please.” I hand Emily my sweating glass.
“She’ll have plain water,” Warwick’s mother says with a frown. “Too much caffeine is bad for the baby.”
“But I’m not—”
I was about to admit I’m not nursing, but close my mouth with a snap, nearly biting my tongue. Eleanor would remind me that breastfeeding is the best gift I could give my child, and while that may be true, she isn’t the one who has to fight with Elliot. I’m still trying, but if he prefers a bottle, what’s the harm?
Emily hesitates, holding my glass steady on her tray, as her eyes flick from Eleanor’s to mine. Feeling sorry for her, I decide to end the impasse. “Water would be lovely. Thank you.”
“And not too much ice, either. Cold water is bad for the system,” my mother-in-law adds, tucking her pristine platinum bob behind an ear.
Emily nods, anxious to leave the patio. “Yes, ma’am.” She performs an awkward little bow-curtsy combo before scurrying away, something she only does in deference to my mother-in-law.
The annoyance must have shown on my face, for Eleanor widens her eyes, the picture of innocence. “What? I’m only trying to help. You have to take care of yourself, Sarah. You’re a mother now.” She touches my baby’s head. “What a darling boy. He’s beginning to resemble Warwick more every day, don’t you think?”
“Yes, he is.” Privately, I think Elliot resembles me, especially around the lips and eyes. His coloring could have come from either of us. I’m blonde, as well, though my hair is a shade darker than my husband’s. Only time will tell whom Elliot takes after.
Be nice. She’s trying, and she’s been good to you—and your son.
“So we’ve agreed. Elliot’s christening party will be included as part of our summer gathering this year.” Eleanor plucks invisible lint from her white linen suit. She’s the only person I know who wears a suit in this heat, but I’ve never seen her perspire. My son has more visible pores than she does. “The guest lists should be compatible, so I don’t foresee any difficulties.”
Silent Rescue Page 25