Читать книгу Silent Rescue - Melinda Di Lorenzo - Страница 15

Chapter 5

Brooks waited as Maryse dragged out her phone, then clicked it on and held it up for him to see.

“That’s the man who helped me at the desk earlier today,” she said. “Not the one filling in right now.”

“And not a woman, if the beard is any indication,” Brooks replied.

She shook her head, then pulled the phone away, tapped on the screen, then showed him again. “It was taken at my house. Two days ago.”

Brooks took it from her hand, studying the shot. It gave him a chill to see just how close the man had come to Maryse and her daughter without being detected. How long had he watched them?

“And you’d never seen him before?” he asked.

“No. Never.” Her answer was firm.

“Okay. Give me a second to run through what we know.” He tapped his thigh thoughtfully. “The man in that picture... Was he definitely a hotel employee?”

“Yes. Well. He was wearing a uniform, and he was on the phone behind his desk.”

“Did anyone else see him?”

She closed her eyes as if trying to recall, then opened them and nodded at him. “There were a few other hotel employees around. A baggage guy and a woman talking to some guests.”

“And presumably, they would have noticed if some stranger dressed in a fake uniform was behind the front counter.”

“I think so.”

“So. He is an employee. Just not a concierge. And the woman who was supposed to be at the counter went home to a kid that the night guy didn’t know she had.”

He paused, and Maryse filled in the rest of his thoughts. “It could be her kid. But what if it’s not?”

“What are the chances that she’s been working with him for a whole year, but never mentioned that she had a child?” He shook his head. “No mom I’ve ever met could go that long without bringing up some funny story, or without bringing up some bit of trouble her kid is causing.”

He met her eyes, and he saw a glimmer of guarded hope there as she replied. “Sometimes, I’m sure I manage to work Cami into every conversation I have.”

He had an overwhelming need to make that glimmer expand. “We need to find out for sure.”

“How?”

He tapped his thigh again. “Her personnel file, maybe. Even if it doesn’t list her dependents, it will have her contact info. Easy enough to fabricate a reason to give her a call.”

“But we need the file first. I doubt they’re going to hand it over.”

Brooks frowned. She was right. He was too accustomed to simply flashing his badge to get his way. He paced the room for a moment.

“Need to think like a criminal,” he muttered.

“You mean steal it?” Maryse asked.

“Yes. Exactly. There has to be an employee contact list in that office behind the concierge desk.”

He stilled his movements, sure—even though he hardly knew her at all—that she wasn’t going to like what he was about to suggest. He met her worried gaze, then opened his mouth. And he was right. She shook her head before he even got the idea partway out.

“No,” she said quickly. “Trying to sneak into the office is too risky.”

“It’s riskier not to try,” Brooks replied. “If this woman has your daughter, we have to find out.”

“If the current concierge catches you, he might kick us out or call the police. If the guy who was pretending to be the concierge does, it’ll be even worse.” A frown creased her forehead, and her blue eyes clouded for a moment before she closed them and sank down onto the corner of the bed. “If that’s even possible.”

Brooks stepped to where she sat, then crouched down in front of her. One of his knees brushed her thigh, and a jolt of longing just about made him lose his balance. He gripped the edge of the bed to keep himself up, and fought another urge to pull her close and try to soothe away her aches. He knew what she needed most was to get her daughter back, safe and sound.

“Maryse.”

Her lids lifted, and that sad, blue gaze hit him as hard as her whispered reply. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he assured her.

She looked down at her hands. “I always plan things ahead.”

“Sounds like a lot of pressure to put on yourself.”

“No. It’s how I cope with things. And I’m just...not used to not knowing what to do.”

He slid his fingers overtop of hers and clasped them tightly. “You don’t have to know what to do right this second, okay? I’ve got this part. I’ve been a cop for more than twelve years. Over a third of my life. I’m very good at assessing safety, and I promise you... I won’t do anything that will put Camille at risk.”

She swallowed, then raised her eyes up again. “I won’t ever be able to repay you for this. I mean, the cost of the hotel...yes. But even the way you’ve helped me in the last couple of hours... I don’t think there’s enough money in the world.”

“I told you I’m old-fashioned. That means getting the job done is reward enough.”

A responding smile lit up her face for a moment, and he couldn’t help but wish it was a more frequent expression. He wondered if it was more frequent in her day-to-day life. He hoped so.

“Thank you, Brooks. Again.”

Spontaneously, he pushed up to his knees and leaned forward to place a kiss on her cheek. Nothing more than a quick, tender reassurance—that was his aim. At the same moment, though, Maryse tipped her face to the side, and instead of landing on her face, Brooks’s mouth brushed hers. For a startled second, he didn’t move. He just hung there, pressed against the soft skin of her lips.

Then her hand came up and found the back of his neck, clinging to it with a surprising amount of need. He couldn’t help but want to meet it. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted to do something so badly—especially in regards to a woman. The lingering effects of his last relationship’s demise were still far too close to the surface.

Or at least they had been until now.

Brooks deepened the contact into a proper kiss, exploring the contours of her mouth with his own. She was sweet and yielding, warm and inviting. But as her fingers came up a little more to find the edge of his hairline, a brush of cool metal reminded him of the ring he’d spotted on her finger.

She hadn’t mentioned a man in her life, husband or otherwise. She hadn’t said a word about the missing child’s father, either. So chances were good that there wasn’t a significant other in the picture.

But what do you know about her, really? The answer was easy. Nothing.

There were a hundred things he should ask, both as a law-enforcement official, and as a man who wanted to take a gentle kiss and turn it into something else entirely. At that moment, though, there was only one question he needed to resolve.

Brooks pulled away. He slid his palm to her hand, then ran his thumb over the ring on her finger and met her eyes.

“Wearing one of these usually carries a specific meaning,” he said, working to keep any hint of accusation out of his voice.

Two spots of color formed in her porcelain cheeks. “You think I’m— No.”

“No?”

“I’m not married.”

He studied her face for less than a second before deciding she was telling the truth. “Good.”

He pushed up, then cupped her cheek and kissed her again. Not demanding. Not aggressive. Just a hint—no, a promise—of something he wanted to explore in more detail when the time was right.

When her daughter is safe...

He gave her bottom lip a little tug, then dragged himself back to the pressing circumstances of the present.

He stood up. “When I’m done, I’ll come back and knock twice. Then I’ll pause and knock four more times before I come in, so you’ll know it’s me. While I’m gone, don’t answer the door for any reason. If I have to get ahold of you, I’ll find a way to call through to the room. I’ll let it ring twice, then hang up. I’ll call back, and you pick up. But not until the fourth ring. Got it?”

She nodded. “Two knocks or rings, then four more.”

“Perfect. I’ll be gone fifteen minutes,” he told her. “No more.”

“And if you’re gone longer?”

“I won’t be. If I think my plan isn’t going to work, I’ll come back right away. If I’m stuck, I’ll call.” He gave her hand a final squeeze, then slipped to the door, opened it and put the do-not-disturb sign onto the door handle. “Just in case.”

His reassurance didn’t stop her face from pinching with worry. “Be careful.”

She signed the plea as well as spoke it, and Brooks signed back what he hoped was the equivalent of “Always am.”

Then he closed the door quickly, and as he made his way up the hall, then toward the stairs, he had to work to keep his mind on the task at hand. It was unusual for him to cross the line between professional and personal.

No, he corrected mentally. Not just unusual. Unheard of.

Yet everything about the blue-eyed woman made him want to take the line between the two, toss it aside, then stomp on it.

Why?

Maybe because the job had been his life for the last five years. Maybe because this was the first time he’d stopped to breathe since things went south with his ex.

Brooks shook his head. He didn’t have time to question himself any more than he had time to question Maryse. The little girl was the most important thing.

He took a breath, put on a smile and pushed through the stairwell door and into the lobby. He strode confidently toward the front desk, calling out cheerfully before he even reached it.

“Hey! I’ve got a bit of a concern, and I’d like it if you could take care of it personally.”

In under a minute, he talked the concierge into running a phony errand. And the moment the other man disappeared up the hall, Brooks slipped in behind the counter. A quick scan of the office led him to a filing cabinet with the top drawer labeled with the word Personnel. Thankful for whoever favored the paper route over the digital, he reached for the handle. It didn’t move.

Locked.

Brooks turned his attention back to the room. He immediately spotted a container full of paper clips. Shoving aside a tickle of law-breaking guilt, he snapped up one of the clips. He forced the pliable metal open, then spun back to the filing cabinet and stuck it into the keyhole. It only took a few seconds to jiggle the lock free. Inside, Brooks found a set of tidily organized folders. He tossed a cautious glance out the door, assured himself he was good to go, then began to flip through. His search quickly yielded him the correct set of paperwork.

“White, Dee,” it read. “Daytime Concierge.”

He pulled it free and tucked it under his shirt, then exited the office, sliding to the customer side of the counter just as the substitute concierge rounded the corner with an armful of fresh blankets. Brooks smiled a genuinely pleased smile, offered the man a tip and his gratitude, then snagged the linen and started back toward the room, a whistle on his lips.

His self-satisfaction was short-lived. As he turned up the hall, a flash out the window end caught his eye. His cop instinct reared its head, and he slowed. A short, squat figure stood at the edge of the nearest ground-level balcony. Whoever it was had a hood pulled up and over their face, making it impossible to tell anything beyond the fact that it was a man.

As Brooks watched, the figure moved along the grass carefully, head down. After a few steps, the person stopped. He lifted his head and stared straight ahead for several long seconds. Brooks followed the stare with a pointed gaze of his own, and when he spied the goal at the end, his throat constricted with worry.

The fire escape.

Sure enough, the man swung his face back and forth, then reached up to release the metal ladder.

There was no doubt in Brooks’s mind that the man was headed for the balcony of his own room.

The room where Maryse sat waiting.

Unguarded.

Unarmed.

Unsuspecting.

Without another thought, Brooks dropped a curse under his breath, cast aside the folded blankets and ran toward the stairs at full speed.

* * *

Maryse sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers tapping the plush bedspread. Her heart and her mind had knotted up equally, and she didn’t know where to focus her thoughts.

Cami.

Brooks.

The former dominated, as always. Right now, Maryse’s worry was a thick lump in her stomach and it wasn’t going away anytime soon. Not until she had her daughter back in her arms.

But the latter wasn’t going away, either. He and his kind hazel eyes definitely kept sneaking up on her. Just like his kiss had done.

She lifted her fingers to her lips, touching the spot where his mouth had landed. His kiss had been gentle. Unexpected. And admittedly wonderful.

Even though Maryse thought maybe it had started out as an accident, a few quick seconds in had changed that. And it had warmed her from the inside out. A slow, fiery burn.

Which is completely inappropriate, she told herself sternly.

But was there a set of rules that dictated against kissing while in a situation like this? She somehow doubted it. And even if there were...she still had an unreasonable urge to do it again.

She glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. Eight minutes had passed. It felt like forty.

She pushed up from the bed and paced the room, trying to settle down.

Maryse wasn’t good at holding still. And she wasn’t good at letting someone else do the work, either. A big part of her hands-on nature was brought on by her six years as a single mom. If she didn’t get something done...it didn’t get done. But she knew she’d been a little like that before Cami ever came into her life. It was probably why her brother relied so heavily on her, even when they became adults. And definitely the reason he’d entrusted his daughter to her.

Maryse’s heart squeezed. Oh, Jean-Paul. What did you do? What could possibly catch up with you this far down the road?

In the year leading up to his death, she’d been sure he was turning things around. He’d been more upbeat. He hadn’t asked for a cent. He’d even secured a job at some company called People With Paper, and he’d talked about finally moving on with his life.

Over the last half a decade, Maryse had wondered if the last bit had something to do with Cami. If he’d been excited about the prospect of a whole new world.

Maybe he just couldn’t escape the old one.

The thought—as always—broke her heart. At one time—before her daughter came into the picture—her brother had been the one who mattered most. It weighed on her.

“And there’s another reason not to hold still,” she said aloud to the empty room.

Too much stillness led to too much dwelling on the past. Even on the best of days, she had a hard time dealing with thoughts of her brother. And not only was today not the best of days, it was the worst day.

Except for Brooks and the kiss.

She had to admit that in spite of her fear, he was the tiniest silver lining—a bright speck in an otherwise dismal day. Inappropriate or not, she was grateful for his presence.

The sound of a key card sliding noisily into the door cut through her scattered thoughts then, and with a slight tingle in her limbs, she stopped her pacing and fixed her gaze on the door handle.

Then she remembered.

No preceding knocks.

It’s not him.

For the briefest moment, she considered that it might be a hotel employee or someone trying for the wrong room. Just as quickly, she dismissed the idea.

The do-not-disturb sign.

Whoever was on the other side of the door had to have seen it. And the fumbling of the lock had stopped, and the handle was already turning.

She scanned the room, her eyes searching for the nearest loose, heavyish object. She needed something fast. Something she could wield easily.

The phone.

It would be no match for a gun, but it would have to do. It might, at least, provide enough of a distraction that she’d have time to slip out and go in search of Brooks.

She snatched it up, tearing it from the wall, then positioned herself to the side of the door frame. And just in time, too. As she lifted the phone over her head, the door flew open and a bulky figure—definitely not dressed in a hotel uniform—darkened the space there. Maryse swung the makeshift weapon with as much force as she could muster.

But the man entering the room was quicker than she anticipated. His wide fingers closed on her wrist and squeezed.

Maryse’s hand released, and the phone fell from her grip. It clattered to the ground, useless any longer.

No.

She closed her eyes and dropped open her mouth, prepared to let out a scream. Her attacker was still quicker. A meaty palm landed on her mouth, muffling the sound. Then he was dragging her into the room, ignoring the way she gnashed her teeth against his skin, acting like he couldn’t feel the booted foot she slammed into his shin. And he was speaking to her, too. He was saying something in a low, insistent voice that was probably supposed to be soothing.

“Maryse.”

He knows my name.

“Maryse!”

She threw back an elbow.

“Dammit, ouch. Maryse, it’s me. It’s Brooks.”

And it finally registered. It was him.

Her body sagged so hard that she was sure he was now holding her up rather than holding her back. He released her mouth, but kept the arm around her waist in place for several more seconds.

“You didn’t do the knock,” Maryse said, her voice breathless.

“I’m sorry. It went out of my head. We have a bigger problem. And I think it’s about to—” A sharp crack sounded from the other side of the room and cut him off.

Maryse’s eyes flew toward the noise. A heavy curtain covered the source, but she knew on the other side was a set of sliding glass doors. Someone was breaking in.

“C’mon,” Brooks urged.

He slid his hand to hers, then turned toward the door. But before they could make it two steps, the click of a cocking gun sounded from behind them.

“Drop her hand,” ordered a gruff voice. “Or I’ll fire.”

Immediately, Brooks’s warm fingers left hers.

“Good,” added the voice. “Now move back and step apart. Slowly.”

And Maryse didn’t dare do anything but comply.