* * *
By the time Maryse managed to retrieve the gun from under the bed, then right herself again, it was all but over. And not in a good way. Brooks’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he toppled sideways. Then the man below him pushed the big cop over completely and jumped to his feet, wobbling a little.
Maryse fumbled with the gun. She’d never fired one before, and she cursed herself for never learning the basics. It should’ve been the first thing she’d done in the name of protecting Cami.
Too late now.
And she couldn’t get to the trigger fast enough.
The wild-eyed man was stalking toward her, his arms outstretched. With his mangled hand—courtesy of Brooks and the nightstand—and the already-purple welt bulging out on his forehead, he was a terrifying sight.
“Might as well give up now,” the thug snarled as he stepped closer. “I’m going to catch you anyway.”
He lunged forward, and Maryse ducked out of reach, then tore across the small room. She reached the opposite wall quickly, and there, she finally got a better hold of the gun. But her fingers were slippery with sweat and they refused to simply cock the hammer. She stopped trying and held it out anyway, hoping the red-eyed man would take that as enough of a threat.
“Stop,” she ordered, glad that her voice came out with some force.
The man paused. “If you shoot me, you’ll never get your kid back.”
Maryse sucked in a breath. “Where is she?”
“Safe. And hidden.”
“Tell me! Please.”
“Give me the gun first.”
She was almost sure of what would happen if she did. But that didn’t stop her from considering it.
Anything to save Camille.
But the gleam in the man’s eyes at her pause was enough to make her shake her head. “If I give you the gun, you’ll just kill me. That’s what you were going to do a second ago.”
“Maybe I’m having a change of heart.”
“Where’s my daughter? If you tell me, I’ll walk away. I’ll never say a word to anyone about this.”
“Too late for that. He already knows.”
Her heart thundered, and her mind reeled with worry. Too late? Who was “he”? Wasn’t this man the one who held her daughter captive? And how was she going to find out?
The man shook his head and, as he spoke, she realized she’d voiced at least one of the questions aloud. “He’s the kind of person who—when he finds you—will make you wish you’d given me the gun.”
At the dark threat, Maryse gasped, then inched back in an unconscious attempt to get away.
The thug smiled. “There’s nowhere to go.”
Her eyes flicked over the room, searching. But he was right. Her escape options were limited. There was the broken sliding glass door, which was too far away. There was the main exit, which the fake concierge now blocked. And there was the bathroom, which would only provide a temporary solution.
And there’s Brooks.
She couldn’t leave him. Not when he’d risked his own life on her and Cami’s behalf. She lifted her chin, preparing to issue another warning.
As if he could read her mind, the thug stopped advancing toward her and turned to Brooks instead. He moved closer to the unconscious man, a dangerous glint in his eyes.
“Let’s see how brave you are when I’m strangling your boyfriend,” he said. “Think you can fire that thing with enough accuracy to hit me but not him?”
As he turned away, Maryse reacted instinctively. She sprang forward, her own safety and her need to get away forgotten. She swung out her arm as she moved, the gun suddenly a blunt force weapon. She smacked it into the side of his head. She only managed to hit his ear.
He spun back, then sideways to face her, fury dominating his features. He lifted a hand to his injured ear, and when he pulled it down, a streak of red covered his palm.
Bleeding. But conscious. Not good enough.
She drew the gun back again. This time, though, he knew she was coming, and he was better prepared to block her blow. He threw up a hand, and Maryse’s forearm slammed into it hard enough to jar her whole body. Even her teeth slammed together.
She took a step back. Then tried again. But he was moving, too. He dropped his shoulder and charged.
Maryse did her best to sidestep, but her knee cracked against the desk chair. She let out a cry, then stumbled. The gun flew from her grip, skidded across the floor, then disappeared under the bed.
Maryse didn’t waste any time. She dropped to the carpet and crawled forward, her hand outstretched. Her assailant followed, taking full advantage of the fact that she was already down. He jumped onto her back. He clamped a hand on her wrist. Then he pulled.
Thankfully, the carpet was better than the average commercial-grade. It still stung Maryse’s skin as her chin hit, but the impact was minimal. She tried to push herself up and, in reward, got a knee in the small of her back. She hit the ground again, this time harder.
Her attacker was winning, and Maryse knew it.
In a last-ditch effort to get free and get to the weapon, she threw back an elbow. It hit its mark, but not hard enough to do more than make the man who held her down grunt. Both of his hands slid to her forearms, then forced her to roll to her back. As he straddled her hips and pinned her down, tears pricked at her eyes, and as his fingers closed on her neck, an unspoken apology to her missing daughter formed in her mind. But before her lids could close in defeat, there was a dull thud.
Maryse’s eyes flew wide-open again. Above her, the man’s jaw slackened. He teetered. Then a hand appeared at his collar and yanked him away, freeing her.
And Brooks knelt down at her side, concern filling his hazel eyes.
* * *
Brooks ignored the dull ache in his head in favor of making sure Maryse was okay.
“Still with me, sweetheart?” he asked, the endearment dropping from his mouth naturally.
She nodded weakly. “Where’s...?”
“Breathing noisily over there somewhere.” He reached down and cupped her cheek. “You okay for a minute if I go take care of him?”
She blinked, then swallowed, her expression suddenly nervous. “Take care of him?”
In spite of the situation, Brooks laughed. “Not like that. Secure him, in case he wakes up.”
Her cheeks went pink. “Oh. Yes. I’ll be fine.”
Still smiling, Brooks brushed his thumb over her cheekbone, then stood up. As he turned toward the unconscious man, his amusement faded.
His hands on her throat.
The sight that had greeted him as he’d dragged himself from his own bout with unwanted oblivion was enough to turn his stomach. In fact, it was impossible to tell whether the churning in his gut was from the violence or from the blow to his head.
Or maybe from the fact that you almost let him get her?
As he grabbed the bedside lamp—the one he’d used as a weapon—from the ground, then wound the cord around the hotel employee’s wrists, he had to acknowledge the self-directed question. “Maryse?”
“Yes?”
“If you want to call the local PD, now—”
“No.”
“A man just broke into our hotel room. He tried to kill you.”
“And he’s my only connection to my daughter.”
Brooks paused in what he was doing and made himself say the next, hard sentence that had formed in his mind. “It won’t matter what the connection is if I can’t keep you safe.”
She met his stare with an even look of her own. “I don’t want to be ‘kept safe.’ I don’t need to be.”
“Maryse.” He realized a second too late that he’d said her name with entirely more stern force than he needed to.
She looked down at her hands. “I can’t sit around waiting for someone else to help her. That’s my job, and I’m not going to ask permission to do it.”
Brooks fought a frustrated sigh. He could see the stubborn set of her shoulders, and he had a sudden vision of the cops showing up and Maryse taking off. Which would not only complicate the investigation. It would cast suspicion where none was due. And it would take him out of the equation completely.
“Okay,” he said, “but if you change your mind...tell me. Don’t hesitate.”
She lifted her head, relief and hope mingling in her gaze. “Thank you.”
“Yep.”
Fighting his lingering guilt, he turned his attention back to the more pressing task at hand. He bent down to yank the phony concierge farther away from Maryse, then tugged at the cord around the man’s wrists. When he was satisfied that the plastic-covered wire was pulled tight enough, he stood up again, scanning the room for something to use for the man’s feet. He wasn’t taking any chances.
His eyes landed on the open closet. Inside hung two bathrobes, and each had a loose belt.
Perfect.
He only made it a half a step, though, before a loud knock on the door interrupted him. He tossed a worried look Maryse’s way. She’d pulled herself up to the edge of the bed and sat on the corner, her expression as concerned as he knew his own must be. Another sharp rap made her jump.
A voice followed the second knock. “Sir? Ma’am?”
Brooks slipped to the door and peered through the spyhole. The concierge stood in the hall, his face tense as he shifted from side to side.
Brooks turned back to Maryse and, in a low voice, said, “It’s our friend from the front desk. He looks annoyed.”
“Should we answer it?” she whispered back.
“If we don’t want him to break it down,” Brooks replied, eyeing the bound man lying in the middle of the floor.
“Sir?” The concierge’s voice was more insistent now.
Then Maryse’s face cleared, and she sprang to her feet. “I’ve got an idea. Pull him up beside the bed. Toss the blanket over him and take off your shirt.”
“What?”
“Hurry.”
She didn’t explain further. As Brooks dropped the blanket over the unmoving man, Maryse slipped off her boots, then her already-askew jacket. She lifted off the soft, red sweater underneath, then snapped up the sheet from the bed and wrapped it around her chest. Finally, she pushed down her bra straps and tucked them under the linen.
Her bare shoulders were the color of warm cream and dotted with a surprising number of freckles. If Brooks had stopped to think about it, which he hadn’t—yet—he would’ve imagined the rest of her skin to be as mark-free as her porcelain-hued face.
But I like this better, he decided, studying the pattern that dipped down past the sheet.
“Shirt?” she prompted, and Brooks realized he was standing very still, just watching as she undressed.
He lifted his hands to the buttons, but clearly didn’t do it fast enough, because she stepped toward him and reached out to help. Even though she undid them swiftly, it was impossible not to notice how her fingers moved across his chest. How the tips of them warmed his skin as they brushed against it. He even had to stifle a groan as she finished with the buttons, then pushed the shirt back.
As she stepped back to give his newly bared chest a quick once-over, Brooks stared down at her, wondering if she was aware of the effect she was having on him. Or if she felt the same lick of interest. When she lifted her face, and he spotted the lacy blush spreading across her cheeks, he was sure that she must.
“Ready?” she asked, her voice a little breathless.
“Guess I must be,” he agreed. “Even if I don’t know what it is I’m ready for.”
“This.” She dropped her pants to the floor, stepped out of them and moved toward the door.
And he finally clued in to her plan.
Chapter 7
Maryse closed her hand on the doorknob, grateful to have an excuse to pull away from Brooks and the temptation of his wide, strong chest. She hadn’t expected to have such a strong reaction to his tanned skin, and the pleasant prickles of heat had almost overwhelmed her.
Well, she conceded, at least it adds an element of realism.
And her breathless greeting as she cracked open the door definitely screamed of something sexy. “Hi there.”
The concierge—the real one—stepped back and eyed her a little warily. “Mrs. Small?”
She inched the door open a little bit more. “Yes?”
“We had a report of some noise?”
“Noise?” Maryse intentionally let the sheet drop, then laughed and pulled it up again before she was fully exposed. “Oh! Oops.”
The concierge averted his eyes. “I, uh, tried to call the room a few times, but—”
“We’ll pay for it.” Brooks’s voice came from just above her ear, and his hand landed in the small of her back as he made the announcement.
“Pay for what?” the concierge wanted to know.
Brooks’s palm slid from her back to her hip, and he pressed her to his side. He held out the broken phone.
“For this,” he said. “And anything else we inadvertently broke during our—”
Maryse jabbed an elbow into his stomach, cutting him off, and she smiled as sweetly as she could manage. “We’ll pay. We got a little carried away, but we’ll keep it down from now on.”
The concierge hesitated. “You sure you’re okay, Mrs. Small?”
“Yes.”
She might’ve added something else, but her brain suddenly ceased to work properly because Brooks’s lips had landed on her throat. They worked from a spot just below her ear down to her shoulder in a trail of light kisses.
The concierge cleared his throat. “So. Right. I’ll just... Right.”
“Uh-huh.” Brooks’s voice rumbled against the sensitive skin of her neck. “Thanks for checking on us.”
“You’re wel—”
Without warning, he reached around Maryse to slam the door shut. And he didn’t let her go as it closed. Instead, he brought up his other hand and turned her to face him, then pulled her close and tipped his head down so that their lips were less than an inch apart.
“That was a good plan,” he murmured.
“You think so?” she breathed.
“Can I just ask you for one favor?”
“What?”
“Next time you’re going to get mostly naked in front of me...give me a bit of warning. Especially if it’s happening directly after a fight and a head injury.”
“Okay.”
“Thank you.”
He dragged his mouth over hers—just barely more than a whisper of a touch—then released her. As she picked up her pants and watched him button his shirt, desire mingled with a need for more than that simple, gentle touch.
Maryse knew the timing was off.
Way off, she amended as she thought of Cami.
Her heart squeezed, and her gaze followed Brooks. He’d bent down beside the blanket-covered man on the other side of the room and was searching the ground for something.
But she had to admit that in spite of the timing, her want wasn’t quite banked. If anything, Brooks’s protective nature and determination just heightened it. And besides that, he’d said next time. That had an appealing ring to it. Something to look forward to, when the future seemed painfully uncertain. In fact, if she really thought about it...he was the only semisure thing in her life at the moment. Which was strange, considering how little she knew about him.
He’s an off-duty cop.
He’s willing to help.
And he’s got the softest lips in the world.
“Right. What more do I need?”
She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until he answered.
“What more do you need in regards to what?” he repeated. “Did I miss something?”
Blushing, she shook her head. “Nothing. Never mind.”
“If you say so.” He pushed himself up from the floor. “Our unconscious friend is staying that way for a while, but I’ve got his phone here and I think we should...um. Maryse?”
“I’m listening,” she said.
One corner of his mouth tipped up. “I’m sure you are. But you might want to get dressed?”
Her blush deepened as she glanced down at the sheet she still held wrapped around her body. Wishing there was a more graceful way of throwing on clothes as fast as she could, Maryse scrambled to get re-dressed.
“Okay,” she said when she’d finally pulled on her second boot, “you’ve got his phone, and...?”
“I think you should take a look through it. See if anything is familiar.” He held out the phone, and she took it.
“I can do that.”
“The gun?”
“Under the bed, I think.”
He bent down again, and Maryse swiped her finger over the phone, relieved to see that it wasn’t password protected. She scrolled through the text messages, but nothing stood out, and there was nothing about Camille. She switched over to the address book. She didn’t recognize any of the names except Maison Blanc.
“Any luck?” Brooks asked.
Maryse shook her head. “No. I wish I did recognize something but...nothing.”
“What’s the last number called?”
As she clicked on the call log to check, her finger slipped to the redial button instead. And before she could correct her mistake, a woman’s voice—crackling with irritation and loud enough to be heard without lifting the phone to her ear—carried through the line.
“Greg?”
Maryse held her breath, her finger hovering over the hang-up button. But when she lifted her eyes to Brooks’s face, he shook his head and mouthed for her to wait.
Silent Rescue Page 7
