Silent Rescue

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  “Three. All the windows are completely sealed.”

  “What about the one in the bathroom? The one that Dee and Maryse went through?”

  “Too small for either of us. Maybe the captain, though...”

  “Let’s do it.”

  Captain Fell started to voice a protest, but Brooks wasn’t interested in arguing.

  “There’s a chance for you to get out,” he said. “You have to take it. And if you won’t do it just because I want you to, then remember that the whole department relies on you.”

  With a grunt, their boss pushed to his feet. Brooks nodded at his partner, and they flanked the other man, weapons out. As a unit, they slid up the hall to the bedroom, then slipped inside. Masters stood guard at the door while Brooks climbed to the back of the toilet and peered out cautiously. The frosted glass led to a narrow space between the safe house and the house next door. A glance up and down told him it was clear, and though the front was open to the yard, the rear offered the cover of some bushes.

  He ducked his head back inside, then jumped down and gestured to the window. “All right, Captain. I think you’re good. You can use the shrubs to sneak from here to the neighbor’s house.”

  “Let me guess,” Fell replied. “You’d prefer if I didn’t call for backup.”

  “Just give us a chance to get out before you do, and we’ll become your backup.”

  “Unless you don’t get out.”

  “Ten minutes. That’s all I ask.”

  “Counterproductive,” his boss muttered, but he stepped up and pushed himself out anyway.

  Brooks waited, counting to thirty, sure if the men outside had caught his boss, he would’ve heard some sign of it. Then he slid the window shut and turned back to Masters.

  “Escape plan? We need to move fast before—” A noise from out in the hall cut him off.

  “Before we get ourselves cornered?” his partner finished.

  “Yeah, that.”

  They moved together toward the bedroom door, but the sound of muffled boot steps and lowered voices already carried through. Thankfully, the intruders were moving slowly. Probably searching thoroughly while trying to go undetected.

  “At least two guys inside,” Brooks whispered. “No way to get out through the door.”

  Masters nodded at the window. “Break through?”

  “Noisy as hell. We’d be lucky if even one of us made it.”

  “So we go out firing.”

  “Or we barricade ourselves in and hope our skills are better than theirs.”

  “Mattress and frame as a shield? Peg ’em off?”

  “Yep.”

  It wasn’t even close to a good plan.

  But it’s all we’ve got, Brooks reminded himself.

  He grabbed one edge of the mattress and Masters grabbed the other. As they started to lift, Brooks’s eyes strayed up. They landed on a panel above the dresser.

  An attic.

  “We still doing this?” his partner prodded.

  He shook his head, dropped his corner of the bed and pointed up. “I’ve got a better idea.”

  It only took a few seconds to boost himself onto the dresser and push open the panel. A few more, and he was inside the low-ceilinged room. Careful to keep his weight on the support beams, he pushed back and waited for Masters to follow him. His partner came up quickly, replacing the panel as he clambered in. Just in time, too. Below them, the door squeaked open, and a rough voice trickled through the ceiling.

  “I’ll be damned,” it said. “I think maybe they’re not here at all.”

  A second voice joined the first, this one tinged with an accent of some kind—maybe Russian, maybe something else Slavic. Brooks couldn’t have said for sure.

  “Don’t know how the hell that’s possible,” it replied. “The car’s out front. Those notes are all over the damned living room. And she said they were here no more than ten minutes earlier.”

  Her.

  They had to be talking about Dee White. Brooks exchanged a look with his partner. Even in the dark, he could read the other man’s puzzlement. What was the tiny woman’s deal? She clearly had an agenda. From the fraud business and Camille to tipping off the captain to setting up this intrusion... He couldn’t wrap his head around her end goal. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the continued conversation from below.

  “What should we do?” Rough Voice was asking.

  There was a pause, and then Accented Guy said, “Hell if I know.”

  “Call her?”

  “Yeah. Hang on.” A moment passed, and Accented Voice launched into an explanation, presumably on the phone with Dee, then finished with “Uh-huh. Got it.”

  “Well?” said Rough Voice.

  “She wants us to burn it down.”

  “What?”

  “She said they’re smart. Could’ve found somewhere to hide. At the very least, it’ll smoke ’em out. At best, it’ll kill ’em.”

  “Nank?”

  “Sanctioned it.”

  “There goes subtlety,” muttered Rough Voice.

  “It’s worked before,” Accented Guy said.

  A lick of anger made Brooks’s jaw clench. He could think of only one other instance where Nank’s men had been involved in an arson—the one Maryse had told him about. The one that resulted in her brother’s death. He was well acquainted with how that had ended up. The victim blamed. A kid abandoned.

  Not going to let that happen again.

  He flicked his gaze around the attic, searching for an out. The only thing he could see were piles of insulation, grime, exposed beams and a series of exhaust vents.

  The vents.

  With a silent nod toward his partner, Brooks pulled his phone from his pocket and fumbled until he found the flashlight function. He dragged it in a slow arc across the ceiling. He paused at the gable. There was the biggest of all the vents.

  But is it big enough?

  He didn’t have the space needed to stand, so he got down on his hands and knees, then picked his way over the beams as quietly as he could, still taking care to not put any of his weight on the drywall below. When he reached the vent, he grabbed ahold of the wall and pulled to his knees. A quick examination of the metal piece told him he and Masters could probably squeeze through. Barely. And first he’d have to get it open.

  He turned back to his partner, who inclined his head in understanding, then reached into his pocket, pulled out a utility knife and crawled a little closer. Gratefully, Brooks took the proffered tool and set to work. The screws were in tight, but a bit of patience got the job done. There was a rubber seal under the frame, too, but the sharp knife and some strong-arming took care of that. Brooks pried the whole thing free and peered outside. The roof just below the vent was sheer, but beneath that was a wide soffit, and from there, the ground was only six feet or so farther down. He brought his head back inside just as the first whiff of smoke-scented air touched his nose.

  Damn.

  Rough Voice and Accent Guy would be heading outside any second, searching the escape routes.

  “Too late to change our minds now,” Masters said.

  “Yep.”

  Without looking back—because Brooks knew without confirming it that his partner would follow—he used the beam overhead to support his body, then stuck his feet through the vent one at a time and pushed his way through. He made it out. He made it to the soffit. He even made it as far as kneeling down and readying himself to hang on, then drop to the ground.

  As he lowered his first leg, though, a shot zinged by and slammed into the siding a few inches from his head.

  He dropped a curse, then hollered a warning to Masters. It was a little too late. The other man’s booted feet were already sliding through the
hole in the way.

  Brooks tried to yell again, but a second bullet came flying at him, cutting him off. This one came even closer to hitting him—near enough that he could feel its heat as it lodged into the exterior of the house.

  “Screw it,” he muttered, then let go of the soffit and let himself drop.

  The ground came up quick, and there was no pretending it wasn’t hard. Pain shot through Brooks’s shoulder, and he rolled to his other side with a groan. He couldn’t help but close his eyes for just a second, but almost as soon as he did, the sound of boots hitting pavement hit his ears, forcing his lids to lift again. The gunman—or gunmen, if he was really unlucky—was on his way.

  “Crap,” he groaned, rolling again, searching for something to use to leverage himself up.

  After a brief flail, he managed to grab a thick shrub. He tugged himself to his knees, then his feet, reaching for his weapon as he got his footing. He wasn’t quick enough. A gun cocked, close enough that he could hear it. Even though he couldn’t see who wielded it, he tucked and rolled, hoping that he’d have surprise on his side. As he hit the ground, though, he realized his effort was almost unnecessary. With a wild yell, Masters flew from above, feetfirst. Brooks stared up in surprise as his partner sailed through the air. He twisted his head to follow the other man’s motion and watched as he streaked through his vision, then plowed straight into the man with the gun.

  The assailant had zero reaction time. Though he’d thrown up his hands to protect himself, it did nothing to stop him from falling backward as the two-hundred-pound cop slammed into him full force. The gun flew from his hands, skittered over the sidewalk, then came to a stop on the grass.

  Brooks jumped up and retrieved it, keeping it out in case one of the man’s friends chose that moment to come around the side of the house. Then he turned back to Masters to see if he needed any help securing the other man. His partner had the situation well in hand. He held the man flat on the ground, a knee in his back and a wad of tissues stuffed into his mouth. Though the gunman was jerking around, he didn’t stand a chance of getting free.

  Masters tipped up his head. “Of all the days to leave my handcuffs at home...”

  “Yeah, that’s our biggest problem,” Brooks replied with a sigh and another glance around for any more company.

  “Think he’ll tell us anything?”

  “Doubtful.”

  “What do you want to do with him?”

  “I want to toss him in lockup. But I guess we need something easier.”

  “Garden shed?” Masters nodded toward the small building at the back of the yard.

  “Good enough.”

  His partner lifted the crook—who tried uselessly to issue a kick—and as he did, a set of keys dropped from the man’s pocket. Brooks snapped them up, thankful that at least one thing might work in their favor. He followed along as Masters dragged the shooter over the grass, and he swung open the door to the shed. A quick look inside produced a long piece of rope, which he used to secure the man’s feet and hands as Masters held him still. When he was tied up tightly, they tossed him into the building and turned back to the house. A few tendrils of smoke were spiraling out of a vent on one side.

  “Should we do something about that?” Masters asked.

  Brooks clenched his jaw, wishing he could say no. All he wanted to do was get to Maryse. But he couldn’t just let the house go up in flames, and who knew how long it would take before a neighbor noticed?

  Too long, probably.

  They still had to deal with the other men who were undoubtedly sitting in wait at the front of the house, too.

  “Well?” his partner prodded.

  “Let’s move up on either side of the house,” Brooks said decisively. “They’ll probably be expecting us to come together. So if we divide and conquer, it might throw them off. Once we’re out, we’ll call fire base.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Silently, the two men separated and moved to opposite corners of the house. Brooks shot Masters a final nod, then slipped around the corner. He kept himself pressed to the exterior, slinking along with practiced stealth. He reached the edge of the house quickly. There, he stopped and considered the best way to proceed. A glance down gave him an idea. He bent and retrieved a small, flat rock. Then he tossed it out. The response was immediate. Feet hit pavement, lightly but still audible. Two sets, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  Brooks flattened himself back against the wall, and the second he spotted a boot, he pounced. As hard as he could, he smashed his own foot down on top of the other man’s, then lifted a knee and slammed it between the guy’s legs before he could recover. He kept an ear out for the owner of the second set of feet, too. Obligingly, the guy’s friend dropped a curse before making a move.

  Brooks turned his head in the direction of the voice. It belonged to a small man in a tracksuit, who was just lifting his weapon. Instinct and training kicked in, and Brooks dropped to the ground, rolled out of immediate danger, then readied his own gun.

  Masters beat him to it. His partner had slipped out from the other side of the house and moved in. He lifted his weapon up and smashed it into Tracksuit Guy’s head. The gunman wobbled. His eyes rolled to the back of his head. Then he collapsed to the ground beside his friend, who was still clutching himself and groaning a little.

  Brooks pushed up and brushed off his pants. “Shed?”

  His partner nodded. “Yep.”

  “Fire department first?”

  “Probably a good idea.”

  In minutes, they had all three men bound, gagged and stacked against one another in the little building. They’d placed a call to someone they knew at the station, who dispatched a truck without too many questions, and they’d called Captain Fell to apprise him of everything that had transpired. They were on the road—choosing Nank’s men’s vehicle in hopes that it’d get them that much closer to wherever Dee had taken Maryse—and trying to come up with a plan that suited them both.

  “C’mon, man,” Masters was saying to Brooks. “You know you could use my help.”

  “I know I could,” Brooks agreed.

  “So take it.”

  “No.”

  “We could—”

  “No.”

  “Let me do something.”

  Brooks tapped the steering wheel. He hadn’t even wanted his partner to get into the SUV with him, but the man had made himself comfortable in the passenger seat and refused to dislodge himself. Now they were ten minutes into following the GPS signal—which appeared to be headed for the desert—and he still hadn’t found a way to get rid of his eager partner. Brooks had had no choice but to keep driving with his unwanted helper in tow. Stopping would slow them down. Staying behind would’ve meant getting tied up in red tape.

  Red tape.

  He snapped his fingers as an idea occurred to him. “Paperwork.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what I need you to do.”

  “Paperwork?”

  “Research, to be more accurate.”

  “About?”

  “Deanna Whitehorse.”

  “The woman who took your girl?”

  He nodded, a now-familiar squeeze of worry tugging at his heart. “Something isn’t right.”

  Masters narrowed his eyes. “And you want me to dig around?”

  “Who else can I ask?” Brooks waited, knowing the other man would see the truth in his words in a moment or two.

  Sure enough, his partner sighed. “Fine.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  Relieved, Brooks made the adjustments to his drive. He took Masters home—his partner said he’d work better from there than the station, and it was safer anyway—then cut across town to hit the highway. He tossed a glance down at
the GPS tracker on his phone. Definitely desert-bound. He shoved aside fear about what that meant.

  “Don’t worry, Maryse,” he said aloud to the empty car. “I’m on my way.”

  But for an experienced cop, the desert and an unwanted person usually meant only one thing.

  Chapter 21

  Maryse was grateful that Dee White hadn’t insisted on talking through the trip. Once the other woman had given her a vague explanation about how they’d make sure Nank believed she was being transported against her will, she more or less zipped her lips. The silence gave Maryse more time to think. But the thinking wasn’t all positive. Something still nagged her, just like it had since the moment Dee first opened her mouth the previous day. Maryse didn’t have a natural tendency to dislike someone, and she rarely made snap judgments. In fact, her inability to assume that anyone and everyone could be up to something suspicious was what kept her from truly settling in over the last six years. She always saw the best in people, and she didn’t always trust herself to see someone in a bad light.

  But Dee...

  Maryse stole a quick glance at the now-brunette woman. She was capable of holding down a full-time job in an upscale hotel. She was perfectly at home acting like a crazed criminal with a gun. And now she was something else entirely. None of it, though, seemed real.

  She tugged on Cami’s bracelet hard enough that it snapped in her hands. But even the feel of a dozen silver, heart-shaped beads in her hands couldn’t distract her from the question that she kept coming back to.

  So if Dee White is acting all the time...who is she underneath it?

  She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the cab was slowing down until it had almost come to a complete stop. She turned her attention out the window, trying to sort out where they were. There was nothing to see except the expanse of dry land. But Dee was already swinging open her door.

  “C’mon,” the other woman said. “It’s hot out here, and we’ve got a bit of a walk.”

  Confused and increasingly anxious, Maryse slipped from the car, a bead falling from her hands as she hurried to catch up. Dee moved at a quick pace, seemingly with a destination in mind, even though the horizon appeared barren. After a few moments, though, the ground began to slope.