Melinda Di Lorenzo - Silent Rescue

“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.