Silent Rescue. Melinda Di Lorenzo

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