Silent Rescue. Melinda Di Lorenzo

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СКАЧАТЬ hat askew and her expression unimpressed. Smiling already, Maryse lifted the phone. Then stopped. In the background, up behind the sled hill, almost blending in with a patch of trees, she could swear she spied a blurry figure.

      Maryse squinted. What is that?

      She dragged her fingers across the phone, enlarging the background. Sure enough, there it was. There he was, to be more accurate. A man in jeans and a duffle coat.

      With her heart thumping, Maryse enlarged the picture even more, then used the auto-enhance feature to clear up the image as much as she could.

      Oh, God.

      Even with what remained of the blurriness, she could see the man’s face. It was tilted down. Fixed on the one thing at the bottom of the hill. Camille. And to make things even worse, she recognized him. The concierge from inside the hotel. The man who’d offered to take her to room eight.

      It was a trick, she realized.

      He’d been working with the gunman to get her to that hallway, and she’d played right into it.

      Maryse lifted her gaze to the entryway.

      Brooks.

      She had to warn him.

      With limbs like lead, she opened the door and climbed from the vehicle. She hurried over the concrete to the doors. This time when she made her way through them, the rush of warm air didn’t provide any relief. Instead, it sent a fresh wave of nausea through her. She paused to push her hand to her stomach in an attempt to stifle it, then looked toward the concierge desk. Brooks was there, his distinctly wide shoulders bent over the counter as he spoke with the person on the other side.

      I need to get his attention.

      Her eyes traveled around the wide lobby in search of some way to do it. She couldn’t find one. The area was quiet enough that any loud noise would draw attention. But it was also quiet enough that it would probably draw everyone’s notice. Including that of the concierge who’d been spying on her in her own backyard.

      Maryse shivered. Don’t think about it.

      She watched as Brooks’s head swung toward the hall that led to room eight, and she willed him not to go there. The gunman who’d grabbed her might be dead, but she doubted he was the only one involved. She took a small step closer to the desk. Then froze as Brooks moved aside even more, and the uniformed man behind the counter came into view. His gaze landed on Maryse, then slid straight over her and went back to the computer in front of him.

      Maryse’s body sagged. It wasn’t him.

      She watched for a moment as he tapped something on the keyboard, then nodded at Brooks, lifted a finger to indicate he’d be right back, then stepped into the office behind the desk.

      Thinking quickly—and not wanting to take the chance that the other concierge was somewhere nearby, just waiting to show up again—Maryse strode toward Brooks. When she reached him, she pressed her hand to his back and held it there. She didn’t know if anyone was listening or watching, and she didn’t want to take a chance on that, either.

      “Hi, sweetie,” she said breathlessly. “I’m having a problem with the car outside. Can you give me a hand?”

      If the close contact or overly familiar greeting startled him, he didn’t show it. Just the opposite, in fact. In a smooth move, he dropped his head down and settled his mouth against her cheekbone, then slid it up to her ear. A caress that was close enough to a kiss that it made her shiver. She couldn’t help but inch a tiny bit closer.

      “You all right?” Brooks said, barely loud enough for her to hear. “Nod if you are.”

      Maryse nodded. Then shook her head. Then nodded again.

      He draped an arm over her shoulders and nuzzled her neck. “Which is it?”

      “I’m fine,” she whispered. “But this hotel isn’t.”

      “You don’t want to stay here?”

      “I don’t think it’s—” She cut herself off as the concierge returned to the desk.

      She wished she could lean back and finish in sign language. Things were so much easier when she could speak without being heard.

      The man smiled at her, then at Brooks. “Looks like your wife made it, after all! Sorry about the interruption.”

      “No worries at all,” Brooks assured him.

      “I’m used to a much slower gig,” the concierge added. “The day manager went home, and I have to admit...filling in is harder than I thought it would be.”

      “The day manager?” Maryse repeated, relieved that she wouldn’t run into him.

      But the concierge’s next words gave her pause. “Yep. She’s a force. Makes me glad I work the night shift.”

      She?

      Maryse lifted her gaze to Brooks’s face, wondering if he noticed the discrepancy between what she’d told him earlier about a man at the desk and the fact that it was supposed to be a woman.

      “It’s funny, actually,” the guy behind the desk added almost absently. “She claimed to have to go home to be with her kid. But in the year she’s worked here, she’s never mentioned that she’s a mom before.”

      “Funny,” Brooks echoed, and it was obvious—at least to Maryse—that he knew something was up.

      “Guess there’s always something new to learn about people.” The concierge smiled again, then turned his attention to the computer screen. “All right. The ground-level suite you were asking about—eight—is actually undergoing an upgrade. Whole thing got wrecked in a flood and renovations are scheduled to go well into next month. We do have a room available on the second floor, though. Same layout, functional balcony... If you and your wife would like to book there instead, I can give you a last-minute deal.”

      Maryse jumped in quickly. “Yes, please.”

      Brooks’s hand tightened on her shoulder, and she nodded—more for his benefit than for that man booking the room.

      “Even if it’s not the room we were hoping for, it’ll be nice to stay in the city for the evening.” She forced a light laugh. “Sometimes life in a small country town makes you feel like someone’s always watching.”

      “True enough,” Brooks murmured, squeezing her shoulder again, then letting her go to pull out his wallet.

      Maryse started to argue—to reach for the small handbag she had tucked into her jacket—then stopped as she realized it would look a little odd for a wife to argue with her husband about who would be paying for a room. It was safer, as well. If someone else at the hotel was looking for her, it would be better to be booked in under Brooks’s name. She vowed to herself that she would pay him back, but kept silent as he made an excuse for their lack of luggage, accepted the key cards—identical to the one she’d discovered in Cami’s room—then led her to the elevators. Brooks stayed quiet, too. Through the ride up, through the short walk to their room, and until the door was firmly locked behind them.

      Then СКАЧАТЬ