Brooks stared at the little pieces of paper taped to the living room wall. They hadn’t moved, or given him any new insight for a good hour, and he could feel a tension headache building up behind his temples. The minutes were ticking by. Each second wasted time that could be spent retrieving Camille.
“I’m getting back to the part where I just want to storm into one of Nank’s places with my guns blazing,” he muttered, sinking into the couch.
Maryse shifted over to make a little room for him, rubbing her eyes. She’d been growing steadily quieter since he’d disclosed the majority of her story to Masters. Though Brooks had left out a few of the finer points—like the fact that Cami wasn’t her biological daughter and that her brother had once been his CI—it had still taken the full forty-mile trip from the airport to Rain Falls to do it. He suspected that hearing it all laid out had taken a new toll on her. The display of information on the wall was overwhelming, too. And not in a good way. Like Masters had said, there were a lot more questions than answers, and at the moment, he honestly wasn’t sure what their next move should be.
“Maybe we should take a break,” Masters said.
Brooks shook his head. “You know that’s not an option.”
“What I know is that we’re not making any headway. It’s two in the morning, your girlfriend looks like she might collapse, and you look like hell.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re missing something.”
“Yeah. Food and sleep,” his partner replied.
“I don’t understand the connection between Dee White and our department. That little piece is the key, I can feel it.” Brooks sighed. “At least we can more or less rule out the idea that the captain is in Nank’s pocket. They wouldn’t have both shown up if they were working together.”
“That was an idea?” Masters sounded surprised.
“Just a thought.”
“Did you think I might be corrupt, too?”
“If I did, would you be in here with me now?”
“Hell. I don’t know what you’re thinking, man. You show up back home, unannounced, a woman in tow, all googly-gaga...so there’s a good chance you could’ve been abducted by aliens and replaced with a robot.”
“Googly-gaga?”
“Exactly.”
Brooks chuckled and glanced down at Maryse. Her eyes had closed completely, and the soft rise and fall of her chest indicated she’d fallen asleep.
“Just a sec, okay?” he said. “I’m gonna move her to the bedroom.”
“I’ll bet you are.”
“Shut up.”
He stood, scooped her up gently, then carried her from the living room to the hall. She was solid against his chest and felt right tucked into his arms. So right that he was truly regretful of having to let her go. He knew she needed the rest, though. The nap on the plane couldn’t have done her that much good. She barely stirred as he pulled back the sheets and set her down. When he slipped her boots off her feet, she just curled up her legs and sighed.
“All right, sweetheart.” He pulled the blankets around her shoulders and stared down at her for a second. “Hopefully, by the time you wake up, Masters and I have things sorted out enough that we can go rescue that kid of yours.”
He gave the window a quick check—locked and secure—then moved back to the living room, where he found his partner standing in front of all the sticky notes, one hand in his back pocket, the other on their mutual boss’s name.
“He sent you to Laval on purpose,” Masters stated without turning around.
“That’s where the corruption speculation came in. But putting aside that theory...”
“Why the hell would he send you there without telling you why?”
“I dunno. Something off the books, maybe?”
“Maybe. But what?”
His partner moved to tap another set of sticky notes. “Dee White. Is she a CI?”
“The thought crossed my mind,” Brooks replied.
“But you don’t think it fits?”
“We’d have to put aside the fact that I’m the one who’s run the whole Nank operation from the start.”
“So maybe she was a CI in for something unrelated and this just came up coincidentally.”
“Cross border?”
“Okay. Maybe the captain wanted some insurance and forgot to tell you about it.”
“Forgot?”
“Conveniently.”
“Ha.” Brooks studied the notes again. “Let’s look at it again. We know Dee’s been in Laval for at least a year. The concierge at Maison Blanc told Maryse and me that she’d been employed there—legitimately—for that long. So she couldn’t have been working with Nank directly during that time. Pretty useless as an informant. Captain wouldn’t be able to offer her any perks, either, since she was cross border.”
“Fine. Not a CI,” said Masters. “You’re a real buzzkill, you know that, right?”
“Wild speculation is your thing. I’m just here to knock some sense into you.”
“Hilarious.”
“I thought so.”
“Could Dee White be a witness? Or is that, also, too wild?”
“Not wild. But still unlikely.” Brooks grabbed another sticky note and added to the increasing pile. “She came here willingly.”
Masters shook his head. “You’re right. If she was a willing witness, they wouldn’t have been trying to grab her. If she was an unwilling one, she probably wouldn’t have chanced coming at all.”
“Why wouldn’t she keep running? Why not do what she said she’d been doing already and get out again? Nank’s men left her behind once they had Cami. She was in the clear.”
“Hey, Small?”
“Yeah?”
“This girl and her daughter...”
“I know. Googly-gaga.”
“Hell. You don’t even date.”
Brooks tensed. “Are we really having a heart-to-heart?”
Masters shrugged. “Think it’s important to know if my partner’s gone off the deep end.”
“I’m still on the ledge.”
“So reassuring.”
“Look. I wasn’t planning on going up to Canada and meeting the woman I want to spend my life with, but—”
“Hang on. The rest of your life? Did you pull a love-at-first-sight deal?”
Brooks ran a hand over his short hair and said nothing. Love. The word hadn’t come into his mind. Not yet. Or maybe just not consciously. But it sure as hell explained that solid wall of warmth that filled him when he thought her name. It made sense of the way he kept thinking about a future together. So even if he hadn’t labeled his feelings yet, there was no denying that love definitely fit.
Masters let out a low whistle. “Well, damn. Brooks Small. Who’s all wild and crazy now?”
“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”
“Probably. But since when does that do any good?”
“Never.”
“You want me to sing the kissing song?”
“I want you to help me solve this case.”
“So you can go back to kissing?” Masters laughed, then lifted his hands in mock defeat. “I know. Shut up. Back to the case. Back to Dee White.”
“Dee White,” Brooks agreed firmly.
“Okay. So. Her. Nank. You. The only person who really knows the connection is the captain. He sent you up to Laval. He wanted to get to Dee when she came back to Las Vegas. And the Nank case is on his watch, technically. You’re sure he’s not in on any kind of conspiracy, so why not call him and ask him?”
“Because it puts Camille and Maryse at risk.”
“You want to give me a bit more to go on?”
“I can’t. That’d make you culpable.”
“Look. The captain doesn’t even know you’re in Vegas, right? If he did, he wouldn’t have let you just walk away at the airport. He would’ve sent someone to stop you, too.”
Masters had a point. There sure as hell wasn’t anything easygoing about their boss. If the captain knew he’d come back before his leave was terminated...he would’ve unleashed the damned hounds. Which meant that he probably didn’t know anything about Maryse’s presence, either.
“So maybe it wouldn’t hurt to call,” Masters said. “Even if you just drop a few hints to see if he bites. I can’t think of another—quicker—way to find out what we want to know.”
Brooks considered it, his eyes sliding to the hall that led to the room where Maryse slept. Then he shook his head slowly.
“I can’t, man. I just can’t risk doing something that could hurt her. We have to find something else.”
They both went silent, staring at the maddening pile of information. After a good minute and a half, Brooks opened his mouth, not even sure what he was going to say, but his partner’s stomach growled loudly, beating him to the punch.
“That’s it,” said Masters. “I’m taking twenty minutes. I’m getting us some pizza. Possibly a beer, if time allows. Do what you want with that time, but my gut is currently in control, and it will remain that way until I’ve stuffed it with something remarkably unhealthy.”
Brooks couldn’t help but grin. “Guess I can’t argue with that. Just go easy on the anchovies.”
“You got it.”
He clapped his partner on the back, then walked him out. As he closed the door, he couldn’t fight a need to take a breath, metaphorically and literally. He paused in the hall and leaned against the wall. He felt like they were even further away from getting back Maryse’s daughter. Physically, they might be closer. Being able to use that proximity was proving to be difficult.
For the first time, Brooks really wondered if he was going to be able to follow through on his promise to bring Camille home. He wasn’t prone to false bravado. His case closure rate was over 90 percent. He and Masters were at the top of the precinct. At the top of their game.
Except where Nank’s concerned.
Maybe that was the source of doubt. When he’d first said he could help, he’d assumed this case was a separate entity. Not something he’d failed at in the past, and definitely not anything that could be so closely tied to his own life.
He exhaled in frustration and pushed up from the wall, prepared to get back to work. He stilled, though, as a sudden clatter from the bedroom carried to his ears. With no pretense of calm, he bolted down the hall. He pushed through the door, then stopped. The bed was empty. The pillow was on the floor, and the boots he’d left beside the nightstand were missing.
“Maryse?”
There was no answer. His eyes darted around the room. They landed on the closed en suite bathroom door. He stepped toward it and rattled the handle.
Locked.
She had to be in there, but his panic wouldn’t ease.
“Maryse!”
There was still no response. He leaned against the wood. From inside, the beat of water hitting the tub suddenly came to life.
She’s showering? Now?
“Answer me, sweetheart,” he called, “or I might feel obligated to break down this door.”
* * *
At Brooks’s statement, Maryse tensed. The knife on her throat tightened. And Dee White spoke into her shoulder.
“Don’t make a sound,” the tiny woman warned, her voice low.
The door thumped, and Brooks’s call carried through again. “Maryse, I’m going to count to three!”
“He’ll do it,” she whispered, careful to move even an eighth of an inch—she’d seen the slice the blade had made when it nicked the shower curtain.
“He’ll go away. He thinks you’re in the shower.”
“He doesn’t care if I’m in the shower.”
There was a pause. “It’s like that?”
“Yes.”
Another bang. “Two!”
The knife eased just a tiny bit. “Tell him you’re fine. Make him believe it.”
She let out a breath, then took another and called, “Brooks?”
“Sweetheart?” His reply was puzzled. “You all right?”
“Perfect,” she lied. “Just...cleaning up.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
Maryse forced a laugh. “Aside from the fact that I’m trying to rinse while talking to you?”
She could feel his doubt almost as strongly as she could feel the knife. “As long as you’re fine.”
“I’ll be out soon.” She felt tears sting her eyes as she misled him yet again.
“All right,” he called back. “Masters is bringing some pizza.”
“Sounds good.”
The other side of the door went silent. For several seconds, Dee held still behind her, the knife at her throat. Then she relaxed her hold and stepped back.
“We’re going to have to go out the window,” she stated.
“Out?”
“Did you think we were going to stay here?”
“I—”
“You what?”
“I don’t know.”
Minutes earlier, Maryse had woken with fear gripping her. She’s assumed it had been about Cami. About waking up in a strange place. But as she’d started to sit up, the petite woman had leaned over her. At first glance, Maryse hadn’t even recognized her. The long blond ponytail was gone, and in its place a short, dark bob. The grubby clothes had been traded in, too, for a pair of pin-striped pants and a crisp blouse. The woman had dusted her face with subtle makeup and didn’t look in the slightest like a career criminal.
Then she’d uttered the first threat, and Maryse knew exactly who she was dealing with. She attempted to fight back with kicks and screams. The effort had earned her a blanket in the mouth and the weapon on her neck. She hadn’t had time to think about what the other woman wanted or what she was going to push her to do.
But leaving...
She cast a desperate look toward the door. And Dee caught it right away.
“I can get to him, too,” she said. “And if that doesn’t motivate you enough, then keep this in mind... I know where they’re holding your daughter and I’m willing to help you get there if you don’t tell Detective Small where we’re going.”
Maryse’s attention whipped away from the door, her mind stalling, then starting. “What?”
“Camille. I know where she is. And I’ll take you.”
“How do I know you’re not lying? Or setting a trap?”
“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you my story on the drive, and if you don’t believe me, I’ll let you out and you can walk away. I give you my word. One mother to another.”
“You have kids?”
“I did,” the woman corrected.
Oh, God.
Maryse didn’t like the pointed way she’d said it, and she couldn’t think of a properly sympathetic reply for the woman who’d held her own daughter captive. But Dee didn’t seem to want one anyway.
“Your boots are there by the sink. All you have to do is put them on and follow me. But we really only have a few minutes,” she said.
A few minutes until what? Maryse wanted to ask.
But the other woman was done talking, at least for the moment. She was already tucking the knife into her boot and moving toward the window. And as she climbed onto the toilet, she didn’t even look back. She just slid the window all the way open, clambered up and jumped out. Maryse waited for her to call through the opening. But the only sounds were the continuing rush of the shower and Dee’s boots crunching on the ground outside.
“Dammit,” she said under her breath.
It was wrong to leave Brooks. Really, really wrong. She knew it deep down in her gut. But the chance to see Camille—even if it was slim—couldn’t just be put aside. She wished she had a lipstick in her pocket so she could scrawl a note across the mirror. He would understand, if he knew. Subconsciously, she dragged a hand to her pocket. Then she remembered.
Quickly, she stuck her hand inside and dragged out the passport-sized photograph of her daughter. The one that she’d grabbed from Dee’s house and had been carrying around ever since as some kind of talisman. She squeezed the little photograph for a moment, examining the details of Cami’s solemn face, so unlike her usual smiling self. She traced the outline of her soft, sweet cheek, then lifted the picture up and stuck it to the corner of the mirror.
Please understand, she said silently as she slipped on her boots and climbed onto the back of the toilet.
Swallowing a need to look back, she made her way up and out. She landed without much grace—one hand and one knee smacking the ground—on the rocks below the windowsill. She couldn’t quite hold in a pain-filled yelp as a particularly sharp stone dug into her palm. When she lifted it to look, a bruise was already forming around a small puncture.
Dee’s hand appeared in front of her face, stretched out in an ironic offer of assistance. Maryse took it anyway and let herself be helped up. She was just glad that the safe house happened to be a rancher. If she’d had to jump from a second-story window, she would’ve broken a few bones, she was sure.
“You okay?” the other woman wanted to know.
Maryse shot her a look. “Really?”
At least she looked contrite. “What I meant was...did you hurt yourself?”
“I’m fine.”
Dee opened her mouth, closed it, then shook her head and said, “Keep to the edge of the house. I don’t want your boyfriend to look out and decide to perform a rescue mission.”
“All right.”
She slunk along beside the diminutive woman, feeling as much like a rat as she must look like one. She kept going anyway, moving along stealthily until her foot smacked into something solid. A quick glance down made her gasp. The object in question was a boot. And the boot was attached to Masters, who was splayed out in the bushes beside the house.
Alarmed, Maryse lifted her eyes to Dee.
“Relax,” said the other woman. “He’s alive.”
“What did you do to him?”
“Chloroform.”
“What?”
“I just knocked him out. He’ll have a headache, that’s all. Come on.”
They picked their way along the edge of the yard to the unconscious man’s borrowed taxi, and Dee yanked a set of keys from her pocket, then moved to the driver’s side door, where she paused.
“Last chance to back out.”
Maryse met the other woman’s eyes. “You just threatened to kill me, offered to take me to my daughter, and now you’re giving me a chance to back out?”
“I threatened you, but I didn’t threaten to kill you,” Dee corrected. “But where I’m taking you...your life will definitely be on the line.”
“Like it hasn’t been on the line for the last day?”
“This is different.”
“What about Brooks?”
“His presence would guarantee your death. So...” Dee gestured toward the car. “It’s up to you.”
“I’m coming.”
“Good.”
Dee motioned for her to climb in. Still leery—and more than a bit confused now—she followed the directions and slid into the passenger seat. Before she even got her seat belt buckled, the car was rolling out of the driveway. For several blocks, they drove in silence. But after a few minutes, Maryse couldn’t keep quiet.
“Why are you helping me?” she asked.
“Do you have a cell phone?”
“Yes.”
“Toss it.”
“Pardon me?”
“Toss it.”
“But...”
Dee’s hands were practically white-knuckled on the steering wheel. “Listen. You want my help. You need it. And you have no reason to trust me. But if I’m going to tell you anything, I need to do it in a way that puts us both in as little danger as possible.”
Maryse bit her lip, then reached into her pocket. The phone was a lifeline. But it wasn’t what was going to help her get to Cami. So she rolled down the window, took a breath, then threw the slim device straight out. She pretended that the clatter as it hit the pavement didn’t make her pulse spike.
“Okay,” said Dee. “I’m going to talk fast because we only have a short drive before we get changed and get into character.”
“Into character?”
The other woman ignored her puzzled question. “So the first thing that I should probably tell you is that my name isn’t really Dee White, and I’m not a criminal.”
“Who are you?”
“The important thing isn’t who I am. It’s what.”
“What?” Maryse was starting to feel like a parrot.
“I’m a fraud investigator.” Dee shook her head. “Or maybe I should say was. Because I sure as hell doubt I’m going to have a job when this is all said and done.”