The quickness of the rest of the trip surprised Maryse, as did the lack of awkwardness and the ease of conversation. In no time, she knew that Brooks was an only child who’d become a cop because his dad and grandfather were both cops, too. She learned that his father had lost his life in the line of duty when Brooks was just twenty, and that his mother had succumbed to cancer a few short years later. His traveling had been limited to the continental US—and now Canada—and he’d once won a hot dog–eating contest. Most significantly, she discovered that it wasn’t strange for him to place her into his life.
Like when he said, “I’ve got this insane orange tree in my backyard, and people always tell me it should be dead. But every September—totally off-season—it grows exactly eleven oranges. Best damned things I’ve tasted, and ten American dollars says you’ll think so, too.” It didn’t seem odd to believe that in five months, they’d be sitting by his pool, eating a homegrown piece of fruit.
He was visibly pleased to hear that she worked a portable job, and he told her data entry was probably more enjoyable in a palm-lined sunroom than in a freezing-cold living room. And it should’ve been scary. Or at least mildly intimidating. She should’ve been wondering if she was riding some kind of adrenaline-endorphin-pheromone high. Instead, she was assuming every bit of it would come true.
And the best parts were the ones that included Camille.
When Brooks told her his pool had a slide, and he was glad someone would finally want to use it, her heart swelled. His questions about her daughter’s favorite foods and color preferences were endearing. And maybe it should’ve seemed presumptuous—both on his part and on hers—but it really just seemed exciting. All of it made Maryse long for the ordeal to be over so they could get on with a life that hadn’t even been on her radar as of that morning.
By the time they made it into the airport and through customs, she was practically bouncing with anticipation. She couldn’t even muster up any subtlety, and as they boarded the plane, the woman at the ticket counter took one look at them and laughed.
“If you two don’t come back married,” she said, “I’ll eat my left shoe.”
Maryse blushed as Brooks pulled her a little closer and replied, “I hope you packed something other than that for dinner, then.”
“I always know,” said the attendant, then handed back their passports. “I’ve moved you up to business class. I like to do that for the ones I’m sure are going to make it. Good luck!”
“Thanks.”
He led her up the gangway with his fingers threaded through hers, and she swore he was whistling under his breath.
When they reached their seats—sixth row—he ushered her in first, then raised an eyebrow. “So?”
“What?”
“You wanna talk wedding dresses, or plan the details of our trip?”
“Very funny. But the wedding wasn’t my idea.”
“Doesn’t every girl dream of a white dress and a bouquet?” he teased.
She wrinkled her nose. “Vegas is more about Elvis impersonators and short skirts, isn’t it? And besides that, I was never one of those girls.”
“Never?”
“Nope.”
He studied her face. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
Her face heated. “Why would I lie?”
“Because discussing flower arrangements with a man you just met might make him think you’re a crazy person?”
She opened her mouth to argue, but the flight attendant stepped between the rows just then to give his safety speech. Maryse watched the demonstration with exaggerated interest, trying not to give in to the sudden doubt that was creeping in.
Because this is crazy, she thought, not daring to hazard a glance his way. And when it’s over...
She swallowed. When it was over, it would make sense for them to go their separate ways. In spite of the infatuation-fueled plans for the future, and no matter what the psychic, shoe-eating woman at the counter said, she and Brooks led very different lives. He was a cop. He put his life on the line every day. Deliberately. She, on the other hand, spent her days hiding. Not exactly living in fear, but definitely being careful to stay off the radar. He was guns. She was board games.
Beyond the obvious chemistry, were they even compatible?
As the flight attendant finished his last seat-belt click and the plane started to taxi up the runway, Maryse kept her eyes forward. She hoped that Brooks would drop the marriage discussion. He didn’t. Instead, he reached over and took her hand.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said.
“It’s not that I’m pretending,” she replied.
“You’ve never thought about a fairy-tale wedding?”
“When I was a kid I thought about it, I guess.” She frowned. “Or maybe just the being married part. Not the getting there.”
Brooks smiled. “Always the Elvis type, then?”
“Always the realist type,” she corrected.
“So a white dress isn’t realistic?”
“I don’t know.”
He squeezed her hand. “You can wear a fire-engine-red miniskirt if you want.”
She suddenly felt like she was going to cry. “It’s not that I’m jaded.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Of course I do, sweetheart. You took in a baby, no questions asked. You did it without looking back.” He leaned closer and spoke into her ear. “And when that kid went missing, you dropped everything to chase her down. You’re so far from jaded that it’s not even funny.”
She darted a nervous glance at the passenger in the row across from them, then leaned back and freed her hands so she could sign. I thought we weren’t talking about that on the plane.
It seems like maybe we should, he said back. At least to make a plan.
Underneath them, the floor shuddered. The sound of the powerful engines filled the cabin. Then the speed picked up, the noise masking the increased thump of Maryse’s heart. The rev continued for another few minutes before the plane leveled out in the air.
She turned back to Brooks. This scares me.
Are we back to the wedding? he asked. Or are we still talking about your daughter?
“They’re connected, aren’t they?” she said aloud.
“Ah.”
“What?”
Brooks shook his head slightly, and a moment later the flight attendant stopped his cart beside them and smiled down. “Complimentary wine?”
“No, thank you,” said Maryse at the same second that Brooks said, “Yes, please.”
The flight attendant laughed. “Which’ll it be?”
“No,” said Brooks right as Maryse said, “Yes.”
He set down two plastic glasses. “I’ll just leave these both here.”
This time, they spoke in unison. “Thank you.”
The flight attendant grinned. “You’re welcome.”
Maryse waited until he’d moved a little farther up the aisle, then lifted the cup. “It’s like this.”
“It’s like cheap champagne?”
She took a tiny sip. “This is the first taste of alcohol I’ve had since my twenty-first birthday.”
He gave her a scrutinizing look. “You were twenty-one when Camille was born.”
“I was.”
“So you put your life on hold.”
She shook her head. “No.”
Surprise crossed his features. “No?”
“No. I just adjusted. Quickly. I started a new life. And I never looked back. Never regretted it. That’s how I am.”
“Sweetheart... I don’t think you’re as much of a realist as you think you are.” He said it with a smile.
“What do you mean?”
“You labeled yourself a planner, but you’re actually really good at dealing with the unexpected. You avoid thinking of yourself as spontaneous, but I haven’t once seen you back down from a challenge, and you’ve met everything that’s been thrown your way with a creative solution. And the whole time, you’ve just known it’s going to work out. You’re an idealist, Maryse.”
She blinked at him, wondering how he managed to see her so much better than she saw herself. “So maybe my real is ideal.”
“Maybe.”
Her hands flicked, asking a weighted question. Is that a bad thing?
No, Brooks replied. I just wish you’d toss some of that idealism my way.
What?
Assume that I’m going to work out, too. Even if it scares you.
She breathed in, then took another sip of the wine. She let it fill her mouth, the bubbles dancing across her tongue as her thoughts danced through her head. Every time she let her guard down, she did assume things were going to go the right way. It was only when she stopped to think that she started to doubt. And while she was sure some skepticism was necessary—that blind optimism wasn’t the answer—there was something to be said for trusting her instincts, too. Wasn’t there?
Brooks’s hand closed overtop of hers. “You’re thinking so hard that you’re going to break the cup and waste the free win.”
She looked down and saw that she’d bent the plastic almost in half. “Whoops.”
“I’ll cut you a deal,” he said, freeing the wine from her grasp. “You give us the benefit of the doubt, and I’ll spend every moment proving it’s worth it.”
“Every moment until when?”
He lifted his hand to her chin. “Every moment of forever.”
Her breath caught at the intense look in his eyes. “Now who’s the crazy one dreaming of white dresses?”
He winked, and he dropped his hands to move them through the air. I’m the Elvis type, actually.
She couldn’t help but smile. Of course you are.
“So do we have a deal? You’ll stop worrying about us so that we can concentrate on making sure we get the rest of our puzzle pieces put together?” Once again, his hazel gaze was unwavering.
“Yes.” Maryse nodded, and the word was like a weight lifting off her shoulders. “So what now?”
“Now...I put my arm around you. Then you put your head on my chest. And you take a nap.”
“A nap?”
“Yep. Because once we get to Vegas, it might be a long time before we get to rest again.”
“I somehow doubt I’m going to be able to sleep.”
“Don’t underestimate the comfort level of my chest.” To emphasize his words, he lifted his arm, draped it over her and pulled her close. “Try it.”
“I don’t think I can.”
But a yawn escaped her lips anyway. And he felt safe. And warm. And after just a few short minutes, Maryse felt herself slipping away in spite of her protests.
* * *
Once he was sure Maryse was asleep, Brooks closed his own eyes. Not to rest, but to give himself some time to think. He wasn’t used to approaching a case without the law on his side, and he needed to come up with a solid plan.
But his body ached. His head throbbed. He wanted to sleep, too. And if he was being honest, he wasn’t sure where to start. On the one hand, he thought it might be best to just swoop in to Nank’s headquarters and demand that he give back the kid. In his experience, directness often worked best. Of course, he had no clue whether or not a headquarters even existed, let alone where it might be. In his pursuit of Nank, they’d managed to examine nearly every facet of People With Paper. Never once had they located a secret lair or the man in question. Brooks had told Maryse that the man was elusive, and he’d meant it. Presumably, he spent time in his varying offices and factories. Damned if Brooks had seen any proof of it.
Probably wouldn’t take Cami there, anyway.
Which was a whole other problem.
Under normal circumstances, he would’ve connected with one of his contacts at McCarren International. He would’ve put a bulletin out, searching for the girl. Whoever had her was only a few hours ahead at most. They would’ve been intercepted. Arrested. This would’ve been over.
But then we’d be taking the chance that the authorities would take Cami away.
He knew it wasn’t a risk Maryse was willing to take. Which meant it wasn’t one he was willing to take, either.
His gaze dropped down to sweep over her face. Had he just seen it for the first time this morning? It seemed impossible. She’d quickly wound her way into his heart. The thought of doing something that would drive her away—like placing a call that would endanger her future with her daughter—dug into him. He swept a strand of hair off her cheek. In sleep, she looked more peaceful than she had in any of the last twelve hours they’d spent together. Still beautiful, but less pristine. Not that she’d been pristine in the front seat of his rental car.
Brooks couldn’t help but grin at the memory. Pristine? Hell, no. She was downright wanton.
He couldn’t say he didn’t like it. Or that he didn’t want to see that side of her again. Preferably sooner rather than later.
All the more reason to stop thinking in circles and come up with a workable plan, he reminded himself.
He sighed and pushed a soft kiss onto her forehead. Deciding maybe a bit of movement would help, he eased his arm free, unbuckled, then stood and stretched.
The flight attendant appeared immediately. “Can I help you with anything, sir?”
“Just point me toward the restroom.”
“Straight up the aisle, just before the curtain, little room with the toilet.”
“Hard to miss.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thanks.”
Brooks picked his way past the other business-class passengers, turning over the options—and complications—in his mind. Ruling out the direct confrontation meant they needed to go for something more subtle. Which in turn meant they needed to know exactly where Camille was being held.
“Impossible without someone on the inside,” he muttered.
And his last two informants—Jean-Paul and the girl who’d got involved with the captain’s favorite rookie—were both dead.
He stopped in front of the bathroom door and scowled at the little red Occupied sign, then stepped back to wait. As he did, he bumped the curtain that separated the front of the plane from the back. His eyes flicked to the little opening. Then they locked on a familiar face.
Dee White.
The sight of her stunned him so badly that he couldn’t even blink. She was cleaner than the last time they’d run into her, her clothes tidy and conservative. A square bandage covered the bruise on her head. None of it really mattered. What did matter was how the hell she’d managed to get on their plane and why the hell she continued to be so persistent.
Forgoing a need for caution—and trusting that she’d have a need to not cause a scene on the flight—he pushed through the curtains, strode up the more crowded aisle, then seated himself in the empty seat beside her.
“Hello there, Dee. Funny to see you here,” he said through gritted teeth.
She moved like she was going to stand, but he closed a hand to her wrist and held it firmly to the armrest between their seats.
“We need to chat.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“I can’t say what I think because of our current location, but I guarantee you it’s not pretty.” He relaxed his face into a phony smile as another cheerful flight attendant passed by. “One thing I can say, though, is that you’re awfully good at following us.”
“Listen. Brooks—”
“So you know who I am.”
She sucked in a breath. “You told me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Then she must’ve said your name in front of me.”
“Possibly.” He flicked a cool look her way. “But I doubt that’s it.”
She leaned a little closer, and he could see the sheen of sweat on her upper lip as she spoke. “I’d tell you more. But I can’t.”
“All I want to know right now is whether or not you’re alone.”
“I am.”
“If you’re lying...”
“I’m not lying,” she said quickly.
“Where’s Greg?” Brooks wanted to know.
“He’s not good at blending in.”
“I’m sure.”
“He would’ve got made in a second.” She licked her lips nervously. “The guy in the blue suit...two rows up... He’s an air marshal.”
“Uh-huh.”
“He is.”
He shook his head. “At this point, I don’t care if he’s the president himself. I just want you to know that when we get off the plane, I’ll be waiting.”
She opened her mouth again, but Brooks didn’t want to hear what she had to say. He just wanted to get away from her. To get back to Maryse, and to give himself time to think a bit more. So he spun away and moved back up to business class with as little fuss as possible. Already, a plan was forming in his mind. Dee knew Nank personally. She could be bought, her loyalty swayed. He knew that for a fact, as evidenced by her actions with Cami. She wanted a ransom. She would’ve taken it from Maryse, who would’ve given it.
Brooks paused beside their row, staring down at her. He knew she was willing to pay. She’d flat-out said so. But he was leery of asking her. Mostly because he knew she’d jump at anything that could possibly help. It would give her even more hope, and she’d fall that much harder if Dee let them down. Which she might do.
He slid in his seat, and Maryse shifted a little and blinked up at him.
“Everything okay?” she murmured.
“Yep. Just fine, sweetheart. A few more hours. Go back to sleep.”
“You sure?”
“Mmm-hmm. Nothing to worry about until we land.”
“Okay.”
He gave her a squeeze and shoved aside a tickle of guilt in favor of enjoying the way she fit so perfectly beside him. He would tell her his idea. But not until he had to.