Silent Rescue. Melinda Di Lorenzo

       Prologue

      Six Years Ago

      Maryse glanced down at her watch and cursed her inability to move quickly. Two minutes more, and she would miss the bus that would take her to the spot where she’d promised to meet her brother, Jean-Paul. Not that she was excited about whatever he had to say. Probably a request for more money or to tell her he’d been fired from his latest job. He was always in some kind of trouble—of the illegal variety, half the time—and Maryse was always the one to bail him out.

      She hated the fact that he’d even talked her into coming from Seattle to Las Vegas for the week in the first place. Two days had gone by and she’d only seen him once. When he picked her up from the airport.

      “Brother-sister bonding, my foot,” she muttered.

      She snapped up her purse from the counter, then pushed open the door. As always, the desert heat hit her like a slap in the face. The air was painfully dry. Maryse could already feel her hair wanting to bounce from its gentle waves to thick curls. She wished she’d thought to tie it back.

      No time now.

      With a sigh, she turned the spare key in the lock, securing her brother’s basement suite. Then she paused as a soft mewl drew her attention to the bushes to the side of the doorstep. She peered over. A large cardboard box sat in the shade of the prickly foliage. Had someone left a kitten out there? Annoyed, Maryse shook her head, then moved closer. Her brother wouldn’t be thrilled if she brought some flea-ridden beast into his place, but she couldn’t leave the poor thing outside. Even at ten in the morning, it was sweltering.

      She reached the box, put her hand on the edge, then gasped.

      It wasn’t a kitten.

      “Oh, God,” she said softly.

      It was a baby. A newborn, swaddled in pink. Whimpering.

      Maryse reached in to lift the child—a girl, she assumed—and was surprised to find the blanket cool to the touch. She glanced into the box again. One side held a diaper bag. But the other held an ice pack. Maryse raised her head and looked around the yard in search of whoever had cared enough to try to keep her cool, but had been heartless enough to abandon the poor thing in the first place. No one was in sight.

      She looked down at the infant again. A tiny black smudge adorned the girl’s cheek, and Maryse reached up to rub it away gently. Her tiny eyes opened, and her blue, unfocused gaze seemed to be seeking out the source of the attention. Then the baby let out another cry, this time a little louder, and instinct took over. With one hand, Maryse cradled the girl, rocking her. She murmured soothing things as she used the other hand to rifle through the bag until she found a full bottle. The formula inside was cool, but Maryse figured that meant it wouldn’t have spoiled. And the baby was clearly hungry. She nudged back the blanket and pressed the bottle to the newborn’s mouth. The baby immediately settled in, sucking enthusiastically.

      “Okay, sweetheart,” Maryse said softly, settling to the ground.

      Careful not to disturb the little one’s feeding, she lifted the diaper bag and pushed it open. Inside, she found two Canadian passports, and when she thumbed open the first one, her blood went cold. Her own picture stared up at her, and the name was just as startling.

      Maryse Anne LePrieur.

      It was hers. But not hers, too. Maryse and Anne were correct. But the surname was her mother’s maiden one.

      She grabbed the second passport.

      Camille Anne LePrieur.

      And the photo was of the infant.

      Feeling numb, Maryse adjusted the baby—Camille—and dug farther in the bag. Her hand found a thick envelope, and a quick look told her it was an enormous stack of cash. Her hands shook as she lifted a small, folded-up piece of paper from the front of the envelope. With dread pooling in her gut, she opened it. Her brother’s familiar, untidy handwriting sprawled over the page.

      Run. Far. Fast. Keep her safe. Don’t trust anyone, and don’t risk going to the police. Just love her like your own. She’s yours now. And if they say I did it, know it’s a lie.

      Maryse stood quickly. And she and her belongings were gone before the first sirens even got close to her brother’s house.