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 stood at the edge of the nearest ground-level balcony. Whoever it was had a hood pulled up and over their face, making it impossible to tell anything beyond the fact that it was a man.
As Brooks watched, the figure moved along the grass carefully, head down. After a few steps, the person stopped. He lifted his head and stared straight ahead for several long seconds. Brooks followed the stare with a pointed gaze of his own, and when he spied the goal at the end, his throat constricted with worry.
The fire escape.
Sure enough, the man swung his face back and forth, then reached up to release the metal ladder.
There was no doubt in Brooks’s mind that the man was headed for the balcony of his own room.
The room where Maryse sat waiting.
Unguarded.
Unarmed.
Unsuspecting.
Without another thought, Brooks dropped a curse under his breath, cast aside the folded blankets and ran toward the stairs at full speed.
* * *
Maryse sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers tapping the plush bedspread. Her heart and her mind had knotted up equally, and she didn’t know where to focus her thoughts.
Cami.
Brooks.
The former dominated, as always. Right now, Maryse’s worry was a thick lump in her stomach and it wasn’t going away anytime soon. Not until she had her daughter back in her arms.
But the latter wasn’t going away, either. He and his kind hazel eyes definitely kept sneaking up on her. Just like his kiss had done.
She lifted her fingers to her lips, touching the spot where his mouth had landed. His kiss had been gentle. Unexpected. And admittedly wonderful.
Even though Maryse thought maybe it had started out as an accident, a few quick seconds in had changed that. And it had warmed her from the inside out. A slow, fiery burn.
Which
