Worth the Risk (19 page)

She’d been relieved about the fact that her client had hired him. Almost excited. Sam couldn’t think of a good reason for a kidnap victim to care about
who
had sought professional help. It should’ve been just enough to know that the help was coming. So why, then? And how could he find out? It wasn’t like he could get ahold of Tamara and ask. Or even the client herself, who’d somehow disappeared. He still thought that was odd, and it nagged at him, too. Maybe related somehow. He couldn’t put his finger on the how of it, though.

“Sam!”

Meredith’s frightened cry brought him back to the moment, and too late, he realized he’d been distracted just long enough to lose focus on the road. The sedan slid across the shoulder, bouncing into the gravel. Frantically, Sam jerked the steering wheel hard enough to make his wounded arm ache. He dragged his foot off the gas pedal, slammed on the brakes and brought them to a skidding halt just inches from the trees lining the road. For several long moments, they sat there, their equally heavy breathing carrying over the engine’s rattle.

It was Meredith who finally broke through the wordless noise. “I thought we were trying
not
to get killed.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“What happened?”

Sam exhaled and released the steering wheel. “Can you think of any reason why your sister would be glad a client hired me to track her down?”

“Why wouldn’t she be glad?”

“I don’t mean because of me. I mean because of the client specifically. When the kidnapper put her on the phone with me, she asked me about the woman who hired me.”

Meredith frowned. “I don’t know. You never told me who the client was.”

Sam hesitated, remembering the confidentiality clause of his contract. It seemed far less important now. Especially since he was pretty damn sure he wasn’t even working for the woman who hired him anymore.

“Her name is Matilda Mathews.”

Meredith let out a gasp. Automatically, Sam glanced over, taking in her appearance with surprise. Her eyes had gone wide. She was already shaking her head.

“Matilda Mathews hired you?” she asked. “And she said she was a client of Tamara’s?”

“Yeah.”

“Online? Or a real, live person? Like, an in-person person?”

“An in-person person. A professional-looking brunette. Big, fat diamond ring. Driver’s license with her name on it.”

Meredith shook her head again. “That’s impossible.”

“Why? Is she someone you know?”

“No. Matilda Mathews isn’t a person at all.”

Chapter 19

S
am studied Meredith’s face, trying to figure out if he’d heard her wrong, or if he’d just misunderstood. “What do you mean? She’s not a real person? It’s a fake identity?”

“More than that,” she told him. “Matilda Mathews is another Tamara thing from that summer we spent on Turtle Island.”

“Another stray dog? An imaginary friend?”

“A place, actually. A spot on the island we weren’t allowed to go. A little cave beside Turtle Beach. My parents thought it was too dangerous. Too close to the water, too dark, too slippery, too...everything. But Tamara and I used it as a clubhouse anyway. It was her idea to give the place a girl’s name. That way, any time we wanted to hang out there, we’d just tell our parents we were going to visit Matilda.”

“Okay. But that doesn’t change the fact that a woman who called herself Matilda Mathews
did
hire me.”

“Whoever she was, she was lying.”

Sam ran a hand over his hair. “Why?”

“I don’t know. But if I was going to hide something somewhere on the island—something I wanted Tamara to find—that’s exactly where I’d put it.”

“You think it’s another clue.” He posed it as a statement rather than a question.

“You don’t? We’re on the right track. We have to be. Hamish. Matilda. It’s the only place that makes sense.”

His kept his face carefully neutral, and made sure his voice matched. “There’s another possibility.”

“Which is?”

“Think about the sequence of events. The way everything is lining up to get you to the island.”

“You think it’s a trap?”

“I wouldn’t rule it out.”

“But there are only three people who— Oh.” Meredith’s face crumpled with worry.

“Three people who what?”

“Know about this island and how much it meant to me and Tamara.” Her voice shook. “We kept it a secret. Except...”

Sam knew right away who the third person had to be.

“Except for Nicholas Billing,” he ventured.

“Yes.”

He met her eyes. “I think we need to go back and go over everything we know. And in spite of the circumstances surrounding his and Tamara’s marriage, consider that he might be involved after all.”

She looked like she wanted to argue, but after a second, just nodded. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“Don’t be.” She closed her eyes, and her chest rose and fell with several deep breaths. “Let’s just do this.”

“All right. We’ll start with his time line. We know he left his job about a week ago, and around the same time, his credit-card purchases stopped abruptly. But Tamara’s kept up, like normal, for a couple of days after that.” He paused. “Are we assuming Nicholas really went on vacation?”

Meredith opened her eyes. “No.”

“So he needed some time off but didn’t want to draw any attention to the fact that he was going to be off. Do you think Tamara knew he was missing work?”

“If I had to make an educated guess, I’d say she knew. Nick is smart, but not creative. And if he needed to cover up being off, he would’ve had to find something to do, right? During the day when he should’ve been there. And whatever that might be, it would cost money. But he didn’t use a credit card and he didn’t take out any cash. If he had, Worm would’ve found some trace of it somewhere.”

Sam nodded. “Agreed. So Nick leaves his job—at least temporarily—Tamara knows...and then what?”

“Nick uses the luggage he bought?”

“Right. That was his last purchase. But we already decided he didn’t really go away.”

“No,” Meredith said. “We decided he didn’t take a vacation. That doesn’t mean he didn’t go away. Maybe he went into hiding.”

Sam heard the catch in her voice, and guilt made his chest twinge. He wished he hadn’t had to call her brother-in-law into question. But going in unprepared had the potential to be so much worse.

He reached out to squeeze her hand. “Listen, sweetheart. Whether or not Nicholas has any responsibility only matters in that we have to be even more cautious. We have to operate under the assumption of a worst-case scenario.”

“So you’re not saying we shouldn’t go to Turtle Island?”

“No. Just the opposite. I’m pretty damned sure we
need
to go see Matilda Mathews.”

“The spot, you mean. Not the person.”

Sam strummed his thigh with his fingers. “I think we need to contact the person, too.”

“She’s not real.”

“Someone wanted me to believe she was.”

“I know.” Meredith sagged. “But it’s not going to matter anyway, will it? Because once we have the file—if we get it and this isn’t just a trap—we’re going to walk straight into it. And even if it feels like we’re in control, we’re not, really. They have all the power.”

“I promise you we’re not going in blind.”

“They’re not going to let us just have her.”

“No. They’re not going to make it easy. But neither are we. This won’t be my first hostage negotiation, and this is your sister we’re talking about. We aren’t just handing over the file and we sure as hell won’t be leaving without Tamara. I have faith in our ability. In us.”

“Could you spread some of that faith around? ’Cause I’m struggling over here.”

He eyed her up, easily seeing the downward spiral of her thoughts. Guilty once more, he pulled out Detective Boyd’s phone, dialed Worm’s number and put it on Speaker.

The other man picked up immediately. “Italian takeout.”

“Super. Now I’m hungry.”

Worm sighed loudly, making the line crackle. “You know, Sammy, if you really wanted this relationship to work, you’d call a little less often.”

“I can’t help it. I need you more than you need me.”

“No kidding.”

“You have time to give me some help?”

“No. But I’ll do it anyway.”

“I guess I’ll take what I can get,” Sam said drily.

He reeled off his set of requests—a room on the other end of the ferry, some
real
Italian food, a laptop and, finally, a basic background check on Matilda Mathews—then hung up and faced Meredith once more.

“Does that help any?” he asked.

“Some.”

Sam flexed his hands on the steering wheel, scrambling to find something that would lift her spirits. “You ever driven a stolen car in your bare feet?”

“No.”

“You want to?”

“Out of pity?”

“Out of trust.”

“You need trust to let someone else drive?”

“Been driven around by too many crazy cops and chased by too many crazy criminals.”

Her lips turned up a tiny bit. “So you’re a control freak. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Not in the least. If you won’t do it out of respect for my faith in you, then do it because you’re the one who knows the way to the ferry.”

“Aha. The truth comes out.”

“Of course it does. I would never lie to you, sweetheart.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

He pushed open the car door and swung out his legs. “Not unless I had to.”

“Seriously?
Had
to?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Always a caveat.”

Sam paused, brought his legs back in and turned to face her. Under his gaze, she shifted slightly in the seat. The movement drove her blouse up, just a little. Sam felt his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. The tiny bit of exposed skin sent his heart pounding and made him light-headed, too. He remembered well how that velvet flesh felt under his hands. How her body felt pressed into his. He met her eyes, taking in their pretty hue. He raked his gaze over her face, admiring the pink of her skin. Her full, kissable lips. Her dark brows and wild, blond hair. She was so damn stunning.

“Sam?”

He blinked and realized he’d been sitting and staring at her for a little too long. “It’s just one caveat, sweetheart. And it’s that I have to keep you safe.”

“Okay.”

Sam blinked again, surprised at her immediate acquiescence. “Okay?”

“Yes. I’ll agree to your caveat if you agree to mine.”

“You have a caveat?”

“That’s right.”

Sam let himself grin. “All right. Tell me what it is.”

“I’ll drive. But only if you let me patch you up.”

“I’m fine.”

“You look terrible,” she added.

“Thanks.”

“You know what I mean. You need a doctor, but I know we can’t call one. So I’ll settle for some proper bandages and some painkillers.” She crossed her arms. “See that? My caveat is the same as yours. I’ll do what has to be done. But only if I can keep you safe, too.”

His smile widened. “I’ll think about it.”

Sam swung his legs out of the car again, then stood and moved to the passenger side of the sedan, where he opened the door with a gallant flourish. “See? Fine.”

Meredith tipped up her chin and narrowed her eyes at him. “If fine means you grimace every time you move that arm. You have to let me take care of you.”

“Has anyone ever told you that when you’re mad, you look like a rabid chipmunk?”

“You realize I’m almost five foot ten. And you’re avoiding my caveat.”

“A tall, rabid chipmunk.”

She ignored his teasing. “Just so you know, I’m not driving anywhere until you agree to my terms.”

Sam bent down and placed a kiss on her lips. He meant it to be brief. Teasing. But the moment their mouths fused, her arms came up, drawing him in. The burn of his wound slipped away. The dull ache in his head all but disappeared. Everything but Meredith ceased to exist as the kiss increased in intensity.

He pulled away reluctantly. “All right, sweetheart. You can patch me up the second we get to that boat. From here on out, I’ll protect you and you’ll protect me. We’ll both be very, very safe.”

* * *

Meredith guided the car along the highway, and she had to admit that it felt good to have the little bit of control it afforded. Sure, the hot-wired ignition had a mind of its own, and the thought of getting pulled over and caught with her bare feet on the pedals kept her hovering at the speed limit. And yes, she was full of bitterness at the thought that Nick might have done something terrible to Tamara. Angry at herself for defending him so vehemently. But for the moment, her hands on the wheel were enough to help her tune out the unpleasant swirl of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

She even turned up the radio and let herself get carried away in car karaoke, ignoring the amusement on Sam’s face as she belted out her off-key accompaniment.

She managed to hold on to the cheerful mood as they paid the toll and booked themselves into a small stateroom. She kept upbeat as they grabbed an assortment of makeshift first-aid items from the gift shop, even though the ferry was crowded enough to negate any real conversation until they made their way to their tiny room.

But as they walked through the door, reality hit Meredith again. Tears formed in her eyes. She swayed on her feet. And Sam pulled her into a much-needed embrace.

Chapter 20

S
am held Meredith close. He let her cry into his chest, taking comfort in the fact that she was taking her comfort from him.

“I’m failing her,” she finally whispered.

Sam shook his head. “Failing her? Sweetheart, you’ve been chased through the streets, shot at, knocked a guy unconscious, pretended to be married to me, got kidnapped yourself, all in the name of figuring out what the hell is going on. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the complete opposite of failure.”

“But I let her down. I pushed you to rule out Nick as a suspect, when maybe if we’d focused on him from the beginning, we’d be in a better position.”

“We still don’t know if he’s behind this. And nothing would’ve changed, the way we came at it. We still would’ve followed the paper trail, we still would’ve found the same clues.” He reached down and tipped up her chin. “Do you know what most families do in these situations, sweetheart?”

“No.”

“They fall apart. Sit staring at the clock. Rely on me to do everything. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Really. It’s normal to feel too desperate, normal to leave it to the professionals. But you’re
not
doing that. You’re here, digging in and helping and matching every stride. The exact opposite of failing.”

She lifted her eyes to his. “How do I convince myself that’s true?”

Sam slid his hand from her chin to her cheek. “Keep doing what you’re doing. Move on to the next step. And count the small victories.”

She sighed. “I’m not even sure I can remember what it is I’m supposed to be doing next.”

“If it helps any, I promised you as soon as we got on the boat, you could poke and prod me.”

“I think I said patch you up,” she reminded him, and moved toward the supplies. “Sit down?”

Sam sank into the crisply made cot and watched as Meredith set to work at arranging the cache of items they’d purchased on their way to the room. A pair of slip-on boat shoes to replace the ones she’d lost out the window. Distilled water and a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer for cleaning the wound. A baby blanket embossed with the ferry’s logo that she told him she was going to use as both a cloth and bandage. A bottle of some electrolyte-based sports drink Meredith insisted he needed to replenish his vitamins and minerals, and a travel-sized package of ibuprofen. And a nail kit, which Sam wasn’t entirely clear on, but knew must have a use. And all of it made him smile, because even though the circumstances were just the opposite, there was something soothingly domestic about the flurry of activity. He couldn’t help but wonder what Meredith was like in her own home. Sam tried to recall what her apartment looked like and couldn’t. In spite of the fact that he’d seen it just the morning before, all he could remember was how
she
looked when she opened the door. Cautious. Guarded. Beautiful.

“You okay?” she asked, interrupting the pleasant memory.

“Do you cook?” he replied, then chuckled at his seemingly random abruptness.

A tiny frown creased her forehead as she twisted the cap off the sports drink and handed it—along with two painkillers—to him. “I’m not sure what it has to do with how you’re feeling.”

Sam offered her a grin. “Maybe knowing the answer will make me feel better.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Well. I don’t have a personal chef. And before you ask, I don’t have a maid, either.”

Sam popped the pills into his mouth and took a swallow of the sweet beverage. “What I meant is, are you the type to do Sunday dinners, or do you like to slap together a package of instant noodles with diet soda?”

Meredith used the nail scissors on the edge of the baby blanket to cut it into strips. “Hmm. I guess it depends. Does admitting I like roast beef and gravy condemn me to a lifetime of slaving over the stove?”

“I can think of worse things to be condemned to.”

“Probably because you’re on the receiving end of the mashed potatoes and I’m on the sweat-covered, peeling end.”

An image of Meredith, wrapped in a kitchen apron—and not much else—flew to the forefront of Sam’s mind. “I’ll gladly peel.”

“In exchange for what?”

“I’m not sure you want to know.”

“Oh, sure. You can play Twenty Questions for two hours, but the second I ask what you’re thinking, you clam up?”

“I never said you couldn’t ask. I just pointed out that you might not want to know.” Then he shrugged. “Although, if this is going to be a lifetime thing...”

She colored. “I didn’t mean that literally.”

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward him. “How do two people spend a figurative lifetime together?”

She let him hold her there for a second, pressed to his knees, then shook herself free. “You need to let me look at that arm.”

Sam frowned, unsure why that guarded look—the same one he’d been remembering from the previous morning—was suddenly back in place. A heartbeat later, though, his curiosity flew from his mind. Because Meredith had sat beside him and her hands were on his shoulders, pushing down his jacket. The motion seemed intensely intimate. And how could it not? She was undressing him. On a bed. Sam tried to speak, to draw out some more levity, but now she was rolling up the tattered edges of his sleeve and she kept brushing his skin and all that came out of his mouth was a light groan.

Trying to distract himself, Sam turned his attention to their modest accommodations.

Small—as the ferry guy had called it—didn’t begin to describe the actual size of the room. A swatch of carpet decorated the floor in front of the tiny bed where they sat, and a fold-down table on a swinging arm rested to one side of a single armchair. A round window let in a bit of natural light. That was the room in its entirety. Nothing else to see. And Sam’s attention came right back to the way Meredith’s fingers felt as they unwound the makeshift bandage. Gentle. Sure. Tender. Sam groaned again.

Meredith stopped. “Am I hurting you?”

Sam managed to shake his head. “Nope.”

“You sure?”

He gritted his teeth. “I’m perfect.”

She went back to work, unwrapping the sticky bits of fabric, pulling on the skin and making the sore area burn. He fought a wince.

“Perfect?” she repeated dubiously.

“Aside from the gunshot wound, the various car chases and the currently cramped quarters...”

He shrugged again and her hand tightened on his arm.

“Hold still.” She pulled aside the last of the fabric and inhaled sharply. “Gee, Sam. I don’t know why I didn’t see the relative perfection before.”

“Is Worm’s prediction coming true? Am I dying?”

“Ask me again in two minutes.”

Meredith leaned back, then reached for a water-saturated piece of torn blanket and pressed it lightly to Sam’s arm. This time he couldn’t suppress his cringe.

“Sorry.”

Her apology was heartfelt, but she didn’t stop sponging away the grunge from his wound. She worked for several more minutes in silence, a light sheen of sweat marking her brow. Sam kept silent, too, his teeth pressed together as he attempted to block out the sting of the antiseptic. She kept working until her pieces of cloth came back clean.

She exhaled, her expression marginally relieved. “Good news. It looks better than I thought it would.”

“Considering the fact that it’s a gunshot wound dressed with a sweatshirt?”

“Yes. That.” She sighed. “Even though my knowledge of gunshots is limited to what I’ve seen on TV, I think you got lucky.
Really
lucky. The bullet grazed your skin more than it dug into it, and it even cauterized the wound. You’ll get a scar but—”

“But that’ll be sexy,” Sam ventured.

She ignored his interruption. “But I don’t think it’s in danger of getting infected.”

“So I’m cleared for duty?”

“Hardly. If it was up to me, I’d make sure you stayed in bed for a whole week.”

“Is that right?” Sam teased.

Meredith jumped back, the nervous, guarded look in her eyes once more. “Not like that.”

Sam frowned. “What’s going on?”

“I need to wrap up your arm again.” She started to stand, but he closed a hand on her wrist and held her in place.

“Isn’t the fact that I’m not dying
good
news?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Then why do you look so miserable?”

Meredith blew out a breath. “Maybe it’s because every time I think things are going right, something goes horribly wrong. And you seem good, so I can only assume that your arm is actually going to fall off any second. Or maybe the boat’s going to blow up.”

“Fatalism doesn’t suit you.”

“Fatalism. Hmm. I guess that explains this horrible, tight feeling in my chest.”

Sam studied her face for a second. “What else?”

“What else what?”

“What else is making you look at me like I’m going to disappear in a puff of smoke?”

* * *

Meredith stared back at Sam’s concerned face. She was grateful for his presence. For his incredible perseverance. For his dedication to the case. But his question dug straight to the heart of the worry clouding her mind.

She was scared that everything she’d told him—about her and Nick and Tamara, in particular—would drive him away.

Drive him away? Since when are you so insecure?

But the answer was easy. Since she’d found something she was so scared of losing.

“Sweetheart?” Sam’s face was intent and serious.

“I’m damaged goods.” Meredith looked down at her hands. “And as clichéd as that might sound, it’s true.”

“You’re...what? Where is this coming from? The fact that you have a past?”

“It’s not just any past, is it?”

“Do you wish it had worked out differently?”

She knew right away what he meant. “With Nicholas?”

“Yeah.”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“He wasn’t the right man for me.”

“So if you know that, why are you letting him—and your past—hold you back from having a literal lifetime of a relationship?”

Heat crept up Meredith’s face. “I don’t want to be a disappointment.”

“Sweetheart, I’m nothing but thankful for your past. Nothing but thankful for what Nick did to you.”

“Thankful?”

“As mad as I am that he screwed you over, and as furious as I am that he hurt you, I can’t really resent it. If things hadn’t happened that way, you wouldn’t be you. And when all is said and done, I have a feeling that you being you...is perfect for me.”

Meredith’s breath caught, but she couldn’t form any words.

“Show me where that ache is,” Sam commanded softly.

“What?”

“Show me where you had that tight feeling.”

“Oh.” She lifted her hand and placed the tips of her fingers between her breasts. “Right here.”

Sam’s hand closed over hers. He pressed down, flattening both of their palms.

“Here?”

“Yes. But it doesn’t hurt so much right this second.”

“No?”

“Mmm-mmm.”

And his warmth continued to seep through, spreading out like a spider web. It felt nice. Comforting. Meredith inhaled and exhaled, enjoying the way their hands moved up and down together.

“Any better?” Sam asked.

“Much.”

Meredith brought her palm to his elbow. Then down to his wrist. Then back up. He caught her hand and dragged it up, pinning it to the wall.

Sam’s head tipped sideways and down, and his lips found her neck. He sucked gently, finding the sweet spot where her pulse throbbed, then trailed kisses up to her jawline. His lips followed the entire path. They brushed the sensitive skin, sending up a thrill of heat that made her gasp. His fingers weren’t far behind, either. They swept away her hair, creating even more of a canvas for their artistic exploration. The nameless spot behind her ear. The arch of her cheekbone. The slope of her brow and the crease in the corner of her eyes. Meredith relished each taste Sam took.

In pursuit of more—or maybe in pursuit of giving back—she adjusted her body. And Sam seemed happy to accommodate. He released the arm he’d pinned back and lifted her sideways into his lap. She slipped her hands over his shoulders and around his neck, mindful of his wound. Her fingers dug into his hair, and it was her turn to explore.

She ran her mouth over the stubble on his chin. The pinpricks of a day and half of growth dug into her lips, each point a sharp flick of pleasure. She kissed the tip of his nose, just because she could, then peppered his face with sensual attention. Lick. Suck. Kiss. Lick again.

Her touches made him growl lightly. And through her jeans, Meredith could feel the evidence of his increasing desire. It made her want to give him even more.

Spurred by his obvious want, she shifted again. She lifted a leg and positioned herself over him, her knees hugging the outside of his thighs. His response was a throaty, animalistic noise—one she could feel as it lifted from deep in his chest and escaped from his throat, one that made her feel powerful and sexy and in control.

But then Sam brought his mouth forward, smashing it to hers. And Meredith realized her control was nothing more than an illusion. This man might be underneath her, but if he wanted the upper hand, she wouldn’t even try to keep it. Whatever he wanted from her, he could have it. Meredith would gladly indulge him. Encourage him to take it, even. Like Sam could sense that, he slid forward on the cot, then lay her back against the cotton-covered mattress and positioned himself above her.

His eyes were dark with desire, but his voice was full of restraint. “I want you, sweetheart. I have since the moment you answered the door. And more every second I’ve known you. But you should know that I’m an all-or-nothing guy. A lifetime guy.”

Meredith’s heart thumped. “I want it all.”

“You have to be sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“A lifetime.”

“A lifetime,” she agreed.

“Good. Because when this is done...” He trailed off and raised a suggestive eyebrow.

“When this is done, what?” She heard the eagerness in her own voice and she didn’t care.

He stared at her intently, and Meredith swore the temperature in the tiny room rose several degrees just based on his look alone. The heat was palpable, reflected in Sam’s stare.