Worth the Risk (6 page)

He shook his head mentally. She didn’t need to know. It would only scare her, make her doubt his abilities.

“Sam?” Her voice cut through his brooding.

“Yes?”

“I can practically
hear
you thinking.”

“What, are you psychic now?” His tone was far lighter than his mood.

“Hardly. I think every person in a five-mile radius can feel the gloomy musings rolling off you.”

In spite of himself, he smiled. “Gloomy musings. That’s a new one.”

“Thanks. I was rather proud of it, too.”

She paused, and Sam swore that now
he
could hear
her
thinking.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

The question was hesitant, but somehow open. Like her offer to listen was a genuine one, and once again, Sam felt the maddening urge to answer her candidly. He actually had to force himself to do the opposite.

“Talk about what?” he replied flatly, his eyes staring straight ahead. “My gloomy musings? I think I’ll keep those to myself, thanks.”

Meredith’s hand landed overtop of his. The immediate, magnetic desire hit him. But this time, there was something else lying just underneath it. The satisfying feeling of receiving comfort after needing it.

“My sister might be the official counselor, but I’m not a bad listener, either,” Meredith said, her voice as soft and tempting as her touch.

Sam made the final turn onto his street, pulled over and put the car into Park before turning to answer her. “The quicker I go in and grab my notes, the quicker I get back, and the quicker Worm can help us figure out where Tamara is.”

“Is it cliché to tell you to be careful?”

“Only if you don’t mean it.”

There was no hesitation. “I definitely mean it.”

“Good.” He pointed to a well-worn building on the other side of the street. “See those apartments?”

“Yes.”

“I live on the sixth floor in the corner unit.”

“You’re parking this far away? How am I even supposed to know you’ve made it inside?”

“Because when I get to my living room, I’m going to turn on a light, flick open the curtain and wave from that window just above the big evergreen.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone and punched in Worm’s number, then placed it on the dashboard.

“And if that doesn’t happen?”

“On the very slim chance that something goes wrong,” he said, “all you have to do is hit Send. I’ll leave the keys in the ignition and the gun is in the glove box.”

“All right.” She met his eyes. “Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Seriously. Be careful.”

“Always am, sweetheart.”

He swung open the door, then climbed out. Before he slammed it shut behind himself, though, he stopped and bent down.

“My musings weren’t all gloomy,” he said.

“They weren’t?”

He shook his head and met her eyes. “Nope. Part of them included thinking about you and when I might get to kiss you again.”

He let himself stare into her eyes for a moment, enjoying the way they widened in surprise at his declaration. As he closed the car door, he realized the teasing statement was true. The idea of another kiss had been creeping around his otherwise worried mind with greater and greater frequency. Her soft lips. The way she melted under his touch. Yeah, Sam definitely wanted round two. Soon. So much that he had to fight an urge to turn back and get it that second.

Good motivation to come back in one piece,
he told himself. And good motivation to focus on the task at hand.

Firmly, he shoved aside thoughts of Meredith’s mouth and shifted his brain into work mode. His eyes scanned the street, searching for anything out of the ordinary. An unusual car or an out-of-place individual. His caution was habitual, honed by his years as a cop, and the mental inventory was almost soothing.

No one suspicious in sight. Good.

A peal of laughter in the distance. Excellent.

Door to the apartment building intact. Perfect.

Still, something made Sam pause. Nothing he could see—just something he could feel. Quickly, he weighed intuition versus fact and picked the former. He trusted his gut. Besides that, he
had
promised Meredith he’d be extra careful. So at the last second, he veered to the side and lifted a hand in a backward wave, sure she would understand the signal. He walked past his own building and the next, then turned up a dead-end path. He made his way to the end, stared up at the fence there for a second, then hoisted himself right over it. Finally, he pushed his way through the tangle of overgrown bushes and made his way back toward his building.

It surprised him to find it as unguarded as the front. He’d fully expected the uncomfortable tingle along his spine to play out into something concrete.

Overactive intuition, apparently,
he chastised himself.

It didn’t stop him from taking another slow look around. The rear of the apartment complex was dim and gray and silent. There were no patios off the back, and all the windows appeared closed and covered. Nothing worth looking at.

He fingered the solitary key in his pocket. Pilfered long ago from the building manager, it would open any exterior door, including his chosen point of entry—the emergency door on the side of the building. He turned his attention there now. Even though the few stairs leading up to it were clear and there was nowhere in their vicinity to hide, the hair on the back of his neck still refused to lie flat. It made him want to move slowly. To be careful enough to please even Meredith.

But thinking of her actually spurred him to speed up. The more time he took to get up to his apartment, the more likely she was to panic and dial Worm’s number. And the longer she was alone, the less Sam could protect her directly.

He inhaled, brushed aside his worry, and made his way toward the door. No one jumped out at him. No one fired a shot. In less than a minute, he’d unlocked the door and stepped into the dimly lit staircase. He inhaled again and started up the steps, counting them off silently in twos.

Four, six, eight—crrrrick!

It only took Sam a heartbeat to recognize the noise for what it was. The cock of a gun, amplified by the hollowness of the stairwell. He threw his back to the wall just as a silencer-muffled shot whizzed by and smashed into the cement at his feet.

Sam’s training and experience took hold immediately.

Offense, at the ready.

He whipped out his own weapon.

Locate the shooter.

He eased forward, and another bullet came flying at his toe. From above. Good to know.

Open the communication.

At that, his target beat him to the punch.

“Put down your weapon!” called a gruff voice. “And no one gets hurt.”

“Might’ve tried to sell that line
before
you fired at me. Twice.” Sam inched along the wall as he spoke, wondering how far he could get before the other man noticed.

There was a pause. “Good point.”

Sam stifled a snort. He was at the edge of the stair now, and he closed his eyes for a second, trying to recall how the stairs were configured. Every eighth step, like the one where he stood now, was a wide one. Then a turn. Every sixteenth step ended in a landing at a new floor. If Sam had to guess, he’d say the shooter was on the second-floor landing. There was no way to come at the other man without getting shot first. He’d proven that already.

I need to get myself some kind of advantage.

“How about
you
put down
your
weapon and no one will get hurt—for real?” he called, opening his eyes and scanning the limited area.

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you, either.”

“The thing is, unlike you bad guys...we good guys ask questions first and shoot later.”

“Hilarious,” the shooter responded.

“What can I say? The art of conversation is underrated.”

Sam spotted the exposed bulb on the wall. Right. One of those hung at every eighth step, too.

All right, then.

He lifted his weapon, aimed it, then thought better of it. The man above him could fire at will because no one would be the wiser. Sam’s own weapon was far from silenced and would alert every person on the block.

Thinking quickly, he holstered his gun and reached to his boot. He pulled out his knife, then drew back his arm and took aim again. With a practiced flick of his wrist, Sam released it.

The light shattered. Shards of glass flew in every direction, and a curse echoed from above. Sam made his move before the surprise could wear off. He leaped up the stairs. Just as he expected, he found the shooter on the next landing. The man’s gun was on the floor, clearly dropped in the mad attempt to brush off the exploded glass that had already dotted his face with flecks of blood. The second he spotted Sam, he stopped flailing and dove. Not for the weapon, but straight at Sam himself.

Instinctively, Sam sidestepped the attack. But his balance had already been thrown, and instead of moving smoothly out of the way, he stumbled. He reached for the wall and he caught himself. Barely and briefly. For a breath, he hung at an angle, one foot on a stair, one hand on the wall. Then he tumbled sideways and followed the shooter down the stairs.

Chapter 6

A
s Meredith stared out the window, waiting for Sam’s signal, she frowned. A flash made her squint her eyes and take them off the curtained window. She couldn’t see a change in the scenery. She breathed in irritably, chastising herself for getting distracted. But her inhale brought a whiff of something. She drew in another breath. Yes, there it was again.

Cigarette smoke.

But there was no one in sight.

Meredith scanned the shrubs on the edge of the apartments a little more carefully. And paused. There, just behind a particularly shabby tree, a tiny ribbon of gray swirled up. She brought her eyes down to the bottom of the foliage. She could see the edge of a thick black boot. Her heart thumped.

It could be anyone. A resident. A visitor. A—

Her thoughts cut off as a cigarette butt flicked up, then landed on the ground, and the booted foot followed it. She got a second-long glance at the person wearing the boot. And that second was all she needed to recognize him. It was the redheaded man who’d chased her down with his sedan.

Oh, crap.

Why was the man outside Sam’s apartment? Was he going in? Standing guard? Was it already too late?

In a panic, Meredith reached for the phone, and in that same panic, she dropped it.

Get it together!

The silent, self-directed command could only help so much. She was too frazzled. Too worried about Sam’s safety.

And when she did manage to retrieve the phone, it only got worse. Worm’s number had disappeared off the screen. Quickly, she scrolled through in search of an address book. It came up blank.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered.

She eyed the keys hanging from the ignition. But she knew she wouldn’t use them. No way would she leave Sam alone.

She popped open the glove box and retrieved the gun Sam had left behind. She grabbed a ball cap that had been stuffed in beside it, too, and shoved it down low on her head. Then she snapped up a wrinkly jacket from the backseat and draped it over her shoulders. She eyed herself in the rearview mirror. A shoddy disguise, but the best she could do.

As she climbed from the vehicle, Meredith decided to take a direct approach. They—whoever
they
were—would be expecting a subtle entry. A sneak attack. She’d draw less attention if she acted like she belonged there.

Unless they’ve all got your face on their radar.

Meredith shoved aside the frightening thought and pulled her hat even lower. She commanded her feet not to slow as she neared the glass doors at the front of Sam’s building. Just inside, she could see a man in a police officer’s uniform. Her pulse quickened.

Keep calm.
Like you’re just coming home from a coffee date with a friend and there isn’t a shiny weapon stuck in your belt.

She reached the door and lifted her hand. And before she could even fake dropping her key like she planned, the cop was there, swinging it open.

“Miss,” he said, his voice full of overblown authority. “The building’s on a lockdown.”

Uh-huh,
Meredith thought, remembering all too readily that the little spy camera in her necklace had been police-issue.
If it’s on lockdown, why are you
un
locking it?

What she said aloud was
“No hablo Inglés.”

The cop blinked. “You. Can. Not. Come. In.
Comprende?
”

“No hablo Inglés,”
Meredith repeated and moved to sidle past him.

One of his meaty hands shot out and landed on her shoulder. “Stop.”

“Qué?”

“Seriously?” the cop grumbled. “Sit tight, all right? Just...stay.”

He stepped back, turned away from Meredith and pressed down on his two-way radio.

“I’ve got some chick down here,” he said. “Yeah, no. That’s not happening. She doesn’t understand English.”

When the door had almost closed, Meredith scooted her foot to the edge of the door and propped it open, just an inch. She held her breath, waiting for the cop to notice. But he just continued to speak into his radio, growing more agitated with each sentence.

“No, man. Spanish!” A pause. “It’s not funny.”

Meredith wiggled her foot, widening the opening. The officer still didn’t turn, so she pushed the door even farther. And the moment it was big enough to slip through, she took a breath and slid into the lobby. Then, as quickly as she could, she moved along the wall, turned up the hall and waited for the policeman to notice she was gone.

After a moment, she heard him say, “You know what? Never mind. She must’ve given up. No, of course not! See where she went? What the—”

Not bothering to listen to another word or to verify that the cop was actually going to check outside for her presence, Meredith moved again. She hurried past a series of first-floor apartments and eased open the door to the stairs. And froze. A man, leaned over at an awkward angle, blocked her way.

She took a step back, then froze a second time as the man shifted and she saw why he stood the way he did.

He held Sam beneath him, throat in hand.

And Sam wasn’t moving.

With fear making her heart bang, Meredith drew the gun from her waistband. She shoved aside the doubtful voice in her head that reminded her she had no clue how to use the damn thing. Because she wasn’t going to fire it. She was going to improvise. She turned the weapon sideways, gripped it tightly, lifted it over her head and swung with all her might.

The gun slammed into the side of the stranger’s skull with a thump that jarred Meredith’s arm. As the man’s head whipped to the left, his body wobbled, too. His arms shot out, but the momentum was already too great. He toppled over. The other side of his head smashed into the stairs. Then he rolled the rest of the way over onto his back and went still.

Ignoring the way her whole body shook, Meredith turned her attention to Sam. One eye was swollen, and above that was a laceration. She could see a bit of red on his neck, and his breaths came shallowly, but at least they came.

She smoothed his hair back gently. “Sam?”

“Meredith?”

She practically swooned with relief. “Oh, thank God.”

His cleared his throat and opened his eyes. “Did you just clock that guy over the head with a gun, or was that a hallucination brought on by lack of oxygen?”

“Are you cracking jokes? Now?”

“Why? Is now a bad time?”

“I thought he was going to kill you, Sam.”

“Just trying to converse with me. In an extrapersuasive way.”

“This really isn’t funny.”

“I know it isn’t.”

Meredith opened her mouth to tell him he had a weird way of showing it, but before she could get out a word, Sam pushed himself to a sitting position, then dragged her close. And she was too startled to pull away. His lips—a little dry and a little rough—pressed against hers.

She knew the timing was terrible. The situation was precarious. Dangerous. Not to mention the unconscious man on the floor just a few feet away. But the moment Sam’s tongue flicked out to part her lips, it all seemed unimportant. And when he slid his hands to her waist, pulled them both to their feet and pushed her to the wall, everything outside of the two of them slipped away. She forgot the waning adrenaline that made her shake. She forgot her fear. She forgot everything but the sizzling heat between them.

Meredith let herself sink into the kiss, impressed by the thoroughness of Sam’s exploration and startled by her own reaction to it. And react she did. Delicious explosions filled her mouth. They sent warmth down her throat and into her chest, where it bloomed into something fantastic and inviting. Something that forced out one little moan, then another.

Sam deepened the kiss. His hands dug into her hair and his chest pressed to hers. And the contact was no longer just dazzling; it was consuming. The kind of kiss that could go on for an hour, just the way it was, or lead to something more.

Something more.

Meredith’s body sang at the prospect. Tendrils of desire moved through her, settled in and took hold. And when Sam pulled away, she felt the loss acutely.

He cupped her cheek in his palm. “Well. That was even better than the one that I imagined while Mr. Unconscious and I were chatting.” He let her face go and moved his gaze to the man on the floor. “Speaking of which... We should go before he wakes up.”

Abruptly, Sam moved toward the man on the floor. He stared down for a long moment, and when he looked up, a deep frown clouded his features. And Meredith saw immediately why his attention had shifted so quickly. The rough-faced assailant’s coat had dropped open, and a shiny badge peeked out from an inside pocket.

* * *

As Sam bent down to grab the other man’s identification, a deep sense of foreboding made him draw in a shallow breath. The air sucked roughly against the ache in his throat, thickening it, and it only worsened as he confirmed what he already knew.

The man who’d fired at him—who’d seemed to enjoy delivering more than a few blows while he demanded information about Meredith’s sister—was a cop, no doubt about it. And not
just
a cop. A detective. He read the name on the shield.

Brody Boyd.

“Don’t know him,” Sam muttered, not even realizing he’d spoken aloud until Meredith answered him.

“Were you expecting to?”

“No.” Sam paused, then decided he owed her a bit of disclosure. “But I thought his name might ring a bell. I used to do his job. Same department, too.”

“You were a detective?”

“I was. But I left the force years ago. Personal reasons.” He nodded toward the door. “We should move while we talk.”

“We can’t go out the front,” she told him. “There was another cop out there.”

Sam grimaced and studied the man on the floor again for a second. How far up did the corruption go? How many of them were involved? And what the hell did they want with Tamara Billing? Too many questions and far too few answers.

“We need to get my notes,” he said decisively.

“Your apartment is probably a little...occupied,” Meredith pointed out.

He nodded. “That’s why we’re going to do it indirectly.”

“Indirectly?”

“Can we extend that bit of trust again?”

She looked like she wanted to argue, but after a second, she shrugged. “Sure. But just so we’re clear, I did just knock a guy out for you, so now you owe me two.”

Sam smiled and pulled her toward the stairs. “I’m still ahead by a half. And didn’t you tell me it wasn’t funny?”

“Laugh or cry, right?”

Her words were flippant, but her voice was serious, and Sam had to fight to keep himself from stopping to comfort her. It bothered him that Meredith was in pain. That she was in this situation at all. He knew, logically, that it wasn’t his fault. That didn’t mean he didn’t feel responsible. Or that he didn’t wish he could somehow soothe away her bad feelings. And as they got closer to their destination—the fifth floor, right below Sam’s own apartment—even more worry crept in.

You should’ve forced her to stay with Worm,
he told himself.

Except Meredith wasn’t the kind of woman who could be forced to do anything. She’d made that abundantly clear.

Besides that, if she
had
stayed behind, you’d probably be dead
.

Sam acknowledged the truth of the mental reminder. He did owe her his life, and though he wasn’t overly fond of being indebted to anyone, he was sure as hell thankful for her stubbornness at that moment. Thankful enough to kiss her. Again. And again.

As they reached the fifth-floor landing, Sam ordered his libido to calm down and lifted a finger to his lips to indicate to Meredith that they needed silence. He eased open the heavy fire door and peered through the crack. The hallway appeared vacant. Still and quiet. It made Sam a little uneasy, but his intuition didn’t rear its head, so he pushed the door open wider and led Meredith past three doors. At the fourth one, he stopped.

“Just follow my lead,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

Before Sam could answer her, the door swung open and a well-wizened woman greeted them with a shake of her finger.

“If this isn’t your girlfriend, Sammy, I’m shutting the door right now,” she said.

In spite of her words and her shrewd expression, Sam grinned a genuinely affectionate grin. “Eileen, this is Meredith. And yes, she belongs to me.”

“Hmph. Does
she
know that?”

Sam squeezed Meredith’s hand again, this time in a silent prod.

“Oh, I know all right,” she said quickly. “Sam’s making sure of that.”

Eileen laughed. “Come in, then. Have some tea. Tell me what happened to your face and I’ll tell you why I think this building lockdown is bull.”

Sam bit back his need for urgency and allowed his elderly neighbor to take her time. He knew she’d only stall further if he pressured her. Or ask questions he’d prefer not to answer. So in spite of the fact that the more time that went on, the more likely it was that his stairwell assailant would wake or be found, Sam simply sat back and let her prepare the tea and cookies. He interlocked his fingers with Meredith’s, just as much for his own pleasure as for show, and listened to Eileen complain about the service at their local grocery store. Finally, when they’d eaten enough to satisfy her, she turned the conversation to their present concerns all on her own.

“Damned fake cops showed up about an hour ago,” she said. “Told us all to stay in our apartments because there’s some kind of criminal in our building.”

Sam kept his face smooth. “Fake cops?”

Eileen snorted. “You think real cops come door-to-door, hands on their guns, and
tell
the residents they’re arresting someone in the building? Or that they cut the telephone lines and demand that people hand over their cell phones? Threaten them when they refuse? I thought that gang-type fellow down the hall was going to get capped when he didn’t want to give them his phone.”

Sam couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “What I think is that you’ve been watching too much TV.”