From the Police Blotter…betrayal, corruption and passion!

Missing: Tamara Billings, famous marriage counselor. Whereabouts unknown. Suspected kidnapped!

Investigator: PI Sam Potter. Dedicated to his job. His number one rule? Not to get involved with clients. Emotionally detached after past failure on the job. Consummate protector, lifesaver, incredible kisser.

His Only Lead: Meredith Jamison, the victim’s beautiful, brainy, gutsy sister.

Investigation So Far: Racing against time, Sam and Meredith have been chased, shot at, ambushed, spied on. Both must risk their lives—and their hearts—to save Tamara.

Bulletin! Case complicated by Sam and Meredith’s unexpected attraction!

“If I’m scared, I face it so I can move forward. When following leads, I make note of every single detail in hopes that one of them will go somewhere. Because all I need is one. And the emotional detachment… I fight every natural urge.”

“Does it work?”

The question hung between them, weighted and dangerous. Sam knew that if he answered with a reference to his past, he’d be giving something away. If he answered in the moment… Well. He might give away even more.

“Not always,” he said, carefully neutral.

Meredith didn’t let him get away with it. “And what would happen if it didn’t work?”

“It would make the job harder. Riskier. Because hearts are at stake as well as lives.”

“Has it happened to you?”

Those green eyes of hers held him, and he knew he couldn’t lie, even if he wanted to. “Once before.” He reached up to smooth back a strand of her blond hair. “And now once again.”

A blush crept up her throat. “Is it worth it? Risking your heart?”

“You tell me.”

* * *

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Dear Reader,

The inspiration for the opening scene of Worth the Risk came from my own life. I was lying in bed, not quite awake—on one of those rare mornings when my kids let me sleep past 7:00 a.m.—when a knock came on my front door. I debated whether or not to answer it, mostly because I dreaded getting out of my cozy blankets. Of course, in the end, I couldn’t ignore it. I worried that it might be something or someone important. I answered, and it was just a kid from a local business, dropping off flyers.

As I crawled back into bed after, my imagination started building an alternate scenario for who could have been at the door. A mysterious figure? The bearer of bad news? And from that, private investigator Samuel Potter was born…

I hope you enjoy the twists of Worth the Risk, which all starts with an unexpected knock on Meredith Jamison’s front door.

Melinda

Worth the Risk

Melinda Di Lorenzo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Amazon bestselling author MELINDA DI LORENZO writes in her spare time—at soccer practices, when she should be doing laundry and in place of sleep. She lives on the beautiful west coast of British Columbia, Canada, with her handsome husband and her noisy kids. When she’s not writing, she can be found curled up with (someone else’s) good book.

MILLS & BOON

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To my family, who accompany me

on every journey.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz-buzz-buzz.

The insistent vibration so closely matched the one in Meredith Jamison’s head that she didn’t immediately recognize that the two things were separate.

“Ugh,” she groaned and rolled over on the couch.

The couch.

Why was she sleeping there? She had a perfectly comfortable mattress just one room away.

Right, she remembered. Wine.

The market research company where she temped had just landed a big client and she’d let herself be talked into celebrating. The third glass had led to a cab home, which led to the couch. Then the dull throb in her head. Thank God her tiny apartment in Bowerville, Washington—a small city outside of Seattle—didn’t have an east-facing window. Sunlight would’ve killed her.

“Ugh,” Meredith said again.

She worked to extract herself from sleep mode, but it still took her a few more seconds to clue in that the incessant buzzing wasn’t random. It was her phone, lodged somewhere between her uncooperative body and the lumpy cushions. She longed to block out the sound with a pillow. But there was no pillow. Because she wasn’t in her bed.

Dammit.

Meredith eased herself to a sitting position, shoved the lingering vestiges of her hangover to the back of her foggy mind and pushed a hand into the couch. Several forceful digs put the phone within reach. She closed her fingers on the noisy little device and yanked it out, shooting it a dirty look as it stopped buzzing before she could answer it.

Her irritation only lasted as long as it took to scroll to the missed call.

Tamara.

Seeing her sister’s name on the little screen made her heart hurt as much as her head. Meredith genuinely couldn’t recall the last time she’d spoken with her. Which was worse than being able to pinpoint an exact split in their close relationship. Not so long ago, they’d spoken every day. Then every week. Finally, that dissolved into a monthly lunch. And now...the rift seemed impossibly wide. So wide that Meredith hesitated to call her back.

Taking a minute to think about it, she closed her eyes, mentally preparing herself for whatever lecture Tamara undoubtedly wanted to deliver. Though younger by two years, the woman was always brimming with advice. Or criticism thinly disguised as advice, as the case often happened to be.

Meredith had never been sure if that particular dynamic—advisor and advisee—was the result of her sister’s wildly successful marriage counseling program, or if it was the other way around. Either way, Tamara was never at a loss for telling Meredith what she ought to be doing. But they were still family, and as crazy as Tamara made her, Meredith couldn’t ignore her. With a sigh, she pressed her thumb onto the call-back button, then lifted the phone her ear. It rang three times, stopped abruptly, clicked a few times and went dead.

Meredith pulled her cell away from her face and stared at it. She wouldn’t have been all that surprised if Tamara sent her straight to voice mail, but the quick hang-up was a little much.

Besides which, she’s the one who called me.

Annoyed, Meredith hit redial. This time, it rang once before her sister’s breathy voice came through.

“Hello?”

“Tam—”

“Merri? Is that you?” The abrupt reply was barely louder than a whisper.

Even more than the hushed tone and the tremor in the question, the nickname worried Meredith. It was an old one. One that Tamara used when they were partners in crime, united against whatever trouble they were causing at any given moment in childhood. And she hadn’t used it for fifteen years or more. Hearing it now ate away at any irritation Meredith had felt just moments earlier.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Oh, thank God.” Her sister’s voice shook. “I need your help. I snuck the phone out, but—”

There was a click, and the line was silent again.

Help?

Worry tickled every part of Meredith’s body.

Had Tamara ever asked her for help in a desperate tone like that? She doubted it. Her sister was a type-A go-getter. If she did request assistance, it was because she wanted it, not needed it. And very likely, she thought she would be doing Meredith a favor by accepting whatever her sister offered.

Meredith shoved aside the thoughts and the questions, knowing the only way to get answers was to ask. She dialed Tamara’s number again.

Voice mail. Damn.

She tried one more time with the same result.

Double damn.

“What’s your deal, Tamara?” she said to the silent phone.

She’d automatically assumed that whatever Tamara needed had to do with her internet-based business. Everything did. The all-consuming world of Tamara’s business—Get Better with Billing—never ceased to amaze Meredith. And not in a good way. Tamara had legions of followers and a whole host of haters. Hate mail and stalker fans. A gated house and money to burn. Every part of the marriage-counseling business impacted every part of her existence. Which, as it so happened, often extended to Meredith. The second someone found out Tamara was her sister, nothing else mattered.

Tamara Billing, celebrity counselor.

Meredith Jamison, celebrity counselor’s sister.

It was clear who played the role of helper and who played the role of helpee.

Concern crept into her heart, and she tried to dismiss it. Wouldn’t her sister have called her sooner if something was wrong? Really wrong? And why was Tamara sneaking around with her own phone? The emotional distance between them wasn’t so great that Tamara would think she couldn’t reach out if she was in some kind of trouble. At least not as far as Meredith thought.

She cursed the fact that her sister had done away with her home phone in favor of her cell and scrolled reluctantly through her address book again until she found her brother-in-law’s name and office phone number. She’d do just about anything to avoid calling the man. The animosity was mutual, and likely—no, not just likely, definitely—the biggest source of discord in this sisterly relationship. But if anyone would know what was wrong with Tamara, it would be Nick. The one thing she couldn’t fault him for was his unwavering love for her sister.

With gritted teeth, Meredith dialed.

A crisp, feminine voice answered halfway through the first ring. “Johnson, Johnson and Levi.”

Meredith recognized the woman’s voice—Hettie had been Nick’s office assistant for years—but in an attempt to keep things impersonal, she replied in an equally professional tone. “Nicholas Billing, please.”

There was a pause. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Billing isn’t currently with us.”

For a heartbeat, Meredith thought the woman was announcing Nick’s death. Then she clued in. “He doesn’t work there anymore?”

“Meredith? Is that you?”

She cringed as she realized that in her surprise, she’d given herself away. “Yes, it’s me.”

“Nick didn’t tell you he left?”

“Nick doesn’t tell me much nowadays.”

This time the pause was more than a little awkward. “Oh. Right. You know...we still miss you working around here.”

Meredith bit back an urge to remind the woman it had been five years, and instead asked, “Why did Nick leave?”

“I wish I knew. He said he was taking a trip. But he cleared out his desk and cut off his cell, too. Said he’d be getting a new number. When I made a joke about wondering if it was a permanent vacation, he didn’t seem amused. I don’t think anyone else even noticed. But a week’s gone by and he hasn’t come back— Oh, hang on.”

Hold music filled the earpiece and Meredith tapped her short, unpolished nails on the couch cushion beside her. Her brother-in-law’s departure from the law firm surprised her. He’d been working there for a decade—straight out of law school, in fact—and had to be close to making partner. Had he quit? She couldn’t imagine he’d been fired.

“Miss?” Hettie’s voice came back on the line, and it had become clipped once more. “I’m afraid I don’t have another number for Mr. Billing.”

Meredith frowned. “Is someone listening?”

“Yes, that’s right. I’m afraid I can’t give you any more details, but Mr. Howard has been assigned all of Mr. Billing’s cases, if you’d like to speak to him instead?”

The other woman didn’t wait for a reply and the hold music drifted through again. Meredith waited impatiently, and when Hettie came back on, it was in a much quieter, far more muffled voice.

“Sorry. The police just got here. And it’s kind of weird...they just asked about Nick, too.”

Meredith’s worry came back with a vengeance. She beat it back and reminded herself that Nick’s specialty as a defense attorney was white-collar fraud. He was considered an expert in the field, and though the police hated having to go up against him, they often used him as a consultant for their side. Or at least they had, back in the days when she worked with Nick. Still...

“Are they there for a case?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

“I don’t know. I don’t have them booked in for anything. But maybe. You know Nick. He likes to keep the balance. I’m sorry, Meredith. I have to hang up. I hope everything’s okay.”

The line went dead, leaving Meredith staring down at the phone.

The police are looking for Nick, right at the same second Tamara comes asking for help? A coincidence?

Possibly. But if not, it added a whole new level of concern. Of course, if Tamara needed help with something Nick-related, Meredith was the last person she’d call. So that brought her right back to Tamara’s counseling business. And try as she might, Meredith couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. She let out another sigh and decided that the best thing to do was to swallow her pride and make the three-bus trip across town to her sister’s mini-mansion. Before she could change her mind, she slipped into some jeans, ran a brush over her hair, brushed her teeth, then snapped up her purse and made her way the door. She swung it open, then froze.

On the other side, blocking the exit, stood a man. A stranger. Who, in spite of his slightly slumped stance, had to be well over six feet tall. At just a hair’s breadth over five foot ten, Meredith found it impossible not to notice when a man was that tall.

Even in heels, she thought, I’d need to look up at him.

And standing across from him like this, she felt damn near petite. Especially factoring in the wide cut of his shoulders and the way he took up the entire door frame.

He cleared his throat and slid his sunglasses up—which were entirely unnecessary anyway—from his face to sit on his dark, near-black hair, showing off the clearest blue eyes she’d ever seen.

An unexpected tingle of attraction swept through Meredith, temporarily overriding the ache in her head and filling it with dizziness instead.

Definitely too much wine.

Except his gaze raked over her, too, moving from her messy ponytail to her plain but fitted T-shirt to her slim-cut jeans. It was an appreciative look. One that said the immediate attraction wasn’t one-sided.

But there was also something about the way he took in every detail of her appearance that made Meredith think he never missed a thing. Which finally reminded her that as much as she was enjoying ogling him, she had no idea who he was or what he was doing on her doorstep.

Probably got the wrong apartment number.

The neighborhood where she lived wasn’t fantastic, but the one thing her building did have going for it was the glorified bouncer of a doorman. He wouldn’t let in a stranger, not without buzzing him up.

Meredith took a breath, cleared her throat and—sounding far too awkward considering it was her house and he was the one who didn’t belong—asked, “Um. Can I, um, help you? With something?”

His reply was a rumble that matched the day-old growth of beard on his ruddy cheeks. “Depends.”

She stared at him. “On?”

“On whether or not you’re Tamara Billing’s sister.”

And just like that, the vague worry that something was wrong swelled to a crescendo. The man standing in front of her was either a cop bearing bad news, or he was the source of the bad news himself. What she needed to do was find out which one applied.

* * *

Private investigator Samuel Potter watched the changing expressions on the blonde’s face with interest. Puzzlement. Irritation. Fear. Resolve. Then schooled blankness.

Mesmerizing.

The word popped into his mind, then stuck.

He hadn’t been expecting her to be so pretty. Or for her to have a soft, feminine voice that wrapped around him like silk and held him hostage. He hadn’t thought too much about her at all, actually. Except in terms of being a starting point for his missing-persons investigation, of course.

The second she opened the door, though, he’d been unable to stop himself from dragging his eyes over the length of those oh-so-long, trim legs, then up to her slim waist—visible even under that plain shirt—then across the swell of her breasts to that tied-up pile of hair.

Sam ground his teeth together.

Finding the target was his goal. Finding the target’s sister attractive...was not.

Focus.

He’d already lost the element of surprise, which was so key in getting people to answer questions honestly. Not that he assumed Meredith Jamison would be a liar, but he knew from experience that the more time people had to prepare, the more hesitant their replies became.

“Are you?” he persisted.

He was already sure of the answer. Her initial reaction had given it away. But Sam needed her to confirm it anyway. Thoroughness. A necessary part of his investigation.

“Am I what?” she replied.

Sam fought an unprofessional eye roll. “Are you Tamara’s sister?”

She bristled visibly.

She doesn’t like being the sister of an internet celebrity.

Sam noted that fact and automatically stored it in the back of his mind; it was the kind of thing that might come in handy later. His business was all about the details—reading people and using their “tells” to get to the truth.

“I do have a name.” Her tone was just shy of defiant, and Sam noted that, too.

“Which I’m hoping is Meredith Jamison,” he said drily.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you hoping my name is Meredith Jamison?”

Sam blinked. He wasn’t used to be challenged. Just his physical presence—six foot three, two hundred and ten pounds and perpetually scowling—made people back down. The attractive woman in front of him showed no sign of budging. If anything, her face grew more stubborn by the second.

Great.

“Well?” she prompted.

Sam suppressed a groan. What he needed to do was come up with a way of convincing Meredith it would be in her best interest to help him out. Which it was, of course. Her sister was missing, even if she didn’t know it yet, and Sam was her best bet at finding her.

He tried to relax his body, to make himself appear as open as possible. He even managed to lift one corner of his mouth in a smile.

“Assuming you’re Ms. Jamison... I just have a few questions about your sister. Easy-peasy. Then I’ll get out of your way.”

“What kind of questions?” She clearly didn’t buy his feigned pleasantness in the least.

“When was the last time you saw or spoke to Tamara?”

“Why?”

Sam clamped his jaw down tightly for a frustrated second, then released it. “Do you always need to know the why of things?”

“I do when those things involve a man showing up on my doorstep asking about my sister.”

Sam couldn’t blame her for her defensiveness or for the fear that lay underneath it. But he also couldn’t go into detail about his investigation. The confidentiality clause requested by his client prohibited him from disclosing more than the vaguest details. It tied his hands and made his job that much harder.

“There’s no cause for alarm, Ms. Jamison,” Sam ventured. “I’m just trying to get in touch with Tamara.”

“Fine. I’m guessing you have some ID to go along with the rest of those questions, then?”

“ID?” he repeated.

“A wallet? A badge, maybe?”

She definitely knows something. And she thinks you’re a cop. Sam examined her face for a moment, then amended the thought. No, not quite. She knows something and she’s trying to figure out whether or not you’re a cop.

He just wasn’t sure which answer she wanted. The truth—that he’d once been an officer, but wasn’t any longer—certainly wouldn’t do.

“Do I need ID to ask questions?” He kept his tone as friendly as he could manage.

Meredith stepped backward, and he knew his window of opportunity was about to close.

And so was the door. Literally.

He realized it with about a second to spare. Sam lifted his hand, intending to close his fingers on the door so he could hold it open. Instead, they landed on Meredith’s wrist. They closed on her silken skin. The unexpected feel of it under Sam’s rough hand sent his pulse skyrocketing. Desire jolted through him, sucking the air from his lungs.

Slowly, he brought his gaze up to Meredith’s face. Her eyes were wide with a surprise that matched his own, and they were as pretty as the rest of her. A liquid green that reminded Sam of the ocean at midnight. Drown-in-me dangerous.

As Sam watched, she drew in a breath and the tip of her pink tongue came out to lick the edge of her bottom lip. Then she whipped her arm from his loose grasp and slammed the door in his face.

For a long second after it happened, Sam stood frozen to the spot, processing. He’d just violated about a half a dozen of his own on-the-job policies, and the result was an epic failure. He hadn’t solicited a single piece of information or acquired the slightest hint as to where to go to next. The only thing that would make it worse was if the girl panicked and contacted the local authorities. There was nothing Sam hated more than cutting forcibly through red tape in order to get the job done. Especially the most basic of jobs, like this one.

He took a breath, counted to thirteen—because ten wasn’t quite enough—and reminded himself that Meredith was currently his one and only lead. Even if he put that aside, he’d also taken a hefty advance payment from his client. He would work as hard as he could to trace the target. So he couldn’t walk away, even if he wanted to.

Is that what you want to do? Just walk away?

He flexed his hand. It still tingled from the brief contact. It screamed of a precarious road ahead, should he choose to pursue his investigation via Meredith Jamison. He should want to walk away, just for that reason alone. But he didn’t want to.

His eyes sought the closed door.

To knock, or not to knock, that is the—

The thought cut off abruptly as one noisy crash, then a second, echoed through the door. Silence followed the bangs.

What the hell was that?

Every protective instinct Sam had roared to life.

“Ms. Jamison!” he called as his fist hit the door.

No answer.

He thumped again. “Ms. Jamison! Meredith!”

Still nothing. He rattled the handle. Locked. He shook the knob harder.

“Meredith!”

Break down the door!

With a heave, Sam obeyed the self-issued command, slamming himself into the wood. The frame rattled, but held. He took several steps back, then ran at the door, shoulder first, his full body weight behind the second attempt. This time, his effort paid off. The wood buckled then cracked, and at the same time, the hinges ripped from the wall. For a moment, Sam and the door stayed suspended in place. Then they both crashed inward.

Ignoring the sharp ache in his shoulder, Sam pushed himself to his feet and put his hand on his sidearm. Caution and subtlety were already a write-off. He moved through the apartment quickly, room to room, calling her name as he searched.

Bedroom. Empty.

Bathroom. Empty.

Kitchen, closets, living room. Empty, empty, empty.

Then he spotted a shattered vase on the floor beside the patio door. He moved toward it quickly, found the latch undone and slid open the glass. With a careful look up and down, then side to side, Sam stepped outside. A large potted plant had fallen over, its contents spilling onto the deck. Another lay in pieces, red clay littering the ground.

For a panicked second, he thought Meredith had been taken forcibly, but his brain argued against it, pointing out the details. Aside from the plants and the vase, nothing indicated a struggle. There had been no screams. And an intruder wouldn’t have taken the time to shut the patio door.

She’d made a run for it.

Chapter 2

Meredith clung to the emergency escape ladder and told herself she wasn’t a total idiot for running. She was simply protecting herself and her sister.

The man at her door had no authority over her—the only thing he did have was that demanding stare. And those wide shoulders.

Shut up, she told herself. Wide shoulders are irrelevant.

He could be anyone, or anything, and whatever he was or did, he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming. The fact that he’d turned up right when Tamara seemed to have gone AWOL couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. It didn’t make her want to stick around. Not that he gave her a bad vibe. Just the opposite, if she was being honest. That one, brief touch had made her warm from the outside in, then back again. It made her want to melt. Which was dangerous all on its own, regardless as to whatever his intentions were.

“Honesty’s overrated,” she grumbled as she grabbed another rung and propelled herself up.

Because she really wasn’t a total idiot. She knew if she just headed straight down, there was a good chance the stubborn, blue-eyed stranger would follow her. She could tell already he wasn’t a quitter. So instead of heading to the ground, she was climbing the two stories to the roof. Once there, she’d cross to the vine-covered rear of the building and make her way down, then follow through with her original plan to get to Tamara’s house and figure out exactly what was going on.

Meredith reached the top rung of the last ladder and pulled herself over the lip of the roof. She landed on the gravelly surface with a grunt, then sat there for a minute, staring up at the cloudy sky. She was unpleasantly sweaty and panting and her body hurt from the exertion. And she still had the residual wine-induced headache, too.

“I swear to God, Tami,” she said to the air, “if that guy down there is your secret lover and you were calling me to help you with him... I’m going to shave your head in your sleep.”

But her gut twisted a little. An affair—even one with a man who made Meredith’s own heart pound inexplicably—would be preferable to the other things running through her mind.

Don’t dwell, and don’t assume, she told herself as she stood and brushed off the dirt from her knees. Just get to Tamara and get some answers.

She wiped her forehead, shouldered her purse, strode to the other end of the roof and swung a determined foot over the side.

* * *

Sam slammed open the front door of the apartment building, ignoring the startled look on the gorilla-sized doorman’s face as he barreled by. He’d slipped the guy fifty bucks to get in; he sure as hell didn’t owe him an explanation for his mode of exit.

Without looking back, Sam rounded the building with the intention of positioning himself in the bushes just below Meredith’s apartment. Out of sight, but not out of reach. But as he approached his intended hiding spot, a flash of movement made him stop short. He spun to follow it, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up as every alarm bell in his well-seasoned body went off.

What the hell?

A man stood on the edge of the yard, binoculars pressed to his face and pointed straight up at Meredith’s apartment. At Sam’s sudden appearance, he dropped the binoculars to his chest and spun. In the heartbeat he had to do it, Sam catalogued the other man’s features. Red hair. Craggy skin. Thick stubble covering his cheeks and chin. Unkempt clothes.

Bad news.

Then the other man took off at a run. Automatically, Sam followed. They tore around the building in a back alley, where a nondescript sedan sat waiting. Before Sam could catch up, the redhead leaped into a vehicle and peeled out.

Sam’s PI instincts battled with his protective ones, the former demanding he run to his Bronco and follow the car and its surly-looking driver, the latter insisting he stay behind and make sure Meredith Jamison was all right. He didn’t get a chance to find out which part of himself would’ve won the internal battle. A snap from above sent his gaze heavenward, and what he saw made him still.

“I’ll be damned.” He craned his neck up as far as it would go.

Right above him, just in view, was Meredith Jamison.

Sam’s body tensed.

For the love of all that is holy. If she falls, I’ll...

His thought trailed off as his eyes landed on her curved, jeans-covered rear end, reminding him of why he’d found her so distracting in the first place. For a minute, protectiveness took a backseat to desire. Her form-fitting T-shirt rose up, exposing a tantalizing amount of creamy skin.

She placed her feet on an elaborate piece of vine-covered metalwork on the side of the building. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. Not even when he acknowledged she’d risked her life just to avoid talking to him. He even had to admit to a grudging amount of admiration for her temerity.

Beauty, brains and guts. A deadly, tempting combination.

A little squeal from above brought Sam’s attention back to the truly dangerous situation she’d put herself in. She was halfway down the six-story building now, and one of her Converse-clad feet had come loose.

Sam’s gut churned.

He stepped to position himself under Meredith. He figured that, best-case scenario, she made it down and landed—probably angrily, definitely reluctantly—at his feet. Worst-case scenario, she came crashing down and he took the brunt of the fall. Maybe he’d break a bone or two, but at least she’d be safe.

She grumbled something loud but incomprehensible as her foot regained its hold, then she began to inch down again.

Sam kept his gaze on her, thankful for each yard that brought her closer to him and to safety. He wondered what, specifically, had prompted the rooftop escape attempt. Had she got ahold of her sister? Or was she just that opposed to speaking to Sam? Either way, he was going to get his hands on her and tell her how insane she was for putting herself at risk simply to avoid him and his questions.

She’d reached the one-story mark now, and she finally paused. She was close enough that Sam could hear her labored breathing and see that she was shaking with effort.

Almost there. Don’t stop now.

Meredith still hadn’t looked down, and Sam tensed as her head tipped in his direction. She looked back up quickly, though, and started moving again.

Good.

She hit the home stretch, and just as Sam was about to reach up and grab one of her ankles, she lost her grip on the metalwork and tumbled backward. Heading straight for Sam.

* * *

A shriek escaped from Meredith’s lips as she fell, then the sound died abruptly as her back smacked against something that was just the right amount of firm.

Not something, her mind corrected. Someone. A good-smelling, solidly male someone.

Vaguely, Meredith thought she should be embarrassed about falling into some poor passerby’s arms. But she didn’t have time. The impact sent whoever it was stumbling backward, and as her savior tried to keep himself on his feet, he propelled them both forward instead. Hard.

Too hard.

Together, they flew toward the wall. The man slipped one hand to her waist and slammed the other out in front of them, just barely stopping their momentum before they hit.

Meredith inhaled a shaky breath, and as her rescuer loosened his hold, she turned to face him.

“Thank you!” she gasped. “I thought I was going to—”

She cut herself off. Too-blue eyes—mildly amused but no less intense than they had been when he’d darkened her door frame—stared down at her.

Dammit. I should’ve known.

“You thought you were going to what?” he asked almost teasingly. “Get away? Fall to your doom? Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m glad to stop you from doing either.”

“I’m sure you are,” Meredith retorted.

She feinted to the left and ducked to the right, trying to slip away, but the dark-haired stranger shot out an arm, stopping her movement. She moved in the other direction, and once again, he blocked her in. No part of him touched her, but she could somehow still feel every bit of him. The rise and fall of his chest. The corded muscles of his forearms. All of it made her tingle. She took a breath. It only made things worse. She could smell his light, masculine scent, and it begged her to drink it in even more.

“Let me go.” Her command came out as a whisper.

“Not until you answer my questions.”

“I’ll scream.”

“I’ll find a way to keep you quiet,” he countered.

Involuntarily, her gaze landed on his lips. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“There isn’t much I won’t do to get the job done.”

He leaned forward, and his mouth was so close Meredith could practically taste him. And she almost wanted to.

Almost?

She shoved aside the accusing thought and forced herself to speak in a strong voice. “You proud of yourself, Mr. All-Or-Nothing? Capturing a defenseless girl like me?”

The blue-eyed man, who definitely wasn’t a cop, pulled away. Just enough to let her breathe safely. But he looked like he was trying to cover a smile.

“Most people call me Sam,” he told her. “And I’m not convinced you’re defenseless at all. But I’d hardly call this capturing anyway. After all, I did just save you from landing on your—”

This time, she cut him off. “On my what?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Head.”

“I don’t believe for a second that’s what you were thinking.”

“Do you want me to tell you what was really going through my mind as you fell into my arms?”

“Actually, I have zero interest in knowing what you think,” she stated.

“I’m going to tell you anyway.”

“Of course you are.”

“I think that you owe me one.”

“Owe you one what?”

“One rescue from certain death.”

“You didn’t save my life!”

“Are you deliberately picking a fight with me?”

She felt her face heat up. “Of course not!”

“Oh. So this was your way of saying thank you?”

“This is my way of avoiding men with stalkerish tendencies.”

“By climbing down an entire building like some kind of deranged superhero?”

“A deranged— Ugh! If you weren’t following me, I wouldn’t have had to take the roof.”

“That. Or you’re hiding something. Did you talk to Tamara?”

“No.”

It wasn’t quite a lie. She hadn’t spoken to her sister again. He seemed to sense the deception anyway.

“If you tell me what she said, I might be able to help you,” he offered softly.

For several seconds, she considered it.

Maybe he could shed some light on what was going on.

She shoved aside the idea firmly. She wouldn’t risk it. Not unless he became her only option. What she needed to do now was to get away so she could figure out what to do next. She didn’t need a complication. Especially not a good-looking one who made her knees a little weak. Besides that, he’d made it clear that he didn’t know where Tamara was himself. He was asking questions, not giving answers.

“Will helping me help you get the job done?” Her voice was loaded with sarcasm.

“I somehow doubt it.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“That means I don’t have to feel quite so bad about this.”

And with that tiny warning, she lifted one of her Converse sneakers and slammed it onto his foot, then went running up the alley.

Chapter 3

I hope he’s okay.

Meredith had run two hard blocks without looking back when the unexpected thought popped into her head and just about made her trip over her own feet.

Why did she care if he was okay?

He’d sat outside her house, waited for her to come out, too, then jumped on her the second he could. What she needed to care about was putting some distance between herself and those eyes of his. To get to a place where she could stop and breathe.

That’s right. Because you sure can’t breathe when he’s nearby. Or stop thinking about his eyes.

This time she did trip. One sneaker caught on a rock and she toppled forward, barely managing to get her palms out in front of her body before she hit the ground. They scraped along the asphalt painfully, but Meredith pushed herself up and forced her legs to move again, this time at a slower jog.

Okay. Acknowledge the attraction before thinking about him leads to a broken arm or something. Then maybe you can get over it.

And it gave her something to consider other than the burning reminder in her lungs that she’d been neglecting her cardio.

The guy—Sam—got to her. There was no denying how her body had reacted to his, how she’d felt every pore come alive as they pressed together.

Well. He did save you from landing head-first on the pavement.

Not that Meredith would admit that to him. Or that she normally went for the hero type. She had no interest in playing the damsel in distress to some man’s misplaced sense of knighthood. So maybe the attraction was fueled by adrenaline. After all, it wasn’t every day she climbed down the side of a building to avoid a guy, then stepped on said guy’s toe and ran off into the streets like a crazy person.

But she’d been attracted to him before that, hadn’t she?

Yes, definitely.

The wide shoulders, the impressive height. The way he looked at her, assessing and intelligent, but appreciative, too. Then there was his quick wit...

“Write a song about him, why don’t you?” she grumbled.

Truthfully, it’d been a long time since she’d even noticed a man. Longer still since she’d been in one’s arms. Her unintentional, chest-to-chest, utterly heart-thumping moment with Sam had been as close as she’d come in years. Literally years. Because being the sister of the woman who created the perfect system for snagging and keeping a husband made dating problematic. Some men went running in the other direction the second they found out. A few went the other other direction and were ready to propose by the second date. Meredith had learned to be cautious.

So, yeah. Being this attracted to someone she just met—wondering what that five o’clock shadow of his would feel like pressed to her cheek or if his lips were as firm as they looked—was unusual.

And stupid.

“That, too,” she agreed out loud.

She had more important things to worry about. Like what her next move was going to be now that she’d escaped Sam and his crooked half smile.

Dammit.

His smile hadn’t even been on her radar until right that second. Now, though... Yep. Right up there with eyes.

Meredith shook her head and spoke her sister’s name aloud as a reminder of her priorities. “Tamara.”

And saying the name made her think maybe she should call her again. Meredith reached for her purse and then groaned. It wasn’t on her shoulder where it should be.

Must’ve dropped it when I tried to do that head plant.

Which meant that Sam probably had it.

“Great.”

What was the man’s deal, anyway? Something in her gut told her he wasn’t there to hurt her. But if he was so interested in Tamara, why didn’t he just go after her directly? Or contact someone who’d spoken to her recently. Her publicist or the host of tech people who helped run her internet business. Meredith’s sister didn’t exactly maintain a low public profile, and she had plenty of peripheral friends who practically qualified as an entourage. Not so long ago, her house had even been featured in some kind of home-and-garden magazine. Tamara’s life was accessible in many ways, but coming through Meredith wasn’t one of them.

Just the opposite.

Meredith swallowed, a guilty lump building in her throat. The rift between them might not be something they advertised, but anyone who took a second would see she wasn’t involved in her sister’s life. Sam’s intelligent gaze told her he should have figured all of that out. So why was he still so hell-bent on following Meredith?

Unless he tried all that other stuff and still couldn’t find her. Maybe his questions and his persistence had to do with that very fact. Tamara was missing. Meredith almost tripped again.

Missing? That’s a leap. Isn’t it?

She had no real reason to believe Tamara was anywhere but in the middle of a too-relaxed-to-answer-the-phone spa day. Except she had answered the phone, Meredith reminded herself. And she’d asked for help. Not typically needed for a pedicure.

She stopped short in her jog as a sudden, dark sense of foreboding shook her, sending a shiver up her spine. The terrible sensation grew even worse when she looked around and realized her haphazard flight had taken her from her own slightly rough neighborhood to the edge of an area that was downright seedy.

The run-down buildings that lined the street and the litter-crowded sidewalk between them made her wish she’d taken her chances with Sam and his questionable motives. Instead, she was sweaty and tired and stuck with no ID, no cash and no phone.

And no choice to do anything but go home.

She’d be lucky if the blue-eyed man turned over any of her stuff without a fight. She could easily picture him handing over each item, piece by piece, in exchange for whatever it was he felt like asking.

If he’d even bothered to stick around.

As Meredith resigned herself to the fact that she didn’t have another option and turned to head back, she spotted a navy sedan. It was on the next street over, but she could see it perfectly through the sparse trees, and something about it gave her pause. Maybe its general out-of-place-ness.

Maybe it’s Sam. And your purse.

She cut across the road to the median, then took five steps toward the car before she got a good view of the driver. It wasn’t Sam at all. It was a redheaded man with a cigarette hanging from one corner of his thin lips. And if Meredith had felt a chill before, it was nothing compared to what she experienced now. There was something deeply disturbing about the way his gaze fixed on her, and if he cared at all that she was staring back at him, he didn’t show it.

He kept his eyes on her, butted his cigarette against the dash, then tossed it out the barely cracked window. She swallowed nervously and took a step backward.

The sedan inched forward.

Uh-oh.

Another step, another few inches.

Whoever he was, he was going to round the curb and come at her.

You need to run!

The urgent internal suggestion was different than the one that made her choose to avoid Sam. This one was pure fear.

But when Meredith turned to go back up the street she’d just come from, she spotted a small group of men at the end of the road, and the paranoid part of her brain was sure that every one of them looked as dangerous as the driver in the car.

Meredith spun back again. The sedan had reached the curved part of the median now, and the driver’s head had turned sideways as he worked to keep her in view.

Run!

This time, the suggestion came as a scream. And Meredith had no choice but to obey.

She slammed down one foot in front of the other, but made it only a half a block before an old, rusted-out truck came flying down the wrong side of the road and screeched to a stop in front of her. The driver’s-side door squeaked open and a masculine hand dropped out at eye level.

Meredith knew without even looking who was attached to that hand.

“Get in!” Sam barked.

“Wh—”

“Now!”

Meredith took a breath, placed her hand in his and let herself be yanked straight into Sam’s lap.

* * *

Sam gritted his teeth.

He seemed to be doing that a lot since meeting Meredith Jamison.

Right that second, it seemed impossible to do anything else. He tried to unclench his jaw and failed.

When she’d stomped on his foot, he’d chased after her for all of ten feet before realizing he didn’t stand a chance of catching up. Not in a neighborhood she knew and he didn’t, and not with the ache in his toes.

He’d limped back to his Bronco, irritated as all hell, and tried to come up with a plan. He’d barely made it into the driver’s seat before the navy sedan whipped by. He didn’t question why he knew it, or even stop to ask himself how the man in the car was tracking her, but he was one-hundred-percent sure following that sedan would lead him to Meredith. His gut told him it was true, and his gut was rarely wrong. This time was no exception.

Minutes after his careful pursuit of the car started, he spotted Meredith. And as the ginger-haired driver started toward her, Sam’s gut hadn’t been content to just be right. It had pushed him to intervene. Quickly.

Now Meredith was lying flat across his lap, her rear end stuck under the steering wheel, her chest pressed against the outer edge of his thigh and her legs still dangling out the door as he attempted to make a getaway. As awkward as the position was, she still felt good pushed into him like that. Very good.

Sam put the truck into Reverse and pressed the gas pedal as hard as he dared and gritted his damned teeth. He spun the wheel—ignoring the little yelp from Meredith as it raked over her backside—and repositioned his vehicle so it faced in the right direction.

Then he heard the squeal of rubber on asphalt, and his teeth were forgotten as he glanced in the rearview mirror. The sedan picked up speed on the other side of the median, the driver struggling to beat him to the curve ahead.

Let him beat me. Then I can give him a little of what he deserves. See if his car can handle being slammed into by the Bronco.

The vicious thought struck Sam by surprise. Typically, he avoided confrontation. He’d fight if he was backed into a corner, but violence was a defensive, last-minute maneuver.

He just wanted the wannabe stalker to pay for... For what? Chasing down some girl he barely knew—less than barely knew—and scaring her? Because he thought she was pretty?

Yeah, maybe, Sam admitted.

Annoyed at himself, he slammed down on the brakes and came to a full stop.

“What are you doing?” Meredith’s voice was breathless and muffled by the truck seat.

More teeth-gritting. “You’re seriously questioning me now?”

“You stopped.”

“For a good reason.”

Sam put his hands on Meredith’s hips and pulled her up, then shoved her sideways, forcing her to the passenger seat. She flailed for a second before righting herself and shooting him a dirty look.

“You might want to put on your seat belt,” Sam offered before she could speak.

He yanked his door shut and did a cursory shoulder check. The sedan had rounded the median completely now. In the not-too-far distance a siren roared to life, and Sam knew someone had called the police.

Super.

He had no interest in explaining himself to the local PD.

With a silent growl and another glance in his rearview, he hit the gas. He spun the wheel and took the Bronco up and over the median. The abrupt move sent Meredith skidding across the seat and back into Sam’s lap.

Well, I did tell her to buckle up.

With another pull on the wheel, Sam turned the truck on a diagonal across the road.

“Brace yourself,” he said.

Meredith’s face filled with panic, and at last she clicked the seat belt into place. Just in time. Sam accelerated again. His Bronco flew along the pavement, careened over a lawn and turned. He revved the engine and kept going. Up one street, down another, looking in the rearview every few seconds. So far, the sedan hadn’t caught up. The sirens, though, were getting closer.

Maybe they’d scared off the redheaded driver.

Hopefully.

Sam took the Bronco up another street and scanned for a place to hide the vehicle. He spied a narrow alleyway behind them.

Good enough.

He shifted to Reverse, but Meredith’s soft hand landed on his wrist. The contact made his pulse jump even higher than the increasingly loud sirens. It also made him pause. Which, judging by her next statement, was her intention.

“Not that alley.”

“No time to be choosy, sweetheart.”

Meredith rolled her eyes and released his arm to point at a sign. “It’s a dead end. We’ll get stuck.”

“Fine. A little time to be choosy.” Sam put the truck back into Drive and sped past the next two buildings, then stopped in front of another alley. “This one meet your needs?”

“Our needs,” she amended. “Unless you suddenly stopped wanting to get away from that creep. And yes. It’ll work. Sweetheart.”

Sam fought an unexpected grin as he made the turn, pulled the truck out of street view and cut the engine. He closed his eyes for one second, but before he could take a single, calming breath, he heard the telltale squeak of one of his rusty doors.

Seriously?

His eyes flew open just as Meredith’s door slammed into the building beside them. She sent a guilty look his way, then slipped toward the narrow opening.

Sam smacked open his seat belt and reached out a hand, which found purchase in the waistband of Meredith’s jeans. She pulled forward, exposing skin and lace. Sam pulled and his knuckles brushed both. With the contact, a jolt of heat shot up his arm, and he let go, startled by the force of it.

Holy hell.

He barely managed to recover in time to see Meredith fall forward. Her legs slid to the ground with a thump, while her upper body stayed in the car. Sam continued to watch for a minute as she wiggled futilely.

At last she turned and glared at him. “Little assistance?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to pull you back in or push you out?”

“Are you giving me a choice?”

“Not really.”

“Then why bother to offer?”

“I didn’t.” He couldn’t cover a grin. “You asked for help, remember, sweetheart?”

“Can we call a truce?” she replied with an eye roll. “And can you stop calling me ‘sweetheart’?”

“Hmm. Let me see. No to the second part. And maybe to the first part.”

“Sam!”

He liked the way his name sounded on her lips. Even when she said it in such an exasperated way.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Are you going to help me?”

“I will. If you agree to stop stomping on my feet and running away.”

“You’re chasing me!”

“I’m just trying get some information on Tamara’s whereabouts.”

“Why?”

“I don’t suppose if I tell you it’s confidential you’ll accept that as an answer?”

“My day looks like this so far. A mild wine hangover. A weird—bordering on scary—call from my sister, who hasn’t talked to me in months. You, on my doorstep. And now a crazy man chasing me down with a car.”

“You spoke to Tamara? Today?”

“Yes. Briefly. But that’s not my point,” Meredith replied.

She’s alive.

The confirmation filled Sam with relief. He itched to know more about the conversation, but he doubted Meredith would tell him a damn thing. Not until they established some trust. Which wasn’t going to be easy. He still had to try.

“Look,” he said. “Would you be willing to give me the benefit of the doubt? At least until I get you unstuck?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Fine. Just...pull me back in. Please?”

For a second, he considered leaving her there, just to prove a point. Then he reminded himself that he needed her help, if he wanted to solve his case. If Meredith had a good side, he should be making more of an effort to get on it. Or at least try to get off the bad one.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” he said. “Put your hands out.”

With an exaggerated eye roll, Meredith stretched her arms in the vehicle. Sam took a deep breath and prepared himself for the electricity he knew would be coming, then clamped his fingers down on her forearms. Want hit him hard. He couldn’t shove it aside, so he tried to harness the energy instead, to channel it to help pull her into the vehicle. In typical fashion, he overdid it. He yanked too hard and Meredith came flying into the Bronco, knocking him to his back and landing on top of him.

He expected her to leap off. Instead, she wriggled a little, then stayed where she was, her green-eyed gaze fixed on his face. Her lithe form remained pressed against him, her breasts rubbing against his chest, her hands positioned above his shoulders, holding her face above his. He could feel every one of her inhales and exhales. Her lips were so close that if he moved, even a little, they’d land on his mouth. And if he’d had any doubt about his attraction to her, it slipped away right that second. Meredith’s body was a perfect fit for his.

“You all right?” he asked, desire making his voice husky.

“I’m okay.” She paused. “Sam?”

Yeah, he definitely liked it when she said his name. It sent all the blood in his body straight to his groin.

“Sam?” she said again.

He swallowed. “Yes, Meredith?”

“I think my jeans are stuck to your belt.”

“Oh.”

At the one-word reply, she lifted a perfect eyebrow. “Do you think you could, um, unstick it? Or does that fall outside the realm of your expertise?”

“Let me see what I can do.”

He slid a hand between them, stifling a groan as the backs of his fingers brushed the skin of her stomach. She wiggled a little more, like she was trying to give him some space to work.

“Not helping,” he said.

“Sorry.”

She moved again anyway.

“Seriously. Could you hold still?” Sam asked.

“I’m trying.”

His teeth gritted together again, though this time for a different reason entirely. He dug his hand down, desperate to find his belt buckle before he went crazy. Finally, his fingers closed on the warm metal. Sure enough, the button from Meredith’s jeans was lodged under the frame. With a firm tug, Sam set it free, then dragged his hand out regretfully.

“You’re all set,” he told Meredith.

She righted herself. “Thank you.”

“So that’s what it takes to earn your gratitude? Third time’s the charm?”

“Third time?”

“First, I saved you from becoming a pancake. Then, I saved you from our friend in the sedan. And now, I saved you from yourself.”

“Ha. I think you only get a half a point for the second one since I had to navigate you into the correct alley.”

“No, I definitely think you owe me three.”

Meredith answered him, but Sam barely heard a word. Because a necklace slipped out from under her T-shirt and caught his eye, and suddenly, he was pretty damn sure that the redheaded thug was tracking her.

Chapter 4

Before Meredith could comment, Sam reached over, closed his hand around the pendant charm hanging from her neck and pulled it close to his face. And since she was attached to the necklace, Meredith had little choice but to follow. Which drew her near enough to Sam that she could smell his clean scent once again.

After a second, Meredith cleared her throat. “You a big fan of gaudy jewelry?”

“Not particularly. Where’d you get this piece?”

“Why?”

He sighed. “Can you answer any question without a long, drawn-out explanation?”

Meredith resisted an urge to stick out her tongue. “Depends on who’s asking. Can I have my necklace back?”

“Nope. I just hope you didn’t have that anywhere near your shower.”

For the second time that day, a blush crept up Meredith’s cheeks. “What?”

“Bedroom?”

The color in her cheeks deepened. “It was still in the box it came in. Until yesterday, anyway. Why does it matter?”

Sam’s brows went up. “Still in the box? Did you buy it for yourself?”

“No. It was a gift.”

“From?”

Meredith bit back another of her own questions. “Tamara. But you’re not telling me—”

“She gave you a gift?” he interrupted. “Recently?”

“Two days ago. Like I said, we hadn’t spoken in months and then this box turned up...” She trailed off with a shrug.

“You haven’t spoken in months, but she sent you a necklace out of the blue and you didn’t think to question it?”

“She’s my sister and it was my birthday, okay? And...”

“And what?”

She shook her head. She had to admit, she’d been a little surprised to receive the necklace. It wasn’t her style. And more importantly, it wasn’t Tamara’s style. Meredith had considered calling her sister when the necklace arrived but never got around to it. Now she really wished she had.

“Meredith?” Sam persisted.

“Nothing. Has anyone ever told you, you sound like a cop?”

“A few people,” he replied drily.

She frowned. “Speaking of cops...”

“No.”

“No what?”

“We can’t wait for them or assume they’ll get to us before the guy in the sedan does.”

“Does that mean you’re going to tell me why you’re following me around and asking me questions about Tamara?”

He smiled grimly, and with a quick yank that burned Meredith’s skin a little, Sam tore the pendant clean off.

“Hey! You can’t do that!”

But any further protest died in Meredith’s throat as the blue-eyed man set the necklace on his knee and pulled a Swiss Army knife from his boot, then used it to dig in behind the large, black stone that formed the charm’s focal point. One sharp push and the stone flew off. And underneath it sat a microcamera.

“What the hell!” Meredith exclaimed.

“What the hell, indeed,” he murmured, then met her eyes. “I think we can agree that Tamara didn’t send you this.”

Meredith swallowed. “Yes.”

“Does your sister have any enemies?”

“Enemies? Lots of people don’t like her program, but enemies?” She shook her head. “What’s going on, Sam?”

In reply, he held the necklace up for a second, examined the camera once more, then placed it on the dashboard and smashed it with the handle of his knife.

“What’s going on is that I need to get you out of here.” He shoved the damaged piece of equipment into his pocket. “Quickly.”

“You think I’m leaving with you without more of an explanation of who you are and how you knew someone was spying on me?” Meredith knew her fear was making her defensive, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

“Do you see a better option?”

“No, but—”

“It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not giving you a choice, and I don’t have time to give you an explanation.”

“What’re you going to do? Drag me by my hair?”

He eyed her hair like he was seriously considering it, then shook his head. He barely managed to open his mouth, though, before a ping echoed through the air, followed by a sharp crack. Sam’s eyes flew to the windshield, and Meredith followed his gaze with wide-eyed horror. A flattened piece of metal had buried itself in the glass directly in line with Sam’s head.

It only took a second for Meredith to figure out what it was.

A bullet.

Sam confirmed it a moment later. “The glass is only bulletproof-ish, apparently. I should probably ask for a refund.”

He was making jokes? While someone shot at them? Was he completely insane? But when Meredith met his eyes, she saw that his face was deadly serious. And under that, he was worried. She could see it in the pinch in the corner of his eyes.

He was trying to reassure me, she realized.

For a weird second, she appreciated the gesture. It even helped her—a little—to recover from the fear making her heart thump against her rib cage. Then a second ping rang out, and this time the side mirror located to Meredith’s right exploded, and any semblance of bravery went out the window. She dove into Sam’s side and clung to his arm.

“Listen to me,” he said into her hair, apparently unperturbed by how she held on to him. “We can’t stay in the truck. And I know you have no real reason to trust that I’m telling the truth, but I promise you, I’ll get you somewhere safe, then I’ll tell you what I can. Can we agree to do that?”

Her mouth was too dry to answer, so she just nodded into his chest.

“Good. You can go back to fighting with me as soon as we’re in the clear.”

Sam reached over her to pop open the glove box, and Meredith sucked in a breath as she caught sight of what was inside.

A gun.

No, wait.

Two guns.

Sam pulled both out, then leaned forward to tuck one into the holster under his jacket. The other, he held out, butt-end first, to Meredith. She didn’t reach for it.

“Take it,” Sam urged.

She shook her head. “I can’t shoot.”

Why did she feel bad about the admission? Firing a gun wasn’t something she’d never even considered doing before that second.

“It’s easy.” He pointed at the trigger. “Aim. Click.”

Meredith took it cautiously. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You won’t have to.”

Meredith wanted to ask why, if she wasn’t going to have to fire it, he was so insistent that she carry it. But he didn’t give her a chance. He reached down to her feet, snapped up the purse she’d dropped back at her building and handed it to her.

“We’re going out my side,” he told her. “And all I want you to do is stay as close to me as possible.”

Then he flung the door open, threaded his fingers through Meredith’s and dragged her into the street.

* * *

Sam was absolutely sure of two things. One, he was in over his head, and two, he needed to get Meredith out of whatever this was, alive and unscathed. Especially if his suspicions about the origin of that camera turned out to be true.

No. Don’t focus on that. Concentrate on the moment.

He held his body in front of Meredith’s as they snaked along the side of the Bronco. His flesh might be an ineffective shield from a bullet, but at least he could make her feel secure. They reached the edge of the truck unharmed, and he scouted for the next point of safety.

“What do you do for work, Meredith?” he asked as he scanned the area.

She replied in a shaky voice, “What?”

“Work. What do you do?”

“I’m, uh, at a temp agency. So right now, I’m at a market research place. Internet survey stuff, mostly. Compiling data.”

He spotted a potential spot for cover, about fifteen feet away. It was an easy dash. One that would build confidence for the next, undoubtedly longer run.

“Can you see that building sign over there?” He inclined his head.

“The one that says Brookside Apartments?”

“That’s the one.”

“Yes, I see it. Why?”

“In a few seconds, we’re going to run toward its south side. Whoever is firing is coming from the north, and I don’t think they know exactly where we are or they would’ve shot again already. Okay?”

A pause, followed by an audible inhale. “Okay.”

Sam counted to ten silently, then tightened his grip on her hand. “Go!”

At full speed, they hit the pavement, propelling themselves away from the Bronco, and in seconds they reached the sign, unharmed.

“Do you think they’re gone?” Meredith whispered.

“No. They wouldn’t give up that easily.”

“Then why aren’t they firing?”

“Probably waiting for a clear shot,” Sam replied. “But we’re not going to give them one. How well do you know this area?”

“Not very.”

“Could you navigate our way out?”

“I think so. You want to go somewhere specific?”

Sam had an idea, but he didn’t want to get ahead of himself. “For now, let’s just get away from this neighborhood—and let’s stay away from yours, too. If you can do that, I can get us somewhere safe.”

“All right,” Meredith agreed.

“Which direction takes us out?”

“We can stick to the south side, if you think it’s safer?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Sam eyed the urban terrain again. “Do you like what you’re doing for work?”

“Not really.”

“Why are you doing it, then?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Try me.”

“Well, I’d planned to study law eventually, so I took the paralegal program to tide me over. But...” She trailed off and didn’t pick up the statement again.

And Sam hadn’t yet found a viable option for their next point. The lampposts were too narrow, the nearest car too far.

“But what?”

Meredith sighed. “I never found the time, I guess. Maybe it sounds funny, but having a semifamous sister limits your options. People expect things.”

“People expect things? Or you expect things from yourself?”

He felt her eyes on his back. “Why are you asking me about this now?”

Sam shrugged. “Getting to know you.”

“Getting to know me? Or trying to distract me from the fact that we’re running for our lives?”

“Maybe both.” Then he spotted it. “Central mailbox.”

“I see it.”

“You ready?”

“As I can be.”

“Good enough.”

He snapped up her hand once more, and they moved together. As they reached the mailbox, a shot finally rang out, pinging against the ground and tearing a hole in the concrete a few feet from where they crouched. Meredith let out a barely audible whimper. Sam pulled her closer.

“We’re okay,” he said. “But we can’t wait here long. Can you keep going?”

He expected Meredith to protest, or to ask for more time, but she squeezed his hand and said, “Ten feet behind us, there’s a pickup truck, and five feet from that, there’s a sandwich board. If we can make it there, we can get to an alley, and I think I can find a way out from that point.”

Sam nodded, impressed by her fortitude. “On three, then.”

She met his eyes. “One.”

“Two,” he replied.

She opened her mouth, but three never made it out because a not-too-far-off shout and the pounding of feet on pavement announced they’d run out of time. Sam moved to pull away from the mailbox, but this time, Meredith was quicker. She held fast to his fingers, dragging him along as she shot out into the street. Sam let her lead, marking their stops.

Pickup truck. Check.

Bizarrely large sandwich board. Check.

One alley. Two alleys. Then three. Triple check.

At the end of the fourth one, they burst out of the apartment-lined streets and into a lower-density area. Duplexes and one-story homes. Tidier lawns. Evidence of children in the form of bikes and colorful sprinklers. They paused for just a moment at the end of a pebbled driveway, breathing heavily, but Meredith wasn’t done pulling him along.

“C’mon,” she urged.

Sam complied, placing his trust in her ability to guide them out. The flash of her Converse sneakers—black-white, black-white, black-white—kept him moving, and her soft hand in his kept him motivated. She led him through the neighborhood at a barely manageable jog, not stopping until they’d put even more distance between themselves and their pursuers.

“Just a bit farther,” she gasped. “And you’ll owe me one.”

“Are we keeping tabs?”

“Definitely.”

“Then we’re three to one.”

“One to two and half.”

Sam managed a smile. “All right. I can compromise.”

They pushed onward, and in a matter of blocks, they reached an area devoid of broken-down cars and replete with uniformly emerald lawns.

“Here,” Meredith said at last. “In this area, one gunshot here will bring out every neighbor and six police cars.” Then she let out a laugh. “Who knows? Maybe they’ll see us and call the cops.”

Not if I can help it. Sam felt his pocket to confirm the camera was still there.

Out loud, he agreed, his own voice ragged with exertion, “Perfect.”

“What now?”

“We call my friend and ask for some help. But first...”

“But first what?”

“This.”

Sam took a breath and took a chance because he might never get another opportunity. He broke his number-one rule—never get personally involved in with an investigation—and grabbed Meredith by the waist. Her green eyes widened, then shut as he dragged her body against his own and closed his mouth on her lush lips.

Chapter 5

Coherent thought flew from Meredith’s brain as Sam kissed her. His exploration was almost tentative at first. Gentle. But as soon as she lifted her arms to his shoulders, welcoming the attention, the kiss deepened, and Sam’s exploration grew more demanding. He tasted the corners of her mouth with his tongue, probing firmly.

Then his hand lifted to the small of her back, and Meredith gasped at the contact. He took advantage, delving between her lips. And each time his tongue found a new spot, Meredith’s desire spiraled higher. In mere moments, a fan of heat radiated through her. It was hottest at the points where Sam’s body touched hers directly. Their mouths. The tips of his fingers under the back of her T-shirt. The brush of his cheek on her chin. But where it was most distracting was at the points where she wanted to be touched.

Everywhere, she thought. I want him to touch me everywhere.

Except he was already pulling away, already giving her lip a final, light tug and putting a few inches of space between them.

“Meredith...” He spoke her name in a low, sexy rumble and ran his thumb along her jaw. “I’m not going to apologize for that.”

Apologize?

She stared at him wordlessly. She seemed to be having a hard time catching her breath. And it had nothing to do with their frantic escape. Not that she would fully trust her voice anyway. She’d never, not in all her twenty-seven years, been kissed like that. Never felt such a strong attraction to a man after such a short time. Maybe never at all. She didn’t know if the adrenaline really was heightening things, or if it was just Sam. All she knew was that the last thing she wanted was an apology. But she couldn’t make the words come.

After a silent minute, Sam sighed and pulled a slim black phone from his pocket. He keyed in a set of numbers, then carried on a monosyllabic conversation before turning his attention back to Meredith.

“Worm’s on his way.”

She finally found her voice. “Worm?”

“A guy I trust when I can’t trust anyone else.”

“Why can’t you trust anyone?” Meredith’s forehead creased with worry.

He met her eyes. “The less I tell you, the safer you are.”

“Then I must be the safest person on the planet, because you haven’t told me anything.”

“Meredith.” His voice was flat. Totally at odds with the kiss he’d just given her.

Fine. We can both do that.

“Tell me why you showed up at my door this morning,” Meredith said, just as evenly. “And tell me why you’re looking for Tamara. I think I’ve been patient for long enough.”

A smile tipped up one corner of Sam’s mouth. “This is you being patient?”

Meredith narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t going to let herself be charmed.

“Tell me, or I swear I won’t go another step with you. I’ll walk up to one of these big houses and knock on the front door and tell them I need to call 911,” she warned.

He shot her a glare, but when she took a step toward the closest driveway, he relented.

“I’m a private investigator, Meredith. Someone—a client of your sister’s—hired me to look in on Tamara.”

“Why?”

“I’m breaking the terms of my contract by telling you anything, you realize that?”

“And I’m breaking the terms of my life by running through the streets while someone tries to kill me.”

He let out another sigh. “Fine. The client showed up for an online session, and your sister wasn’t there. I guess that’s pretty unusual.”

“The business is everything to Tamara,” Meredith stated. “She’d never abandon a client.”

“Which is what she said. So when Tamara missed a second session that week, she started to get worried,” he explained. “The client didn’t want her identity compromised and she didn’t want to involve the police, so she called me.”

She sensed there was more. “And?”

“I haven’t been able to locate Tamara. And now this.”

“Do you think—” Her voice caught. “Do you think someone took her?”

“I try not to get ahead of myself.”

“But you won’t call the police?”

Sam’s face darkened. “I can’t.”

Worry spiked at his unwillingness to involve the authorities. Then she thought about the police at Nick’s office. Was it something she should tell Sam? It seemed more and more relevant. But aside from his skills as a lifesaver and as an incredible kisser, what did she really know about the man in front of her? She had no clue if his reluctance stemmed from a lack of trust in cops, or if it was something darker. Meredith opened her mouth to ask—or maybe just to insist that the situation was far too dangerous to not call for help—but an oversize truck whipped around the corner, cutting her off. It barreled toward them, then jammed to a stop a few feet away. A big, fully bearded man with a curly ponytail stuck his head out the window.

He tossed a suspicious look at Meredith. “Who’s that?”

“The target’s sister,” Sam replied. “Meredith, this is Worm.”

“Why’s she here?”

Sam put an arm around Meredith’s shoulders. “Because she is.”

Surprise registered on the big man’s face for a second before he recovered. “Let’s see it.”

Sam stepped away from Meredith, reached into his pocket and pulled out the smashed camera.

“What the hell did you do to it?” Worm reached out and snatched it away.

“Disabled it. I hope,” Sam replied drily.

“Possibly. Sure as hell didn’t give the serial number a fighting chance.”

“It’s there,” Sam assured him.

Worm ducked back into the truck and, over the engine, Meredith swore she could hear the sound of a keyboard clacking. A minute later, the bearded man leaned out the window again, drew back his hand and tossed the camera through the air.

“You were right,” he said. “Police-issue.”

Meredith gasped. “The police planted the camera?”

Well. At least now his paranoia about the local authorities made sense.

“Still want to call 911, sweetheart?” Sam teased grimly, then looked up at Worm. “Can you give us a hand, my friend?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” the big man replied. “Hop in.”

As Sam helped boost her into the truck, Meredith’s mind alternated between wanting to go numb and wanting to race wildly. What had Tamara done? Fixed the wrong marriage? Or not fixed it? Or was it Nick? Had he crossed the wrong client? She still had a hard time believing her sister would call her in an attempt to help him. And what about the police involvement? She didn’t have an answer for any of the questions bogging her down, and she was left staring out the window blankly, wondering just how she and Sam would figure it out.

She and Sam.

From the backseat, she stole a glance at him. His held his head tipped to the side, his striking profile on display. He was on the phone, talking in a low voice, attempting to leave a message for the client who hired him to track down Tamara. When he hung up and shot her a reassuring smile, Meredith’s heart gave a surprising lurch.

A half a dozen other questions surfaced. What would have happened to her if he hadn’t shown up when he did? Would the gun-wielding man in the sedan have kidnapped her? Killed her? And what about Tamara? Would her sister have stood a chance if the local PD had been put in charge?

“You okay?” Sam’s voice cut through her worried thoughts.

“Should I be?” she replied.

“Probably not,” he admitted. “But I’m working on it. And we’re here.”

“We’re where?”

“My place,” Worm said and cut the engine.

Belatedly, Meredith realized the big truck had come to a halt in front of a squat bungalow.

“You can rest up,” Sam told her. “Maybe eat something, if you want. Though from what I remember, Worm’s cooking skills consist of takeout and toaster waffles.”

“I’ve had worse,” Meredith said and she let Sam help her from the truck.

Her body ached, and as weird as it seemed, her stomach rumbled the second she thought of food. But as soon as they’d settled into Worm’s living room, and Sam started to lay out his plan, hunger and exhaustion quickly took a backseat to her concern.

“I need to get my notes from my apartment,” Sam said. “Once I have them, Worm’ll use his super tech skills to track Tamara’s movements. I won’t be gone long.”

“You don’t really expect me to agree to being left here, do you?” Meredith asked.

Sam shot Worm a look, and the big man glanced from one of them to the other, muttered something about making coffee, then disappeared up the hall.

“Sending him away isn’t going to change my mind,” Meredith said. “You’re my only lifeline to my sister. If something happens to you while you’re out there getting your notes...”

At the end, her voice almost broke. Because it suddenly struck her that it was true. The man standing over her was the only one she could count on right that second. He was the only other person who knew Tamara was missing and quite possibly the only other person searching for her. The police couldn’t be trusted. Nicholas was nowhere to be found. Not that she exactly trusted him, either. Meredith also couldn’t put any of her friends in danger by telling them what was going on. And if the media got involved, the situation would turn into a circus and Tamara’s life would be at risk. If it wasn’t already.

Oh, God. What if she’s— Meredith shut down the thought before it could even finish. She refused to consider that her sister was anything but alive.

Sam sat beside her on the couch, and she lifted her hand to stop him from getting any closer. She knew if he touched her, that zap of attraction would floor her again, and she’d be in a bad position to say no to whatever he asked. And she wasn’t backing down. But as her arm raised, so did his, and before she could draw away, his fingers closed on her wrist. He pulled her palm to his chest in a gesture that was both strangely intimate and comforting at the same time.

“I promise I’m doing what I think is best to help Tamara,” he told her gently. “And nothing’s going to happen to me while I’m doing that. It’s my job.”

“If you really believed that, you wouldn’t be asking me to stay here.” Meredith shook her head. “And this might be just a job to you, Sam, but to me, it’s my sister’s life.”

“I didn’t say this was just a job,” he amended. “I said it is my job.”

“I don’t see the difference.”

He finally let her wrist go.

“I get paid, but I’m not in it for the money. My goal is always the same—to help people. Because I know how it feels to—” He cut himself off abruptly, cleared his throat, then started again. “I’ve seen how my clients feel when someone they love can’t be located, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. I only take on missing-persons cases, nothing else. My closure rate has been one hundred percent since I started doing this. So the difference is, Meredith, it’s never just a job for me.”

At the end of his short but impassioned speech, Meredith stared at him. What had he been about to say before he stopped himself? And why did she get the feeling that, whatever it was he did before he became a PI, his success rate wasn’t a hundred percent and that made him unhappy?

So many more questions. And no time to ask them.

“If all of that’s true,” she said, “then you know I can’t just sit around waiting.”

“Let’s say I agreed to let you come with me. What if something did happen? How much worse would it be if you were there? How much worse would it be if I couldn’t protect you?”

“How can you protect me at all if I’m here and you’re somewhere else?”

He said her name in a frustrated growl. “Meredith...”

“Just because you don’t want me to be right doesn’t mean I’m not.”

Sam lifted a hand to his hair, which he tugged, then released. “The car.”

“What?”

“You’re going to wait inside of it. You’re going to hold my phone with Worm’s number set to go. If a single thing goes wrong, you call him. You don’t follow me, you don’t call the cops. Just Worm.”

And Meredith nodded her head quickly, afraid if she spoke, he’d change his mind.

* * *

Sam kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the road as he maneuvered the borrowed hatchback—another of Worm’s vehicles, but a far less obtrusive one than his truck—through the streets. He hated that Meredith had talked him in to letting her come along. He hated that it still seemed better than the alternative of leaving her behind. She was right, though. He couldn’t keep her safe if she wasn’t in sight.

Is that the real reason you want her here? asked an irritating voice in his head. Or is it something more?

Her safety was definitely a factor, no question. The problem was what was making that safety so important to Sam.

He cast a quick look at Meredith. She’d closed her eyes, her long lashes dipping down to caress her skin. Sam was ridiculously envious of that motion. When was the last time he’d felt an attraction like this one? Had he ever? The jolt each time they touched was definitely unique. Even now, his fingers itched to reach across and trace the ridge of her cheekbone to her delicate jaw. He longed to feel her lips again.

That kiss.

He’d told her he wouldn’t apologize for it, and he wouldn’t. It might’ve been a mistake, but that didn’t mean he was sorry. If anything, he was glad. Life was fragile; sometimes moments had to be seized in case they never came again.

No one knew that better than Sam. His heart squeezed. He’d almost told Meredith how well he knew it. That was far more significant than any kind of physical attraction.

He tightened his hands on the steering wheel. Sam didn’t talk about his past. He didn’t discuss the reasons he’d left the police force or the motivation for his devotion to his business. With Meredith, he’d almost slipped up. Another thing he never did.

What was it about her that made him so careless? What made him want to dredge up things better left buried, lay them bare and share them with her?

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.

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