Worth The Risk

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.