Worth The Risk

“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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