Worth the Risk (2 page)

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

M
eredith 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.