Worth the Risk (15 page)

He made himself speak calmly. “You should be careful with that gun.”

“Really? You’re telling me what to do?” was the reply. “You’re lying on your back in a ditch. My gun has a hair trigger, and it’s pointed at your girlfriend’s very pretty head. And you still think it’s a choice? You still think you stand a chance?”

“You won’t shoot her,” Sam replied. “She’s no good to you if she’s dead. So we both know you can’t get what you want without her.”

“That’s true. But I
can
get it without you.”

Somehow, the air shifted. Just a little. Just enough to let Sam know the gun’s position had shifted, too.

Better on me than on her
.

Except Meredith’s sharp inhale told him she didn’t feel the same way, even before she spoke. “If you shoot Sam, you might as well shoot yourself in the foot, too. Because if you hurt him, I’m sure as hell not going to tell you anything about where to find the Hamish file.”

The conviction in her voice impressed Sam, but he knew she wouldn’t sacrifice her sister’s safety for his own. Even if she was considering it, he wouldn’t let it happen. The man above them came to the same conclusion.

“You sure you want to take that risk?” he asked. “Your sister’s life for his?”

Meredith had a firm reply at the ready. “I don’t consider it a risk. For all I know, you’ve killed her already. Or she’s escaped. I want proof of life.”

“Proof of life. Hmm. Maybe. Or I could just shoot you both. Kill your sister. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about the file at all anymore.”

Sam wished he was close enough to punch the man in the throat. His hands curled into fists, but Meredith was already answering, her voice still impressively sure, her lie remarkably smooth. If Sam hadn’t been able to feel the slight shake of her legs and known the truth, he might’ve bought the ruse himself.

“You could do that,” she said. “But I made a copy of the file, and I gave it to a friend. He has no clue what’s in it, but he’s got strict instructions to post it to my sister’s blog if I don’t check in every eight hours. She has a million regular visitors. But I guess what you do is up to you.”

There was a pause, then a loud sigh. “Fine. Come up to your knees, Ms. Jamison, then stand. Slowly. If I see Mr. Potter reach for that gun on his side, I
will
shoot him. Maybe not to kill, but I’ll be sure to hit something important. Once you’re up, my associate will help you out of the ditch. Potter will follow.”

“Got it,” Meredith agreed, and she immediately sat up.

Sam closed his hands on her thighs. He squeezed, willing her to know that the man giving the commands couldn’t be trusted.

“Got it,” she repeated.

This time, she spoke in his direction, her voice soft but sure, and Sam relaxed as much as he dared. She was smart enough not to misplace her faith. He kept still as she put her arms out to the side and pushed to her feet. He reminded himself that lives were at stake and kept his ego in check when the ginger-haired thug leaned over the ditch and shot a smug smile downward. He even managed to maintain an outward calm when a pair of meaty hands clamped onto Meredith’s shoulders. But when those same hands yanked her out forcibly, drawing a small cry from her lips, Sam couldn’t contain his reaction anymore. He had no choice but to protect her.

He shot upright, cursing as he clawed at the side of the ditch. “Hurt her and you’ll be—”

The rest of the sentence died on his lips as something heavy came down on his head.

Complacency,
Sam thought.
Maybe now would’ve been a good time to have some.

Then the world snapped into blackness.

Chapter 15

A
wareness dawned, in slow, reluctant pieces.

A hand, soft and warm, holding his own.

A terrible ache in his body.

A feminine voice in his head.

No, not in your head. In your ear.

It was true, he realized. The murmur came from beside his face, somehow soothing and urgent at the same time.

“You’re going to be okay, Sam. You are. I promise.”

He tried to drag his eyes open, and for a second he succeeded. A swirl of blond hair clouded his vision, and the voice and the hand-holding connected in his mind.

Meredith.

He struggled to form her name, and at that, he failed completely.

“You’re going to be okay, Sam,” she said again.

Then the pressure on his palm eased, and the curtain of hair swooshed up and away.

Wake up.

Sam heard the command. Then ignored it. It came again. Louder. More insistent.

Wake up.

No,
he thought.
I won’t.

Wake. Up. Now!

His head throbbed at the internal yell, and he mumbled back at it. “Go away.”

A gasp greeted his words. “Sam!”

He forced his eyes open, and a flurry of movement brought a pair of gorgeous green irises down to his level. Meredith peered at him, concern evident in her pinched forehead and sucked-in lower lip. She was kneeling beside him now, her palm gently cupping his cheek.

“Are you with me again?” she asked, her voice barely more than a hoarse whisper.

“I’m here.” Sam’s own reply came out just as raw.

“Thank God.”

“What happened?”

“You don’t remember getting knocked out?”

He fought to grab a specific memory. The running. The kissing. Sharp anger and the redheaded man...but the specifics were just out of mental reach.

Sam shook his head, then winced at the responding dizziness. “I’m sure it’ll come back to me in a minute or two.”

“Water?” she offered, and held out a disposable bottle.

Gratefully, Sam took a small sip. The liquid cooled his throat, but when he tried to push himself up, an immediate wave of nausea sent him down again. Unsurprisingly, his temple was starting to throb, too.

He groaned. “How long was I out?”

“Not too long. Half an hour, maybe. Twenty minutes in the car, then ten in here.”

Thirty minutes? It felt like days had passed. Or at least hours. Or maybe it was more like no time had gone by at all. It was a completely disturbing feeling.

“You opened your eyes a bunch of times, but you weren’t really awake. Just muttering to yourself,” Meredith added. “I was so worried.”

Sam squeezed her hand and fought the urge to close his eyes yet again. He didn’t want to scare her any more than he already had. He blinked away the sleepiness, trying to inventory both his state and his surroundings. Gray walls. Concrete floor. An industrial-sized door with a silver handle. Locked, presumably. Nothing to give away the purpose of the room.

Shoving aside new worry, Sam moved on to his body. He was stretched out on a couple of stacked-up, canvas-covered pallets, and a second piece of fabric had been balled up and tucked under his aching head. He hurt. Probably had a concussion. But he couldn’t feel anything directly life-threatening.

“Sam?”

Meredith’s voice shook a little, and he focused his gaze on her. “Still here. Wherever here is.”

She sighed. “It’s a warehouse of some kind, I think. After you jumped out of the ditch—”

Sam put up a hand, silencing her.
The ditch.
The memory came flooding in. Meredith’s yell and his reaction. His own stupidity. It’s what had landed them in this glorified cell. He’d let his emotions get the best of him and put Meredith at risk. His heart dropped into his stomach as the weight of his actions hit him. Disgusted with his recklessness, he shoved down his pain and forced himself to his feet.

“Sam, what’re you doing? I don’t think you should be moving around like that yet.”

He turned her way, but couldn’t meet her eyes. He didn’t deserve her sympathy. He looked away again, then took enough long strides to bring himself to the sealed door. He tugged on the handle. Nothing. Next, his hands found the frame, sliding over the seams, searching desperately for weakness and finding none.

“Sam.”

“I need to get you out of here.”

“Sam!” She was already beside him, already putting a hand on an elbow and trying to lead him back to the pallets.

“Stop it.” He yanked his arm out of her grasp.

She flinched. “I don’t understand what’s going on with you. Stop what?”

“Stop saying my name. Stop sounding like you care.”

“I
do
care.”

He flung a desperate glare her way. “I got us locked up in here. I let them get to us. I just about got you killed, Meredith.”

“That’s not true.”

“It sure as hell
is
. Denying it won’t change a damned thing.” He paced the room, pretending it didn’t hurt him, inside and out. “I’ve been keeping my emotions in check for five years. A half a decade. And now I know why. I can’t do my job if I’m too busy
feeling
. You were right. It’s impossible. It clouds my judgment and endangers the client and the more danger there is, the more it clouds my judgment. Vicious bloody circle.”

“You’re wrong.”

He spun. “Wrong? How can you stand there and say that?”

“Because it’s true.” She looked utterly calm.

“Really? I cared about my sister. She was my whole damned life, and I couldn’t save her. Now this.” A bitter laugh escaped from his throat as he swept his arm through the air.

“I think your head injury is affecting your judgment.”

“It’s not the damned injury!”

“Sit down, Sam.”

“I’m not going to—”

“Sit down before I lose it.”

“I’m—”

Meredith put her hands on her hips, calmness gone. “Now!”

Startled by the vehemence of her tone, Sam backed up until his calves hit the pallets. When he didn’t sit right away, Meredith took several angry, forceful steps toward him, her eyes flashing. When she reached him, she shoved a hand into his chest—not hard, but he collapsed backward anyway. His rear end thumped hard against the pallet.

“I’m not going to apologize for that,” she snapped. “And not because I think you almost killed me, but because you’re being an unreasonable idiot.”

“There’s nothing unreasonable about anything I said.”

“Oh, really?” She stepped back and lifted up her shirt.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Showing you the real meaning of the word unreasonable.”

Sam tried to look away, but the color of her stomach made him stop. It made him cringe. It made him
angry
, and it made him forget—at least temporarily—about his self-loathing.

“What the hell is that?”

“That’s the residual effect of being beaten with a golf club.”

Sam jumped to his feet, swaying as dizziness hit him once again. “When did you get beaten with a golf club?”

“The man who pulled me out of the ditch was the detective. The one I knocked out at your apartment building. Apparently, he wasn’t too happy with me.”

Guilt and sickness added to the dizziness. “If I hadn’t jumped in...”

“The only reason it’s not worse than it is, is
because
you jumped in. He dragged me out, then knocked me down, and the second I landed on the ground he started hitting me with the club. I screamed. It was more the look on his face than the pain, really. He wanted me dead. I’m sure of it. But you jumped in. And it distracted him and he hit
you
instead. You didn’t almost get me killed. You saved my life. So go ahead and add that to your IOUs if you feel so inclined. Six and a half to three, or whatever.” Meredith paused, then shook her head and added in a far quieter voice, “And if you did it because you let your emotions get the better of you, then maybe you should do that a little more often. Because it sure sounds like a good idea from where I sit.”

Sam’s whole body sagged with momentary relief. He’d done something
right.
It wasn’t time to give up. Not yet. Then his eyes drifted up and he saw that Meredith still had her shirt lifted. And the sight of the bruising hit him far harder than the dizziness.

“I’m going to kill that jerk,” he muttered.

“I don’t think you’re going to have to.”

“What do you mean?”

“That man with the red hair. He was furious at the cop. He made him load you into the car at gunpoint. Then he forced him to drive out here, too. The last thing I saw before he locked us in here was him tying the cop to a chair while he talked to someone on the phone. I don’t think the redhead is going to let him live. Not if he’s got a choice.”

Sam gave himself a moment to process what that meant. Disregard for life was one thing. Disregard for a cop’s life—and a detective, no less—was a whole other animal. Dead officers drew attention. If the person in charge gave the redheaded man permission to kill the detective, it meant no fear of retribution. Which filled Sam’s mind with unease. And renewed urgency.

“Not good,” he said under his breath, wishing his head would clear. “We really need to get out of this room.”

Fighting the roiling of his stomach, he strode across the room and bent to look at the door handle. Standard commercial-issue. Designed to keep people out by locking on the exterior side only. A small hole decorated the center, though, and Sam was sure a narrow tool would allow him to pick it.

“You don’t happen to have a bobby pin in your hair?” he asked over his shoulder.

“No.”

“A lock-picking kit hidden in your bra?”

“Hardly.”

“Never hurts to ask.” Sam shrugged, stood up and scanned the room for an alternative.

Meredith caught on right away. “What about the pallet? The nails holding it together?”

“Good thinking.”

Aided by the adrenaline rushing through his body, he moved to the wood in question, tossed aside the canvas sheet and tipped up the pallet. Flat, metal nail heads held the slats to the sides. Could he get them out? If so, would they be long enough to do the job?

“Only one way to find out,” he said, then caught Meredith’s eye. “You ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“This.”

Straining against his overall body ache, Sam lifted the pallet to shoulder level, then slammed it to the ground. It thudded against the concrete, making the wood splinter. He lifted it a second time and smashed it once more. This time, the wood cracked open completely, exposing the nails. At least one looked promising. Sam started to work it free, speaking as he did.

“Tell me everything you know about this warehouse. What’s the layout like? Where are we in terms of the exit?”

Meredith closed her eyes like she was picturing it.

“The warehouse is big and completely empty. We’re on the second floor in some kind of storage room, I think. There’s a walkway outside this door. It goes all the way around the perimeter and it’s open to the area below. There’s only one set of stairs, and beneath those is an office. That’s where the redhead tied up his friend.” She opened her eyes. “Does that help?”

He nodded. He could imagine the layout perfectly. He hoped like hell they’d simply be able to open the door, walk down the stairs and leave. But he knew the chances of that happening were slim to none.

He pulled away some more of the fractured wood, then wiggled the loosened nail. “Weapons?”

“He took them before we got in the car, but I don’t know if he brought them in. He tossed our phones, but I can’t see that he would’ve done that with the guns.”

Sam heard the spike of worry in her voice and shot her a reassuring smile. “We’ll get it all back, sweetheart.”

“He never got around the proof of life, Sam. What if Tamara is...”

“She’s not. They won’t do anything until they have the file they’re after. And I’m not going to let them get that far.”

The nail finally sprung free, and he held it up triumphantly, then made his way back to the door, where he jabbed it into the hole. It scraped against the sides, but it fit, and the small victory helped ease the throb in Sam’s head. Which was good, because he needed to come up with a plan.

“Do you know where we are in terms of the bus station?” he asked as he jiggled the nail. “Lots of turns on the drive out here? Or you think you could find your way back?”

“Nothing but one long road, a railroad track and a couple of hills. But it would take us hours to walk back to the station.”

He met her eyes. “I have no intention of walking.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

The lock clicked free and Sam grinned. “Yep. I get to steal a car after all.”

But his amusement was short-lived. Because when he swung open the door, he saw that they weren’t alone. At the other end of the walkway stood their redheaded friend, surprise on his face and his hand moving toward the pistol at his hip.

* * *

For a too-long moment, Meredith stared at the man across from them, her panicked thoughts tumbling on top of one another.

We don’t stand a chance. We’ll never get by him before he takes us out. He’s going to kill us. No. Not
us.
He needs you alive. He’ll just incapacitate you. But Sam... Oh, God.

If it came down to a choice between killing him and letting her go, she didn’t think it would be a choice at all. And Sam was already moving to position himself between her and the armed man.

In slow motion, Meredith saw the redhead’s mouth tip up into a smug smile. She heard the click of the handgun cocking.

No.

In a panicked flurry, she shoved Sam out of the way. He let out a yell and stumbled sideways, probably propelled as much from her push as from his recent head injury. A bullet whizzed by. It lodged into the gray wall behind them, spraying out flecks of debris. Meredith didn’t give herself time to be relieved. She snapped up a piece of broken pallet from the ground, then spun back to their captor. Logically, she knew the jagged wood would be an ineffective shield against a bullet. But that didn’t matter, because she only wanted to use it as a distraction. Her real shield would be her own body.