Worth the Risk (16 page)

Careful to keep herself in front of Sam—who was groaning just a little—Meredith brandished the slice of pallet in front of her. The redhead snarled and dodged out of range of her wild swing. She swung again, and he cursed and lifted the gun.

“Shoot me and you’ll never get that file,” she reminded him. “And before you aim for an incapacitating shot rather than a lethal one, you should know I won’t be holding still and you’ll be taking your chances.”

“I’m caring less and less about the file and more and more about the headache you two are creating for me.”

“I’m sure your bosses will be happy to hear that.”

He inched closer. “I’m caring less and less about that, too.”

She thrust her makeshift weapon forward and made herself speak as casually as she could. “Really? You’re going to go back on whatever deal you made because the job isn’t easy? You’re nothing like the criminals on TV.”

“You’re not exactly a typical damsel in distress, either.”

“I never said I was.”

He tipped his head to one side thoughtfully. “What is it you think is going to happen here, Ms. Jamison? That I’m just going to step aside and let you walk out of here?”

“More or less.” Did she sound as falsely overconfident as she felt?

“Better stick with less. This is a standoff you can’t win.”

“I happen to be an optimist.”

The redhead smiled a smile that made Meredith want to twitch.

“You might be a glass-half-full girl,” he said, and inclined his head to indicate over her shoulder, “but I don’t think Mr. Potter has the same luxury.”

She refused to look. Sam
had
been awfully quiet. She’d been too caught up in holding her ground to think about it. But she couldn’t turn in his direction. She didn’t dare. Because she knew the second she did, the other man would be on her.

“Mr. Potter is just as sunshine and flowers as I am, thank you very much.”

“You’re awfully certain of that. Especially considering the amount of blood pooling around Mr. Potter’s body at the moment.”

His words made Meredith’s heart skip a terrified beat. And even though she fully acknowledged that it might be a ruse, she couldn’t help but check. With the wood stretched out, she swiveled her head to glance toward Sam.

And her stomach dropped to her knees.

The gunman had been telling the truth. Though he still sat on the ground, Sam had pulled himself to the wall and leaned his back against the flat surface. A crimson puddle decorated the concrete floor beside his elbow, and a matching stain feathered out along the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Abruptly, Meredith realized the bullet in the wall must’ve grazed Sam’s arm before making its final landing.

She rounded on the redhead, fear and anger mixing in her shout. “You shot him!”

“I guess I did.” His smug smile was back in place.

Her gaze flew back to Sam. Every part of her wanted to help him. To attend to his wound and feel his forehead and check his pulse and
save
him. And she was sure that was exactly what her captor wanted.

“I’m guessing he might need some medical attention,” the man said. “If you put down that glorified club and tell me where the file is, I’d be happy to give you some assistance with that. A hospital, maybe?”

The glint in his eyes infuriated Meredith. She was going to hurt him. Slam the piece of pallet into his stomach. Something. Anything to wipe the look off his face and punish him for hurting Sam. For making her choose between helping her sister and helping the man who’d already stolen such a large piece of her heart.

But in the end, she didn’t have to. Before she could settle on a course of action, a dark-colored, Sam-shaped blur flew across the room. It slammed into the redheaded man and sent him careening backward. His gun slid from his grasp, clattered across the floor and landed at Meredith’s feet.

She stared down at it for a shocked moment. Then she lifted her eyes and met Sam’s pale gaze.

“You might wanna pick that up,” he said. “I’m not sure how much longer I can hold this idiot down. My arm kinda hurts.”

Chapter 16

M
eredith’s big green eyes widened. She blinked. Once. Then she dropped the wood from her hands and bent down and picked up the gun, and Sam finally let go of the breath he’d been holding. He didn’t loosen his grip on the man underneath him, though. He held fast to his arms and kept his knee on his chest. No matter how badly he thrashed and no matter how much it made the gunshot wound hurt, he couldn’t let go.

Oh, hell. A gunshot wound.

Three years as a cop, three more as a detective and five as a private investigator. Dozens of chases and arrests. Actually, hundreds. Yet he’d never taken a bullet.

“Dodged a few, maybe,” he muttered.

“Sam?”

He looked up and realized that even though his hands remained fixed in place, he’d actually zoned out. Probably from the blood loss. Shock. Both. And he had time for neither. What he needed was adrenaline. A shot of the stuff that had helped propel him from his spot against the wall to the position he was in now. Instead, he just felt shaky and a little lost.

“Sam?” Meredith repeated.

He forced himself to focus. “Point the gun at him, sweetheart.”

“Like this?” She raised it obediently.

“Exactly like that. Thank you.”

“So polite,” the redhead snarled, kicking up a leg. “How sweet.”

“A little bit of manners go a long way,” Sam agreed through clenched teeth. “Which reminds me. I’d appreciate it if you’d hold still. Make it easier for me to think about what to do with you.”

The man didn’t even pretend to listen. He strained against Sam’s hold, lifted his head and bucked. The motion jarred the wound and jarred Sam’s head and made his already short temper flare. He momentarily forgot his politeness.

“Cock the gun, Meredith!”

“I don’t—”

“Black lever. Pull it back with your thumb.” A second later the familiar click sounded, and Sam breathed in deeply, then exhaled and channeled as much serenity as he could. “Thank you. Again. I want you to get as close to him as possible without actually being in his reach.”

Meredith looked nervous, and Sam wished he could simply take the burden off her, but the cloudiness of his head worried him. The last thing they needed was for him to take possession of the gun, then get fumble-fingered and drop it. So he just offered her a nod and a smile.

You can do this,
he willed.

She nodded back and stepped forward with the weapon trained on their assailant-turned-captive. “How’s this?”

“Perfect.” He lifted the other man’s wrists, then slammed them down again, momentarily stunning the criminal into immobility. “In a second, I’m going to lift my knee from your chest and I’m going to let you go. You’re not going to move. Not an inch. You’re barely going to
breathe.
Got it?”

“She’s not going to fire,” the thug said.

Sam opened his mouth, but Meredith beat him to the punch, her voice quiet but steady. “I don’t
want
to fire. Even though you kidnapped my sister. Even though you’ve been chasing us all over the city, and even though you still haven’t shown me proof that Tamara’s still alive. And you shot Sam. I still don’t want your death on my conscience. But I will, if it’s our lives or yours.”

“Hear that, Red? She doesn’t want to. But she will. So can I count on you to keep still?” The man grunted, and Sam chose to take it as assent. “Good. And just so you know...she’s far kinder than I am. You shot me, and that pisses me off, so I’m not going to be at all unhappy if the trigger does go off. Keep that in mind.”

He pulled back, positioning himself into an awkward squat and making sure that the man below him had a clear view of Meredith and the gun. He didn’t want the redheaded man to forget for even a moment that his life hung in the balance. Sam knew if he sensed an inch, he’d take something worse than a mile.

“You still ready to shoot, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Ready and reluctantly willing,” Meredith confirmed.

Sam eased up to his feet. He sucked in a shallow breath as dizziness threatened to overtake him. He widened his stance to stabilize himself and looked down at the redheaded man.

“All right. You’re going to get to your feet. You’re going to walk one step in front of me. Meredith is going to walk directly behind you with that gun of yours pointed between your shoulder blades. You’re going to lead us out that door and you’re going to put us in immediate contact with whoever has Tamara Billing.”

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” the thug retorted.

“I know they hire men like you.” Sam crooked his finger. “Up.”

The other man stood. “They’re smart. These aren’t a bunch of clumsy, two-bit criminals who’ll make a mistake or bend over because you ask nicely.”

“They’re cops, Red. That doesn’t make them infallible.” Sam pointed to the exit. “Like I said, lead the way. And if you so much as stumble, I promise she’ll put a bullet into your spine. Understood?”

“Whatever.”

The redhead turned and took two steps, but paused in the doorway when Meredith spoke.

“Who are they?” she asked softly. “The men who have her.”

Her inquiry made Sam stop for a second, too, and he cursed himself for not asking it himself. He’d been too distracted by his own feelings. And his damned gunshot wound and the accompanying wooziness.

The thug’s head spun their way. “You don’t know? You’ve read the file, but you haven’t figured it out?” His gaze flicked from Meredith to Sam, then back again. “You haven’t read the file.” He took a small step backward, his eyes narrowing. “Or maybe you don’t actually
have
the file. Holy mother of—”

His words cut off with acute abruptness. His mouth hung open for a second, like he was going to finish the sentence. No. Not quite. More like he
wanted
to finish the sentence, but couldn’t.

Sam frowned, a question on his lips. Then the other man’s body crumbled to the floor, a bright red dot visible on the side of his head. It only took Sam a second to recognize the dot for what it was—in fact, he knew it well. He had a matching one on his arm.

Goddamn.

And there was that kick of adrenaline he so sorely needed. With a muted growl, he reached for Meredith, then pulled her hard against the wall inside the storage room. Sam pushed his body to hers and cursed the fact that he couldn’t even take the time to enjoy the close contact.

“Did he just get shot?” Meredith breathed.

“Damn right he did. The real worry is, who did it?”

“The cop.”

“You think the redhead didn’t kill him?”

“Or didn’t get around to it yet.”

Sam looked down at the body on the floor, then said grimly, “Guess it’s too late now.”

Another bullet flew through the air and shattered a lower section of the door frame. The hinges loosened, and the door creaked to an angle. And less than a heartbeat later, the slam of boots on metal announced that they might be out of time in a second as well.

Unless it’s only too late for one of us.

Sam pulled away. “Give me the gun, sweetheart.”

“What?”

The thump of feet got closer and Sam put out his hand. “Quickly.”

She met his eyes. “What are you going to— No.”

“There’s no choice. The man attached to that weapon is going to burst through that door and I want to give us a fighting chance.”

“You mean you want to give
me
a fighting chance.”

“One of us has to get out of here.”

“I’m not letting you sacrifice yourself for me.”

Before he could argue, Meredith ducked underneath his arm and dropped to her knee, and by the time Sam realized her intention, it was already too late to stop her.

* * *

Praying that fear hadn’t made her delusional—that this was an idea that could work—Meredith closed her eyes and she squeezed the trigger. A boom echoed through the warehouse, and the gun’s minimal kickback managed to send her falling backward. She smacked straight into Sam’s calves. Immediately, his hands closed on her shoulders, yanking her up. And as soon as she was on her feet, he tore the gun from her hands, worry evident in his pinched brow.

“What the hell are you trying to do?”

His voice sounded far away and underwater. The aftereffects of firing a gun, Meredith supposed.

Her own reply sounded no better. “I’m buying us a bit more time. Giving us a chance.”

“By shooting at nothing?”

“By letting whoever’s out there know that we’re armed, too. Did you have a better idea? I mean, other than sacrificing yourself.”

Sam made an exasperated noise, but before he could speak again, the footsteps stopped and a rough voice carried through the air. “All right. I get it. You’re not coming out without a fight. So I’m willing to talk about this. I’ll give you two minutes to decide if that’s an offer you want to take.”

Meredith shot Sam a weak smile. “You’re welcome.”

He rolled his eyes. “Wonderful. Get behind me.”

“Happy to. So long as you promise not to try and take a bullet for me.”

“If I promised you that, I’d be lying.”

“Then I’m not getting behind you.”

“Ninety seconds!” the man outside the door yelled.

Sam sighed in Meredith’s direction. “Look. I promise you I won’t intentionally take a bullet for you. But if he fires on you, I can’t say I’ll stand idly by. That’s the best I can manage.”

“I guess that’ll have to do, then,” Meredith conceded, and she tucked herself behind his wide frame.

And truly, she was glad for his solid presence. Because in spite of her bravado, mounting fear threatened to overwhelm her. The thought that Sam might get shot again, this time on her behalf, scared her. The body at their feet horrified her. It made her shake. She was frightened by both the violence itself and the fact that these people they were up against—who still held her sister—would so easily kill their own. Which brought her back around to another fear. That this would be the end of the road. That they wouldn’t ever even make it to Tamara.

Like he could sense her trepidation, Sam pulled one of her hands forward and secured it to his hip.

“One minute!” came the bellowing reminder.

“Ready?” Sam asked.

“If I say no, will we just keep hiding out in here?”

“And waste the chance you gave us? I don’t think so.”

“Then I guess I’m ready.”

He squeezed her fingers, then pulled them away to grip the gun and hold it out as he called, “I don’t need the last thirty seconds. I’ve got your dead friend’s weapon. I’m prepared to come out firing.”

“I’ll hold if you do,” the other man answered.

“I’ll just assume you’re lying.”

“A safe assumption. Seeing as I’m the bad guy and you’re the good guy, right? You really need to let go of this black-and-white thing, Potter. The world is full of gray.”

“Funny. I feel like we’ve had this conversation before. And it wasn’t fruitful the first time around, either,” Sam said.

“Could be.” The answer held a shrug. “I guess this means we’re at an impasse.”

“We’re only at an impasse if we’re both out of moves.”

“Do you have some tricks I’m not aware of, Potter?”

“If I told you that, they wouldn’t be tricks anymore, would they?”

“I just hope you’re not counting on that lucky charm of yours, seeing as she’s already in there with you and there’s no chance she’s sneaking up on me again.”

“Now, now, Detective. Don’t underestimate her. She’s a resourceful girl.”

His confident words, tendered in her defense, gave Meredith another idea. Knowing Sam couldn’t protest out loud, she released her hold on his hip and slipped out from behind him. Even without checking, she could tell he’d gritted his teeth. She could all but hear him gnashing them together. For some reason, that made her smile.

You’re the one who said not to underestimate me,
she thought.

She bent down and snatched up the discarded piece of pallet. She slipped off her hoodie and wound it around the end, then held it out, hoping her suggestion was obvious.

Sam glanced down. His brow clouded, then cleared, and he raised an eyebrow. He got it, Meredith was sure. She nodded.

“Okay,” he said, his voice so low that she had to read his lips.

Meredith jabbed the wood into the door frame. As expected, the man on the other side let loose. Three shots in quick succession. The board exploded in Meredith’s hand and sent a shock wave up her arm. She shook off the pain and did a quick, mental calculation. A bullet in the redhead, another in the door frame and three in the palette board. So five bullets altogether. Did that also mean he only had one left? Even if it did, that was one too many.

But apparently Sam didn’t care.

He grabbed a chunk of the shattered wood, drew his arm back and threw it—hard and upward. The second it left his hand, he did a stuntman-style tuck and roll, then came to an impressively graceful sliding stop in the very bottom of the doorway. Without missing a beat, he propped up his gun and fired. As Sam scurried back to his position inside the storage room, a pain-filled holler from the other side of the door signaled his success.

“Behind me again,” he ordered as he pushed himself to his feet and glanced out.

Meredith didn’t argue. She stepped to his back and tucked herself close, following as he led them onto the platform. As they moved, she snuck a glance around Sam. Midway between them and the stairs, the corrupt cop was leaning on the metal railway, clutching his shoulder with one hand. His gun hung loosely in his other hand, but the second he spotted Sam and Meredith, he fumbled to lift it.

“Sam!” As soon as his name left her mouth, she realized the warning was unnecessary.

Sam had already raised his own weapon. Already taken aim.

Thank God.

Meredith never thought she’d be so happy to see a gun at all, let alone be so pleased to see one at the ready. But her relief was short-lived. When Sam squeezed the trigger, nothing happened.

She knew what that meant. And clearly, so did the man at the other end of the platform. He smiled. He grasped the rail and took a few steps closer. Slowly. Like it no longer mattered that his arm shook as he took aim.