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.
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
