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
