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.
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