Worth The Risk. Melinda Di Lorenzo

his fingers through Meredith’s and dragged her into the street.

      * * *

      Sam was absolutely sure of two things. One, he was in over his head, and two, he needed to get Meredith out of whatever this was, alive and unscathed. Especially if his suspicions about the origin of that camera turned out to be true.

      No. Don’t focus on that. Concentrate on the moment.

      He held his body in front of Meredith’s as they snaked along the side of the Bronco. His flesh might be an ineffective shield from a bullet, but at least he could make her feel secure. They reached the edge of the truck unharmed, and he scouted for the next point of safety.

      “What do you do for work, Meredith?” he asked as he scanned the area.

      She replied in a shaky voice, “What?”

      “Work. What do you do?”

      “I’m, uh, at a temp agency. So right now, I’m at a market research place. Internet survey stuff, mostly. Compiling data.”

      He spotted a potential spot for cover, about fifteen feet away. It was an easy dash. One that would build confidence for the next, undoubtedly longer run.

      “Can you see that building sign over there?” He inclined his head.

      “The one that says Brookside Apartments?”

      “That’s the one.”

      “Yes, I see it. Why?”

      “In a few seconds, we’re going to run toward its south side. Whoever is firing is coming from the north, and I don’t think they know exactly where we are or they would’ve shot again already. Okay?”

      A pause, followed by an audible inhale. “Okay.”

      Sam counted to ten silently, then tightened his grip on her hand. “Go!”

      At full speed, they hit the pavement, propelling themselves away from the Bronco, and in seconds they reached the sign, unharmed.

      “Do you think they’re gone?” Meredith whispered.

      “No. They wouldn’t give up that easily.”

      “Then why aren’t they firing?”

      “Probably waiting for a clear shot,” Sam replied. “But we’re not going to give them one. How well do you know this area?”

      “Not very.”

      “Could you navigate our way out?”

      “I think so. You want to go somewhere specific?”

      Sam had an idea, but he didn’t want to get ahead of himself. “For now, let’s just get away from this neighborhood—and let’s stay away from yours, too. If you can do that, I can get us somewhere safe.”

      “All right,” Meredith agreed.

      “Which direction takes us out?”

      “We can stick to the south side, if you think it’s safer?”

      “Sounds like a plan.”

      Sam eyed the urban terrain again. “Do you like what you’re doing for work?”

      “Not really.”

      “Why are you doing it, then?”

      “It’s complicated.”

      “Try me.”

      “Well, I’d planned to study law eventually, so I took the paralegal program to tide me over. But...” She trailed off and didn’t pick up the statement again.

      And Sam hadn’t yet found a viable option for their next point. The lampposts were too narrow, the nearest car too far.

      “But what?”

      Meredith sighed. “I never found the time, I guess. Maybe it sounds funny, but having a semifamous sister limits your options. People expect things.”

      “People expect things? Or you expect things from yourself?”

      He felt her eyes on his back. “Why are you asking me about this now?”

      Sam shrugged. “Getting to know you.”

      “Getting to know me? Or trying to distract me from the fact that we’re running for our lives?”

      “Maybe both.” Then he spotted it. “Central mailbox.”

      “I see it.”

      “You ready?”

      “As I can be.”

      “Good enough.”

      He snapped up her hand once more, and they moved together. As they reached the mailbox, a shot finally rang out, pinging against the ground and tearing a hole in the concrete a few feet from where they crouched. Meredith let out a barely audible whimper. Sam pulled her closer.

      “We’re okay,” he said. “But we can’t wait here long. Can you keep going?”

      He expected Meredith to protest, or to ask for more time, but she squeezed his hand and said, “Ten feet behind us, there’s a pickup truck, and five feet from that, there’s a sandwich board. If we can make it there, we can get to an alley, and I think I can find a way out from that point.”

      Sam nodded, impressed by her fortitude. “On three, then.”

      She met his eyes. “One.”

      “Two,” he replied.

      She opened her mouth, but three never made it out because a not-too-far-off shout and the pounding of feet on pavement announced they’d run out of time. Sam moved to pull away from the mailbox, but this time, Meredith was quicker. She held fast to his fingers, dragging him along as she shot out into the street. Sam let her lead, marking their stops.

      Pickup truck. Check.

      Bizarrely large sandwich board. Check.

      One alley. Two alleys. Then three. Triple check.

      At the end of the fourth one, they burst out of the apartment-lined streets and into a lower-density area. Duplexes and one-story homes. Tidier lawns. Evidence of children in the form of bikes and colorful sprinklers. They paused for just a moment at the end of a pebbled driveway, breathing heavily, but Meredith wasn’t done pulling him along.

      “C’mon,” she urged.

      Sam complied, placing his trust in her ability to guide them out. The flash of her Converse sneakers—black-white, black-white, black-white—kept him moving, and her soft hand in his kept him motivated. She led him through the neighborhood at a barely manageable jog, not stopping until they’d put even more distance between themselves and their pursuers.

      “Just a bit farther,” she gasped. “And you’ll owe me one.”

      “Are we keeping tabs?”

      “Definitely.”

      “Then we’re three to one.”

      “One to two and half.”

      Sam managed a smile. “All right. I can compromise.”

      They pushed onward, and in a matter of blocks, they reached an area devoid of broken-down cars and replete with uniformly emerald lawns.

      “Here,” Meredith said at last. “In this area, one gunshot here will bring out every neighbor and six police cars.” Then she let out a laugh. “Who knows? Maybe they’ll see us and call the cops.”

      Not if I can help it. Sam felt his pocket to confirm the camera was still there.

      Out loud, he agreed, his own voice ragged with exertion, “Perfect.”

      “What now?”

      “We call my friend and ask for some help. But first...”

      “But