Risk It All. Anna Perrin

she’d find a vantage point and rely on the sophisticated lens on her camera to capture details of her target’s illicit encounter, but she couldn’t be sure she’d wind up with the evidence that would reassure Savannah. No, this time she had to get up close.

      Despite serious misgivings, she squeezed through a space in the hedges, then stayed near the cover until the house was only a short distance away. If caught trespassing, she’d have a heck of a time explaining her presence, but she’d made a promise to her sister and she couldn’t break that promise. Two years ago, she could have flashed her Columbus Police Department badge, saying she was following up on a complaint from a neighbor, but her career had ended after she’d been shot. She still mourned the loss when she let herself think about it, which was almost never.

      She slowed her steps next to a truck loaded with yard equipment, eyeing the house uneasily. Was her brother-in-law meeting with a bank customer? That was the most logical explanation. Anybody wealthy enough to afford this impressive place could demand special treatment and get it—unless Savannah’s worries were valid and her husband was giving very special treatment.

      The odor of cut grass tingled in her nose as she hurried across the manicured lawn. Spotting a window with open drapes on the far side of the house, she squeezed between several tall bushes, her sneakers sinking down into the rich soil of the garden. Unfortunately, the property sloped in such a way that, even at five feet ten inches, she wasn’t tall enough to see inside. Muttering under her breath, she hoisted herself up and braced her left elbow on the window ledge. A quick look inside...and she was exhaling in relief. No sexual frolics were going on in the bookcase-lined room. Her brother-in-law, wearing a gray suit, his steel-rimmed glasses and a serious expression making him look every inch the successful banker that he was, sat on the visitor side of a mahogany desk, leafing through papers in his briefcase. The man behind the desk appeared to be in his late fifties with a hooked beak of a nose and a square jaw.

      Clinging to the wall like a gecko caused strain in muscles Brooke hadn’t realized she possessed. Her ponytail stuck to her hot neck, and her armpits became damp with perspiration. She lifted her camera and peered through the viewfinder. The stranger’s nose made a clean, sharp edge, so she squeezed the shutter. Next she took a picture of Trevor with his papers.

      Her supporting elbow and toes screamed in protest, but she blocked out the pain. One more shot with the two men in it, and she was out of here. As if she’d willed it, the older man came around the desk to stand beside Trevor. Excellent. This last photo should get rid of Savannah’s suspicions about her hubby entirely.

      The man pointed a gun at Trevor’s head.

       Oh God.

      Her elbow gave way and gravity did the rest, dragging her down to the garden below. When her butt hit the ground, the discomfort hardly registered over the shock of what she’d witnessed and the terror of expecting a gunshot to ring out.

      Her heart zigzagged like a rabbit in her chest. No shot yet. She dug around in her pocket. Crap. She’d left her cell phone in her car. No way to call 911. She crawled along the back of the garden on her knees, determined to put distance between her and that window, then broke through the bushes, her camera clutched to her midriff.

      A low, masculine voice said, “What the—?”

      With a sinking feeling, she looked up. In front of her stood a strapping six-foot-plus guy wearing grass-stained jeans and a green T-shirt stretched tight over impressive muscles. Mirrored sunglasses hid his eyes, a baseball cap covered his hair, and dark stubble shadowed his jaw.

      “This is private property,” he said, stating the obvious. “You’re trespassing.”

      As she got to her feet, she eyed the Green Thumb logo on his T-shirt, which matched the one on the truck in the driveway. The guy was an outside contractor with no vested interest in who came onto the property. So why was he objecting to her presence? Unless he resented her scrambling around a garden he was paid to take care of.

      “You have to leave,” he insisted sternly. “Now.” The name Joe was stitched on his shirt pocket, and one gloved fist held a pair of heavy-duty, long-handled hedge trimmers.

      Joe’s bossy manner set her teeth on edge, but he still deserved a warning about what was going on inside the house. The image of her brother-in-law with a gun to his head had drained every drop of moisture from her mouth, so she had to wet her lips in order to speak. “You need to leave, too. It isn’t safe here.”

      His sunglasses stalled on her mouth for a moment, then shifted downward to the camera in her hand. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

      “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that I saw a man with a gun.”

      His body went rigid. “Where?”

      “Inside the house.”

      “Inside?” The location of the gun seemed to surprise him more than its existence. Then he shook his head. “How could you have seen inside the house?”

      “I climbed up on the window ledge,” she admitted.

      “Why?”

      She frowned. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

      “You can answer me, or you can explain yourself to the owner,” Joe said. “And before you decide, you should know that Mr. Sidorov is very protective of his privacy and won’t be pleased to learn you’re trespassing. Especially with a camera.”

      “Can you forget about my camera and focus on the gun?”

      He eyed her skeptically. “You’re probably mistaken about what you saw.”

      “I’m not mistaken,” she said, though she wished she was. But the sight of that gun pointed at Trevor’s head was an image she would never forget, even without the photographic evidence on her camera. “Can I borrow your cell phone to call the police?”

      “I don’t have one with me.”

      “Is it in your truck?” Without waiting for an answer, she headed in that direction, and he fell into step beside her.

      “No, it’s not in my truck.”

      Seriously? Who didn’t carry a cell phone these days? Or was Joe lying so as not to get involved? “Look, Joe, maybe I was trespassing, but this is a life-or-death emergency. I didn’t just see a gun. It was pointed at my brother-in-law’s head.”

      His expression turned even grimmer. “Who is your brother-in-law? Why is he here?”

      “I don’t know,” she admitted. She wanted to scream with frustration. Her heart was still racing, her stomach sick with fear, as she waited for the report of the gun. She hadn’t seen a silencer on the barrel, so she knew if the trigger was pulled, she would hear the resulting shots. The absence of any such sound so far gave her hope. Maybe the home owner—Sidorov—didn’t intend to kill Trevor. But, at the very least, he’d threatened him, and she’d feel a lot better when her brother-in-law was out of range of that gun and there were cops crawling all over this place.

      The whole situation felt surreal, as if things could spin out of control at any moment. She had no idea what was going on in the house, why Trevor had come in the first place. Even if he was released unharmed, a crime had still been committed, and there should be consequences. “The police need to know about this, and I can prove what I saw.” She patted her camera, grateful Savannah had insisted she bring it. “Please, loan me your phone.”

      Joe shook his head. “I wish I could help, but Sidorov doesn’t allow outsiders to bring cell phones onto the property. He takes his privacy seriously, and his ban on phones is intended to prevent unauthorized photos of his property and his family.”

      This time she believed Joe. She’d have to return to her car, use her own phone and pray the police responded quickly. She hated the idea of leaving the premises—it felt too much as if she was abandoning Trevor—but it was the only way to get the assistance he needed. She