Midnight Run

“What do you know about loyalty?” Though his voice remained calm, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “If I recall, you were pretty quick to turn tail and run when the going got rough.”

“Loyalty to my family—not you! You don’t deserve loyalty. You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

“What about loyalty to Evan? Don’t you want to know what really happened? Don’t you want to know who really murdered him? Or do you prefer sweeping the entire mess under the rug so you don’t have to get those pretty hands of yours dirty? So you can get on with playing Lady Justice? Isn’t that what they call you these days?”

“I believe in what I do, but that isn’t the issue, is it?” She hated the defensive ring in her voice. She didn’t have to defend her choices to anyone, especially Jack.

“What is the issue, Landis?” He offered a cynical smile. “Justice?”

“Justice is real—”

“Justice is an illusion!” He stepped closer. So close she felt the searing heat of his stare, the warmth of his breath, the startling power of his presence. “I’m living proof of that. So, Counselor,” he snarled, “if you believe in your precious justice so much, I suggest you come look for it, starting with me.” He rapped his fist against his chest with the last word. “Somewhere out there, Evan’s murderer is a free man, while I’ve spent the last year in prison for a crime I didn’t commit!”

The words pounded through her. Simultaneously, her emotions clashed with the logical part of her brain. She’d always prided herself on her ability to keep her feelings removed from her judgment. That was one of the things that made her a good prosecutor. But when it came to Jack, her logic and emotions tangled and melded into a big, confusing ball.

Was it possible he was telling the truth? Or was he a desperate man willing to do anything to avoid going back to prison? It took every ounce of courage she could muster to meet his gaze. “I want you to leave. Now.”

He choked out a humorless laugh. “I don’t have anywhere else to go. To hell perhaps, but I’ve been there, and I can tell you it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

She wasn’t sure why the words hurt. But they did, and the pain was so sharp she had to turn away. She couldn’t face him with uncertainty etched into her every feature. Jack was a perceptive man, and he’d always been able to read her. She didn’t want him to get inside her head. In the year he’d been away, she’d simplified her life, focusing solely on her career and her future with the D.A.’s office. She refused to let him destroy what she’d worked so hard to achieve. She wouldn’t jeopardize her professional reputation or risk hurting her mother and younger brother.

With her professional mask in place, she turned to face him. “I’ll turn you in,” she said. “You know I will.”

His eyes flicked over her. He looked into her, through her. She sensed the appraisal, and her knees went weak with the power of it. Her heart banged against her ribs with such ferocity she felt certain it might pound its way right out of her chest.

“Sit down,” he said.

“You’re not staying.”

“I can’t force you to help me. But I can make you listen. It’s up to you whether or not you care enough about the truth to get involved.” Raising his arm, he wiped the blood from his fingers on to his shirt, then stared at the crimson smear as if its presence stunned him. “If you still don’t want to help me after you’ve heard me out, I’ll find another way to do this.”

Landis watched him walk to the kitchen table. He moved with the grace of a wild, hunted animal. One that was tired and injured and anxious for the hunt to end. If it hadn’t been for his eyes, she might have thought he’d given up. But that would have been as out of character for him as if he’d thrown in the towel and gone to prison without a fight.

No, she thought, Jack was definitely a fighter. He fought hard, long and dirty for what he wanted. If she didn’t get him out of her house; if she didn’t get to a phone and call the police, she was in for the battle of her life.

Jack had known she would affect him. What he hadn’t realized was just how profoundly. Seeing Landis McAllister after a year was like taking a sledgehammer to the solar plexus. The ache was so sharp that he questioned the wisdom of coming here tonight. He’d been foolish to believe his feelings for her had dulled with time. Funny how much a man forgot in a year.

He watched her walk to the pantry, trying in vain not to notice the way those slacks skimmed over her hips or wonder if she still painted her toenails the color of cherry bubblegum. Even from a distance he could smell her hair, that exotic mix of coconut and musk that made him want to reach out and run his fingers through it one more time. She looked very much the part of tough prosecuting attorney in her black suit and leather boots. A year ago he’d known a part of her that was soft and kind and compassionate. He wondered if that part of her still existed, or if she’d managed to eradicate it along with the feelings she once had for him.

Her movements were controlled and deliberate as she walked to the counter and started a pot of coffee. He knew the gesture had nothing to do with the fact that he was shivering with cold, but because her nerves were strung tight and she needed to do something.

Once upon a time she’d loved him. She’d seen him as decent and kind and honorable. Jack had loved her more than his own life. He’d needed her more than his next breath, would have died a thousand deaths for her. What a fool he’d been to believe any of those things would matter now.

It tore him up inside knowing she thought he was a cold-blooded killer. That knowledge had tortured him every second of every day he’d been locked away. He knew if he gave her the chance, she’d go straight to the police. He didn’t plan on giving her the chance.

Every muscle in his body protested as he lowered himself into the chair. He’d covered over one hundred cold, rugged miles in the past two days, some on foot, some in a filthy cattle car courtesy of Burlington Northern. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d stopped moving. Or eaten. Or slept. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in a civilized place that spoke of warmth and comfort and home. Most of all, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in the company of a woman. Especially a woman he’d spent the better part of a year trying to get out of his system.

He watched her scoop coffee and wondered if there was a man in her life, if she was seeing anyone, but quickly thwarted that line of thinking. Her personal life was no longer his concern, he reminded himself darkly. Wanting was a dangerous thing for a convict. A man could drive himself crazy if he wasn’t careful.

Jack had promised himself he wouldn’t let his feelings for her interfere with his mission of clearing his name. She’d deemed him guilty based on circumstantial evidence, paid witnesses and manufactured proof. How could he still want her when he felt so bitter? How could he be attracted to a woman he hadn’t been able to forgive? He couldn’t let it matter. Damn it, he couldn’t let her matter.

Survival had dictated his jailbreak. It had taken months of planning and physical conditioning. Every evening the inmates were herded into either the gymnasium or exercise yard to work off steam. It had been raining the night of his escape. The gymnasium was crowded. While one of the inmates he’d befriended created a diversion for the corrections officers, Jack had shimmied twenty feet up a water pipe mounted to the wall and climbed out the window. Once outside, he’d used the wire cutters he’d gotten from another inmate to traverse the concertina wire. He’d almost made it to the river when the dogs began to bay….

Shaking the memory from his head, he folded his hands in front of him, realizing for the first time how battered they were. The last two days were a blur of pain and cold, and he felt mildly shocked he’d survived at all. The bullet had put a deep graze in his shoulder, sparing the bone and joint, but leaving him weak from blood loss. He’d survived on little more than adrenaline and desperation. When those two things had waned, his memories of Landis sustained him the rest of the way.

She carried a cup of coffee to the table and set it in front of him. “You’ve never been stupid, Jack. You know the police will find you. You’re only making things worse by running.”

“There’s not a whole hell of a lot they can do to me that they haven’t already done. I’m a lifer, Landis.”

“They could kill you, for God’s sake.”

Jack looked down at his coffee, wondering if she realized there were times when he considered death a better alternative than spending his life behind bars.

Shaking her head, she took the chair across from him. “How can you possibly believe you’re going to get away?”

He returned her gaze, pulling back just in time to keep himself from tumbling into its emerald depths. He’d been in the cabin less than an hour and already she was getting to him. He’d thought he was over her. He’d thought the bitterness would keep him from wanting her. It galled him that he was wrong on both counts.

“Maybe getting away isn’t my goal,” he said.

Landis remained silent, looking at him like a cat that had been kicked by a cruel child.

“On the night Evan died,” Jack began, “he left a voice message, asking me to meet him at the warehouse where Duke’s people had been operating. Allegedly, there was a shipment of cocaine coming in from L.A. Sixty kilos of Peruvian flake. Uncut. Evan was supposed to keep his mouth shut. But this stuff was pure. White death for anyone who didn’t know what they were getting into. He was afraid it was going to hit the street and start killing people. So he told me about it.” Jack remembered his partner’s voice as if it were yesterday. The memory still wielded the power to make his hands shake.

“I know the story, Jack. All this information came out during your trial. There was no shipment of cocaine.” Tucking a shock of flame-colored hair behind her ear, Landis sighed wearily. “I’ve gone over it in my head a hundred times. I even reviewed the transcripts.”

“Things have changed since the trial,” Jack said. “You hear things in prison, Landis. Bad things. Things I suspected all along, but couldn’t prove.”

“Like what?”

“Like Evan wasn’t the only cop who knew about the shipment.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“There are cops on the take. Salt Lake City cops. Sheriff’s office. DEA. Customs—”

“Even if you can prove corruption, that doesn’t exonerate you.”

“It will if I can prove someone inside the department set me up to take the fall.”

“Who, Jack? What proof?”

He sighed in frustration. “I don’t have anything solid yet. Just a few pieces of the puzzle. I need some time to work it. I’ve got to talk to some of my old snitches.”

“Nothing you’ve told me disputes the fact that your revolver was the gun that killed Evan or that over fifty thousand dollars somehow found its way into your bank account. It doesn’t dispute the two witnesses who put you at the scene the night Evan was killed.”

His temper flared with the accusation. “Two witnesses I’ve since tied to Duke. That reeks of setup and you know it.”

“You haven’t given me a single fact I wasn’t already aware of,” she shot back. “Your story sounds desperate and pathetic, and I don’t believe a word of it.”

Reining in anger, Jack looked down at his coffee and concentrated on the warmth radiating into his hands. Frustration hammered through him that he didn’t have any solid evidence. All he could offer was his own gut instinct and the word of a dead convict who’d talked too many times to the wrong person. Unfortunately, Landis had never been big on gut instinct.

“Evan was dying when I reached him that night,” he said. “He’d taken two slugs. He was bleeding. Scared. In shock. He kept trying to talk. I tried to quiet him, but he wouldn’t listen. Damn hardheaded cop—”

Shaken, he broke off. The room felt overly warm. Chills wracked his body, but sweat streamed down his back. A curse escaped his lips when he realized he’d reached the end of his physical endurance. His concentration was shot. He wasn’t sure why he was talking, dredging up the past. He could barely speak. But there was so much to say. So many emotions tangled inside him.

So much at stake.

Jack raised his eyes to hers. It tore at his heart to see the shimmer of tears. She still mourned her brother. He wondered if there was any grief left over for him. For the part of him that died that night.

“Evan had seen enough shootings to know he was dying,” he continued. “I guess the cop in me expected him to use those last minutes to name his killer, but he didn’t. Instead he used the last of his strength to make sure I knew about that telephone call he’d made to you.”

Across from him, Landis went perfectly still, as if knowing something terrible was about to be flung her way. “Evan and I were close,” she said. “He called to tell me he loved me. I testified—”

“Did he often call at midnight to tell you he loved you?”

She blinked at him. “Well, no.”

“He knew he was a marked man. He called to tell you something.”

“Why didn’t he? For God’s sake, why didn’t he tell me he was in trouble? Why didn’t he tell you he was in trouble and ask for your help?”

The latter question hit a nerve. It always did. But Jack didn’t let himself react. He would spend the rest of his life wondering if Evan might still be alive if the trust between them had been stronger. “I can’t speak for Evan. Maybe he didn’t trust me enough. Maybe he didn’t want to drag me into it. But, Landis, he knew they were going to kill him. That’s the only scenario that fits.”

“Who?”

“Cyrus Duke.” He clenched his jaw against the pain spreading down his arm like hot lava. He ached to get out of his wet clothes and fall into a warm bed for a few hours to recoup. He needed to eat to regain his strength. But he couldn’t stop now. She was listening. If only he could make her believe.

“Evan tried to play both sides of the coin,” he said. “He wanted the money. But he also wanted out.”

“Out of what?”

“Evan was taking money from Duke.”

“No!”

“But he wanted out, Landis. He feared for his family’s safety. But he knew if he rolled over on Duke, the scumbag would go after Casey and the girls.”

Landis lurched to her feet. “I don’t want to have this conversation.”

Jack rose with her. He didn’t give a damn that she didn’t want to hear the truth about her brother. Six months ago, when he’d been stuck in a jail cell for a crime he didn’t commit, Jack hadn’t wanted to hear it, either. But he had. From a reliable source who’d just happened to get himself murdered in the shower room a few days later. “Evan was a dirty cop, Landis.”

She looked at him, her eyes large and dark against her pale complexion. “I don’t believe you. And I won’t stand by and let you defile my brother’s name or shame his widow with lies you fabricated to save yourself.”

The anger struck him with such ferocity that for a moment he was dizzy. Whoever framed him had taken everything from him. His career had been destroyed. His reputation dragged through the mud. His partner was dead. The passionate and intense love affair he’d once shared with Landis had been reduced to a bitter memory steeped in resentment and lies.

“Evan knew he couldn’t talk to Casey, and he couldn’t tell me because he knew I’d bust him.” Jack nearly laughed at the absurdity. Evan had always been the straight arrow while Jack had always skated that thin, dark line. The irony of how things had worked out in the end burned.

He looked at Landis. “So he chose you. His sister. Someone he could trust. A prosecutor. He wanted you to know, but for whatever reason never got the chance to tell you. He wanted you to go after Duke because Evan knew he was a dead man. He knew you’d protect his family and get to the bottom of it.”

Her eyes flashed. “I don’t believe any of it.”

A cold sweat broke out on his forehead, and Jack knew with dead certainty the last two days had finally caught up with him. His shoulder throbbed with every beat of his heart. His head felt like the business end of a jackhammer.

“I knew Evan better than anyone,” he said. “I knew how he operated. I knew his weak points, his many strengths. I knew him like a brother, Landis. I knew he was in to something.”

“He wasn’t dirty!”

“He fed Duke inside information. Warned him of impending busts. Kept his competition off the street. Damn it, he got in over his head.” Jack blinked at her when the room tilted abruptly. Heat infused his face. Nausea see-sawed in his gut. He cursed, knowing he was going to pass out. Grabbing the back of the chair, he steadied himself, determined to continue.

Landis started to speak, but he cut her off. “Duke bought and paid for your brother, then he killed him. The bastard knew I’d come after him so he framed me for his murder. He had help from the inside.” His voice echoed inside his head, and for a moment he wondered if he’d actually spoken at all.

Words flowed out of her, but Jack no longer understood. It was as if he’d stepped out of his body and watched with detachment as Jack LaCroix went through the motions without him. He fought the dizziness but knew the darkness was going to win.

One by one his senses shut down. Desperation clawed at him. He didn’t want it to end this way. He knew the moment he went down, she’d leave and call the police. He expected no less, and he hated her for it.

Knowing he had to stop her, he reached out, stumbled and went down on one knee. Pain ripped through his shoulder. He groaned deep in his chest. Around him, the room shifted, darkened. He heard himself utter her name, then the floor rushed up and slammed into him.

Chapter 2

Landis stared in horror as Jack collapsed onto her kitchen floor. It was the last thing she expected to happen, but she’d learned long ago to expect the unexpected when it came to Jack LaCroix. Tonight, it seemed, he was just chock-full of surprises. Dark, unpleasant ones, she thought wildly. Leave it to him to toss her into a compromising position, then bail out.

Heart racing in perfect cadence with her mind, she fell to her knees next to him at a complete loss as to what to do next. She didn’t want to touch him, but quickly realized there was no way to avoid it. He’d fallen on his side with his left arm pinned beneath him; she couldn’t leave him twisted like that. What if he were seriously injured and stopped breathing? What if he died right there on her floor?

Frustrated and scared, Landis placed her hand gently on his shoulder. “Jack?” His clothes were wet and cold beneath her palm. Good Lord, he was soaked to the skin. Cautiously, she rolled him on to his back.

His body was long and lean and looked as out of place on her kitchen floor as a bearskin rug might have. Even unconscious, his muscles were as hard as steel. But he didn’t seem quite as dangerous with his eyes closed. Oddly, Landis felt relieved that she didn’t have to look into those eyes. The last thing she needed was to get ensnared in that compelling gaze of his.

“Damn you, LaCroix,” she muttered.

His breaths came slow and regular. She pressed a finger to his throat and found his pulse steady and strong. She didn’t see much fresh blood, but he was wet and muddy, so it was difficult to tell how badly he was bleeding.

Crossing to the counter, she opened a drawer, yanked out a clean dish towel and wet it beneath the faucet. She didn’t possess a shred of medical expertise but knew enough about first aid to know he should be kept warm and comfortable.

At least until the police arrived.

The thought wasn’t a pleasant one. Why had he come to her for help? Why not one of his cop friends? Surely one of them had kept in touch throughout the pandemonium of the last year, hadn’t they? But Landis knew how cops felt about cop killers. Jack might have been one of their own for the better part of twelve years, but they’d branded him a traitor. He was smart enough to know there wasn’t a soul on the force he could trust.

So he’d come to her.

Dismayed by the implications, she folded the towel and pressed it against his forehead, trying not to notice how pale he was. “How could you do something so incredibly stupid?” she murmured.

He couldn’t have put her in a worse situation. His very presence threatened everything that was important to her, everything she believed in. She refused to compromise her reputation, her career, or her family for the likes of a man who didn’t deserve her compassion.

Pulling in a calming breath, she rose. The only thing she could do was drive down to her neighbor’s cabin and call the sheriff. Dread swirled through her as she imagined a swarm of cops converging on her tidy cabin. Jack would be taken into custody. She would be asked to come down to the sheriff’s office to make a statement. Eventually, the media would catch wind of Jack’s capture.

Then all hell would break loose.

Shuddering at the scenario her overactive mind had drawn, Landis considered her options—all of which boiled down to one. She had to call the sheriff. Jack was a murderer. An escaped convict. He belonged in prison. As the saying went, he’d made his bed and now he must lie in it. She refused to accept responsibility for his woes.

A brightly colored afghan lay folded across the back of the sofa. Landis dashed to it and snapped it open. Kneeling beside Jack, she draped it over him, tucking the ends beneath his arms and legs. As she straightened, he thrashed and called out her name with such clarity that for an instant she thought he’d regained consciousness.

She stared at him, the memories pounding through her like fists. Ironically, it had been Evan who’d introduced them. In spite of her self-imposed rule never to date cops, she’d fallen for the strikingly handsome vice detective with the magnetic eyes and captivating smile. He’d swept her off her feet and into a breathtaking relationship. Level-headed Landis had been so caught up in the intensity, she didn’t even realize it when she lost her heart. Jack wouldn’t have it any other way. He was all or nothing, and she had definitely given him her all.

But even back then she’d known he skirted that dark edge. He’d always unnerved her with his rule breaking and disdain for authority. Jack LaCroix wasn’t for the faint of heart. He existed in a world of gray. A world where he could stretch the rules and turn wrong into right if it suited him. Landis’s world was black and white. She followed the rules, embraced them. Still, for a year she’d loved him with every fiber of her being…

Shaken by the memories twisting through her, she turned away, aware that her heart was beating too fast. How could she have been so wrong about him?

Knowing there was nothing she could do for him except, perhaps, keep him from self-destructing, she reached for her coat. Just as her fingers closed around it, Jack’s voice rang out. She froze at the sound of her name and turned, half-expecting to see him sitting up, hitting her with that devastating smile. But he wasn’t sitting up. He wasn’t smiling. His eyes were closed. A sheen of sweat coated his forehead. His face was contorted in pain.

Alarmed, she walked over to him, straining to hear as he mumbled something unintelligible. His voice was soft and deep and achingly familiar. Her heart stuttered as she recognized a single, profound word—innocent.

In all her years of working in the court system, she’d never heard such despair. It wrenched painfully at her conscience. Was it the voice of a desperate killer? she wondered. Or was she hearing the voice of an innocent man wrongly accused of a horrific crime? The questions haunted her, the implications taunting her with terrible possibilities. Telling herself she could sort out her feelings later, Landis threw on her coat and headed for the door.

Twenty minutes later, Landis sat in the Jeep in her driveway and waited for the sheriff’s department deputy to arrive. She told herself it was the cold that had her shaking uncontrollably, but the heater wasn’t helping. Relief billowed through her when she saw the flashing lights of the sheriff’s Tahoe. By the time the deputy climbed out, she’d already reached his vehicle.