Midnight Run

  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

  L andis 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 par
t 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.

  “Evenin’.” The man was the size of a grizzly, wore cowboy boots and a Stetson the size of a Volkswagen. “You called about a prowler?”

  “He was here when I got home from work about an hour ago. It looks like he broke a pane and came in through the back door. He’s either injured or suffering from exposure because he fainted on my kitchen floor.”

  The deputy cocked his head. “Fainted?”

  Realizing she was talking too fast, she took a deep breath and silently counted to three. “I think he’s been—” Landis broke off when the deputy withdrew a pistol the size of a cannon.

  “Is he still inside?” he asked.

  She stared at the gun, not wanting to imagine what a bullet would do to human flesh. “Yes,” she answered, steeling herself against the sense of foreboding that welled up inside her. If the deputy knew he was going in to arrest infamous cop killer Jack LaCroix, would he be more apt to use deadly force?

  “Is he armed?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so.” She prayed Jack gave himself up easily. She didn’t want to see him hurt. She didn’t want to see anyone hurt.

  “Have a seat in your vehicle, Ms. McAllister, while I take a look.” Pistol in hand, the deputy jogged toward the cabin.

  Landis watched him disappear inside, then walked back to the Jeep and climbed inside. It only took a couple of minutes for her to realize she couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. She was too keyed up, and the deputy was taking too long. Oh, dear God, she’d never be able to live with herself if either of them got hurt….

  Cursing Jack, she climbed out of the Jeep and began to pace, keeping her eyes trained on the front door of the cabin. Were they negotiating the terms of Jack’s surrender? Or were they in the midst of a standoff?

  The path she was wearing in the snow grew as she paced—much like the doubts swirling in her head. Did Jack’s story warrant consideration? Was it possible Cyrus Duke was involved in her brother’s death? The questions pummeled her, but Landis knew that aside from offering legal advice there was little she could do to help Jack. Not that she felt compelled to do so, she reminded herself. She was an officer of the court and saw clearly the line between right and wrong. If Jack believed he’d been wrongly convicted, the only way he could help himself was to operate through the proper legal channels.

  But as she rationalized and reasoned through everything that had been said and done, something nagged at her. Something obscure and uncomfortable that had lodged like a fist in her chest. Landis had never been overly intuitive. She preferred dealing with facts. Tangibles. Gut instinct never entered the picture when it came to drawing conclusions or making decisions. But even as she denied the possibility of Jack’s innocence, she knew something wasn’t right. He was one of the most intelligent people she’d ever known. If all he’d wanted was his freedom, he would have fled to Mexico or Canada. He wouldn’t have come to her knowing she blamed him for Evan’s death. It didn’t make sense for him to risk his life in a daring prison escape only to jeopardize it by coming to her.

  Landis stopped pacing and looked toward the cabin, aware that her heart was beating too fast, that her palms were wet despite the cold. What was taking the deputy so blasted long?

  Too impatient to wait any longer, she changed direction and started for the door. Jack might be desperate, but he wasn’t crazy enough to get into a physical confrontation with a cop. Surely the deputy had the situation under control, didn’t he?

  Her pulse kicked when she stepped on to the porch. The front door stood open. Shadows ebbed and flowed within. As familiar as the cabin was to her, it now seemed menacing. Moving closer, she stopped and peered inside.

  “He must have run out the back.”

  Barely suppressing a scream, Landis spun. The deputy stood a few feet behind her. She was about to give him a piece of her mind for scaring the daylig
hts out of her when his words registered.

  “Gone?” she cried. “That can’t be. He was right there on the kitchen floor.” Jack had to be there. He’d been unconscious when she left. He was in no condition to get up and walk away.

  Not bothering to wait for a response, she whirled and darted through the door. Her boots cracked sharply against the pine floorboards as she ran to the kitchen. The room was just as she’d left it, less one unconscious man. She stared dumbly at the floor where a single drop of blood was the only sign he’d ever been there.

  “A set of footprints leads to the road,” the deputy said. “Looks like he cut his hand on that pane. I found blood in the snow.”

  Landis watched the deputy saunter to the French door where the pane had been broken. Shards of glass sparkled like broken diamonds on the floor.

  “Did you get a look at him, ma’am?”

  She met his gaze, her mind speeding through the ramifications of the question. He was a large man with sandy hair and a handlebar mustache. He appeared capable and professional in his sheriff’s department jacket and ostrich boots. But she’d noticed the aggressive glint in his eyes. She’d seen that glint before and knew well the difference between a lawman who enjoyed his work and a cop with an ego to sate and an itchy trigger finger to boot.

  “No,” she answered, thinking she knew how Pandora must have felt after opening that blasted box.

  She answered the rest of his questions truthfully, but without the kind of details that would have made his job easy. No, the intruder hadn’t stolen anything. She hadn’t seen a gun. No, he hadn’t harmed or threatened her in any way. Even her description of him came out vague.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t want the police to find Jack. She did. He’d murdered her brother and deserved to spend the rest of his life in prison. Landis just didn’t want this deputy going after Jack half-cocked. She believed in justice, not vengeance.

  Discomfort washed over her when she realized her other motives weren’t quite as noble. If she identified Jack, her name would be plastered on the front page of every newspaper in Utah. Their past relationship would be sensationalized. The first major victory of her career would be overshadowed by scandal. Regardless of the fact that she was an innocent party and had acted properly and lawfully, she knew the gossip and speculation would affect her career. Perceptions were everything when you were a public servant. She’d sacrificed enough for Jack LaCroix. She’d be damned if she sacrificed anything more.