Midnight Run (4 page)

“How about that fire?” she said aloud.

The woodpile was in the backyard. Not bothering with her coat, Landis crossed through the kitchen. The deputy had taped a piece of cardboard over the broken pane to keep out the cold. She’d have to go to the hardware store tomorrow and pick up a new pane. Unlocking the French door, she opened it and started for the cord of wood stacked against the fence a few yards away.

The snow was still coming down, but not as hard. Such a serene picture, she thought as she pulled two logs and some kindling from the stack. If only she felt as serene. Seeing Jack had been a tremendous shock. It galled her that she still felt something for him. Not love or anything so profound. But a connection that ran a lot deeper than she wanted to admit.

Movement off to her right sent her heart hard against her ribs. Gasping, she dropped the wood and spun. Before she’d taken two steps toward the cabin, strong arms closed around her from behind, trapping her against a solid wall of muscle. A hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off her scream.

“Easy, Landis, it’s me.” Jack’s voice sliced through the fog of fear. “Don’t scream. You know I won’t hurt you.”

She berated herself for being foolish enough to believe he’d gone. Cursing him, she tried to break his grip on her and wriggle free, but he held her tightly against him. Angry and afraid, she did the only thing she could think of and bit his palm.

He jerked his hand away. “Ouch! Damn it!”

“Let go of me!”

“Hold still!”

Furious, Landis spun to face him. “How dare you come at me like that!” Bending, she scooped up a piece of kindling and swung it as hard as she could. Air whooshed.

Jack lunged sideways, stumbled and went down on his knees. The kindling missed him by an inch. Scrambling to his feet, he moved toward her. “You could have taken my head off with that!”

“You don’t use it anyway.” She swung again.

He ducked, then lunged for her. His arms went around her waist. The momentum knocked her off balance, but she didn’t fall. She raised the stick, prepared to defend herself. But his hand snaked out and braceleted her wrist. “Don’t even think about hitting me with that,” he growled.

Jack had forgotten how small she was. How delicately she was built. How good she smelled when he got this close—a subtle mix of coconut and musk and woman flesh. He’d forgotten how soft her body was when she was pressed up against him. How her eyes flashed like cut emeralds when he ticked her off. He’d forgotten a lot of things about her in the past year. Or tried to, anyway. Holding her against him, they all came rushing back….

“Damn you, Jack!” She struggled to free herself from his grasp. “Let go of me!”

She was surprisingly strong for her size. “Let go of the stick,” he said between clenched teeth.

She lashed out with her right foot. The heel of her boot connected solidly with his shin. He felt pain on top of pain, but he didn’t let go. “Stop fighting me.”

“You’re hurting me!”

“Yeah, well your heel grinding into my shin didn’t exactly feel good.”

He squeezed her wrist. Her hand opened; the kindling fell to the snow. Growling in annoyance, he shoved her away. For several long seconds, they faced each other, breathing hard, their breaths mingling between them in a white cloud of vapor.

Despite the fatigue and pain fogging his brain, Jack couldn’t help but notice the rise and fall of her breasts. That her cheeks were blushed with cold. Or that she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. He steeled himself against those observations, knowing it was crazy to think of her in those terms now.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he said.

“In the scope of things, I’m sure a bruised wrist is the least of my worries,” she said dryly. “Why sweat the little things when you’re determined to ruin my life?”

“I’m not going to ruin your life. Nobody has to know I was here.”

“I hate to remind you of something so obvious, but that deputy sheriff was just here looking for you.”

“Yeah? So then why the hell did you send him away?”

She blinked. “I…didn’t. I mean, he went back to the sheriff’s office to put together a search party.”

The realization that she hadn’t identified him staggered him. Something that felt vaguely like hope fluttered in his chest. “You know, Red, for a lawyer you’re not a very good liar.”

“He’s coming back. I swear he’s coming right back.”

He contemplated her, feeling more for her than was prudent. But then, he’d never been a prudent man when it came to Landis. “If I understood your motives a little better, I might thank you.”

“Don’t bother.” She met his gaze levelly. “I’m not going to let you drag me down with you. I’m not going to let you ruin my life.”

A sudden shiver wracked his body. Another wave of dizziness followed with such force that for an instant he thought he was going down again. Fighting nausea, he leaned against the trunk of a pine tree for support. “Damn it…”

“Jack—”

“I need to call Aaron Chandler,” he ground out.

“You’re turning yourself in?”

“Don’t count on it.” He’d hoped she would be able to put her hatred for him aside in the name of justice, but it didn’t look like she wasn’t going to help him. Chandler probably wouldn’t, either. But calling his lawyer might buy him some time. Under the circumstances, Jack figured it was the best he could hope for.

“I’ll have to drive down to Mrs. Worthington’s to use the phone,” she said.

“Like I’m going to let you drive away,” he snapped. “Get me a knife. I’ll splice the line together.”

Landis glowered at him a moment before picking up the fallen firewood. Following her cue, Jack gathered the remaining kindling and trailed her to the cabin.

The heat inside made him feel feverish, but it wasn’t enough to warm him. He felt cold all the way to his bones. He prayed he could function long enough to repair the phone line and make the call to his attorney.

Setting the kindling on the hearth, he watched Landis approach him with a small utility knife. Her cheeks were flushed with cold. Her hair was damp and clung to her face in wisps. That she appealed to him even now annoyed the hell out of him. He couldn’t count the times he’d thought of her when he’d been locked away, lying on his cot, staring at the ceiling, trying to block out his surroundings. She would never know how many endless nights he’d dreamed of her, of touching her. She would never know that those dreams had sustained him, given him a reason to live.

He’d known she wouldn’t welcome him back. In the months he’d spent in prison, he’d tried desperately to convince himself it didn’t matter, that he didn’t care. But the truth had eaten at him, like an acid gnawing at his heart until there was nothing left but an empty shell.

Shaking off the memories, Jack took the knife and walked back outside to splice the telephone line. A few minutes later, he returned to find Landis at the hearth, building a fire. Without speaking, he went directly to the phone. A sigh of relief slipped between his lips when he got a dial tone. He dialed Aaron Chandler’s number from memory.

He looked at Landis. “Come here.”

Wariness flashed across her features. “Why?”

Ignoring the question, Jack thrust the phone at her. “Tell him to meet you here. Tell him you’ve got a mutual friend who needs clothes and money. Don’t mention my name in case there’s a tap. He’ll know it’s me. Tell him it’s an emergency. Make sure he drives up here
now.
”

Protest registered in her eyes, but Chandler must have answered, because she turned her attention to the phone. Jack watched her shift into lawyer mode, listened as the cool, detached professionalism slipped into her voice. Quickly and without emotion she informed Chandler of the situation. If Jack hadn’t been watching her, he wouldn’t have known her hands were trembling. Or that the pulse point just above the mole on her throat was thrumming.

Hanging up the phone, she turned to him. “He’ll be here in a couple of hours.”

“That’ll give me time to eat and shower.”

“You realize Aaron’s going to insist you turn yourself in, don’t you?” she asked.

“He can insist all he wants. That doesn’t mean I’m going to do it.”

“As an attorney—”

“Cut the lawyer crap. Nothing personal, but I’m not too keen on lawyers these days.”

“Maybe you should have gone somewhere else.”

Jack bit back an angry retort. He was cold and hungry and ached all the way to his fingernails. The last thing he wanted to do was argue with Landis. “It’s been a rough couple of days.” Argument leaped into her eyes, but he raised a hand to silence her. “I’ve got a bullet wound in my left shoulder.”

Her mouth opened slightly and her gaze flicked to the bloodstained shirt. But she didn’t speak. She didn’t offer help. Maybe she wasn’t as compassionate as he’d thought. “You need to go to the hospital,” she said.

“That’s not going to happen.”

“I’m a lawyer, Jack. I don’t do bullet wounds.”

“Yeah, well, you’re going to make an exception tonight.” Never taking his eyes from hers, he began unbuttoning his shirt.

Landis stared at him as if he’d slashed her with a machete. Her gaze flicked from his eyes to his hands as he worked the buttons. At least that cool, detached mask was gone he mused, vaguely satisfied.

Easing one side of the shirt off his shoulder, he stole a look at the wound. His stomach flip-flopped as his eyes took in the mass of jagged flesh. The skin was the color of eggplant, swollen and hot to the touch. No wonder it hurt like hell.

Landis gasped and covered her mouth with an unsteady hand. “My God, Jack, I had no idea you were… You need to go to the hospital. A doctor. Stitches…” She stepped back, as if distancing herself would make him go away.

He knew she wasn’t necessarily worried about his well-being, but it was good to know she was concerned. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had worried about him. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time someone had cared whether he lived or died.

The feeling was bitterly familiar. Orphaned at the age of eight, Jack had grown up in a series of foster homes, some good, some not so good. He’d been moved around so often, the constant shuffling from home to home had become a way of life. He’d dealt with it by convincing himself he didn’t care. If that didn’t work, he went looking for trouble—something he’d always had a knack for finding.

He thought about the man who’d helped him turn his life around and wondered how Mike Morgan would feel about what was happening now. The prospect of Mike’s disappointment left a bitter taste at the back of his throat.

“Why don’t you let me drive you over to the clinic in Provo?” Landis said.

Taking in her wide eyes and pale skin, he almost smiled, realizing that even after everything that had happened between them, he was still hungry for her attention. Hungry for a hell of a lot more than her attention if he wanted to be honest about it. God, he was a fool…

“Because by law all bullet wounds are reported to the police,” he snapped.

“I’m not equipped to treat a wound like that, Jack.”

“It’s only a graze. You can handle a bandage.” He looked down at his muddy clothes. “Right now I’d like a shower and some dry clothes. I need something to eat. Some aspirin and a bed. I need to have a clear head when Aaron gets here.”

He gazed through the French door, gauging the snow. Not exactly a snowstorm, but it was coming down again. In another hour the roads would be treacherous. Hopefully, Chandler kept a set of tire chains in the trunk of his Mercedes.

Surprising him, Landis stepped closer, until she was standing a mere foot away. He knew it was a tactic she’d learned at some point in her education. Some nonsense about invading personal space. Too bad she hadn’t yet learned the tactic didn’t work on him.

“All right, Jack. You can take a shower. I’ll fix you something to eat. I’ll even do my best to get your shoulder taken care of. But the moment Chandler gets here, you become his property, and he’ll damn well take you with him when he leaves.”

Jack tried to be amused, but his sense of humor had all but vanished in the last hours. “And if he doesn’t?”

Narrowing her eyes the way a cat might an instant before it pounced on an unsuspecting mouse, she moved even closer. “Then you can add another twenty years to your sentence for holding me hostage.”

Chapter 3

L
andis’s every sense was honed on the man standing at the hearth as she made her way toward the linen closet for a towel and an extra bar of soap. She told herself the only reason she was helping him was because she wanted him gone. The sight of him shivering with cold and pain had nothing to do with it. Damn it, it didn’t. She was immune to his suffering. She might have cared for Jack once, but those days were over for good—for too many reasons to count.

As long as she kept her interaction with him to a minimum, she would get through this. Of course, maintaining a safe distance was going to be difficult considering the size of her cabin. For the first time since owning the place, she wished she’d gone for square footage instead of privacy.

She looked down at the bar of soap in her hand and willed her hand to stop shaking. The last thing she wanted to think about was Jack taking a shower in her bathroom. The image of him lathering that large male body with her perfumed soap disturbed her more than she wanted to admit. Maybe because she remembered every detail of that body with startling clarity. A wide, muscular chest that tapered to a washboard belly. Narrow hips that connected to long, powerful legs. She remembered running her fingers through the dusting of black hair on his chest and thinking she’d found heaven in his arms. She remembered kisses hot enough to melt steel. Lovemaking so intense it had left coolheaded Landis in tears…

With those disturbing memories came the darker memories of their last terrible night together. The night Evan died, it had been Jack who broke the news. It was a night of disbelief, of rage, of wrenching grief. But even as her heart had cried out with the pain of losing her brother, she’d reached out to Jack. He was Evan’s best friend, and it had seemed so right that he would be the one to share her anguish. A man and a woman, lovers bound by sorrow, seeking comfort in each other’s arms. Landis had slept with him one final, earth-shattering time before the investigation and trial tore them apart.

But she’d never been able to erase the memory of his words of solace, the tormenting sight of his tears or the outrage burning in his eyes. Nor had she been able to forget his gentle kisses, his steady, elegant hands, or the way his eyes glittered with passion when he was inside her.

Shaken by the memory, appalled by the thoughts streaking through her traitorous brain, she opened the closet door and yanked a towel from the shelf, vowing not to let the past cloud her judgment. Granted, Jack was an attractive man and they had once been lovers, but she respected herself too much to fall victim to his charms knowing what she did.

“Where do you want me to put my clothes?”

Landis jumped at the nearness of his voice. Realizing he’d come up behind her, she spun and thrust the towel into his midsection hard enough to elicit a grunt. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

Jack studied her carefully for a moment. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were blushing.”

“I’m not blushing,” she snapped, hating it that he’d noticed. The curse of being a redhead, she supposed. Unable to meet his eyes, she focused on the towel between them—only to notice how large and strong his hands looked wrapped around it. She remembered seeing those same hands on her body, touching her, his palms warm and slightly roughened against her most sensitive flesh….

Disgusted with herself, she stepped back. “Take a shower.” She sniffed. “You need it.”

“You’ll come check on me if I pass out, won’t you, Red?”

Her heart did a weird little roll when his hands went to the remaining buttons of his shirt. Jack had never been shy. He was a boldly sexual creature, and Landis had always felt a little overwhelmed by his intensity. She wanted to snap at him to stay dressed until he was locked in the bathroom, but she knew that was silly. She was a grown woman and had seen plenty of male chests. This particular chest shouldn’t be any different. Especially since she didn’t even like the man it belonged to.

“Unless you want to spend the night in jail, I suggest you refrain from passing out,” she said.

“It’d be hell explaining to the police how an escaped con got in your bathtub.”

She didn’t want to think about that. “Toss me your clothes from inside. I’ll throw them in the washing machine.”

Abruptly, he reached out. Landis tried to avoid the contact, but he was too quick. He brushed his knuckles along her jaw, but she felt the contact like an arc of electricity that snapped through her body and went all the way to her toes. Her intellect told her to pull away, but her body refused the order. Instead she found herself melting and softening, and she had to resist the impulse to lean closer….

“Thank you,” he said.

She swatted his hand away from her face. “Don’t read too much into it. You’re not in jail right now because you’ve led me to believe you’re going to turn yourself in.”

A smile traced the corners of his mouth. “You still have a weakness for strays, don’t you, Red?”

“You’re not a stray, Jack. You’re a wolf, and I only hope you don’t turn on me.” She raised her chin and looked him in the eye. A year of bottled-up pain and anger burgeoned in her chest and began to flow. It was as if he’d reached into her and wrested the plug from her damaged heart. “Don’t assume you’re going to flash that smile, hand me a few tidbits on Cyrus Duke and expect me to help you.”

“The thought never crossed my mind,” he said dryly.

“Don’t insult my intelligence by thanking me for something I would never do for you.”

“I’m going to enjoy proving you wrong.”

“For your sake, I hope you can. Personally, I don’t care as long as you stay out of my life.”

“A couple of hours,” he said. “Until Chandler gets here. That’s all I’m asking.”

“You have no idea what you’re asking.”

“Listen to your heart, Landis.”

“My heart has been wrong about you every time it got involved.”

“Not this time.” His voice was like a caress, so soft and gentle that for a moment, she wanted to believe him….

Never taking his eyes from hers, Jack worked off the shirt and handed it to her. It took all of her discipline not to let her eyes drop, to explore what she knew was a magnificent chest. But she didn’t; control was too important to her. And Jack had always been a threat to that control. He’d always wreaked havoc on her in one way or another. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. Landis only hoped she could keep a handle on her emotions long enough to get him out of her life once and for all.

Needing to get out from under his discerning gaze, she turned and started down the hall. She could feel his eyes on her as she walked, but she didn’t stop, didn’t even look back. And for the first time since his arrival, she knew she was much more vulnerable to him than she’d thought.

Leaning forward with his hands against the tile, Jack let the hot spray pound away the dirt, the aches and the bone-deep chill. The water felt like a hot branding iron against his shoulder wound, but there was no getting around a shower so he simply endured. He gladly put up with the pain to get clean. The water ran brown with grime and dirt and blood. He’d never wanted a shower so badly in his entire life. Prison had a way of making a man feel dirty right down to his soul.

He closed his eyes against a bout of dizziness, and for a moment the darkness transported him back to the penitentiary. He heard the steel doors banging shut, the locks turning with the kind of finality that could drive a man insane. He heard the crude shouts, listened to the words of hatred and bitterness and felt his humanity slip a little bit more.

Jack had always considered himself a strong, resilient man. But the year he’d spent in prison had come very close to destroying him. He’d tried to adjust to the routine of prison life; he’d tried to accept the reality that he would be spending the rest of his life behind bars. But something inside him refused to acquiesce no matter how impossible the situation.

Back when he’d been a troubled teen, he’d been unable to fight the injustices inflicted upon him by a system that wasn’t perfect. But Jack was a man now. Deep down inside, he was still a cop. And even if that title had been stripped from him, he would draw his last breath fighting for what was right.

Or die trying.

Using a heart-shaped soap, he lathered his body twice, marveling at the feel of being warm and clean. He washed his hair with shampoo that smelled startlingly like Landis. For a moment, he lost himself in her scent and wished for the hundredth time he could turn back the hands of time.

But Jack was through lamenting the past. For the first time in over a year, his fate was in his own hands. He didn’t intend to squander it. He wouldn’t waste one second of that time wishing for things he couldn’t have. The relationship he’d once shared with Landis was over. She’d turned her back on him when he’d needed her desperately. She would do it again if he gave her the chance. The sooner he accepted that, the better off he’d be.

He didn’t have much time. Twenty-four hours. Thirty-six hours tops. He had no idea when the police or the department of corrections would catch up with him. The way his luck was running, capture seemed imminent. He hated to waste time on sleep, but he hadn’t slept for two days. His brain was barely functioning. His body was operating on sheer will alone. He needed food and a few hours in a bed. He needed a clear head for his meeting with Chandler because it wasn’t going to be easy convincing his attorney to look the other way while his client became a fugitive from justice.

He switched off the water and opened the glass door. A fluffy pink towel hung neatly on the rack. Jack stared at it, realizing with mild amusement that he had nothing to wear while his clothes were being laundered. Cursing mildly, he stepped out of the tub and reached for the towel. The fabric felt soft against his fingers. Even before bringing it to his nose, he knew it smelled like Landis.

Pleasure jumped through him as her scent wrapped around his brain. Despite the fatigue, and the pain of his injury, his body responded. Closing his eyes against the hard tug of longing, he whispered her name. “Landis…”

Landis’s hands shook as she tossed sliced mushrooms into the omelet. Cooking usually calmed her, but tonight her battered nerves refused to cooperate. She couldn’t stop thinking about Jack. The way he’d looked at her when he’d proclaimed his innocence. The sound of his voice when he’d whispered her name. The way he’d touched her. Oh dear God, why had she allowed herself to get sucked into this maelstrom?

“Don’t tell me you finally learned to cook.”

She jolted at the sound of his voice. The slice of toast she’d been buttering slipped from her hand and landed butter-side down on the floor. She was about to utter a very unlady-like curse when the sight of him wearing nothing but a towel froze her in place.

Her eyes swept over him. Shock and a jolt of something that felt vaguely electrical ran the length of her body. Water from his shower glistened on broad shoulders. She saw a chest that was rounded with muscle and covered with thick black hair. The towel was wrapped snugly around an abdomen that was flat and rippled with muscle. Even as she told herself she wasn’t going to let the sight of all that hard male flesh get to her, she felt the burn of a blush on her cheeks.

Appalled by her reaction, she quickly turned away, telling herself it was stress that had her blushing and speechless when she should have been doling out ultimatums.

Plucking a paper towel from the roll, he stooped to retrieve the fallen toast. “The omelet’s singeing,” he said easily.

Landis reached for the spatula and proceeded to mangle the omelet.

With the self-assurance of a man who knew his way around the kitchen, Jack moved in beside her and usurped the spatula. “Let me do that.”

She watched him expertly fold the eggs and shovel them on to waiting plates. “Where did you learn to do that?” she asked, determined to get a grip before he got the wrong idea. Just because he’d flustered her didn’t mean she was going to change her mind and help him.

“I cooked for cellblock C six days a week,” he said. “Breakfast shift, mostly.”

When he looked at her she knew instinctively the smile was there only to hide something he didn’t want her to see. Sadness. Humiliation, perhaps. The thought put an uncomfortable twinge in her chest.

“I make a pretty mean beef stew, too,” he said. “Baby carrots. Turnips. You ever had turnips with beef stew?”

He was the only person she’d ever known who could make her smile when she didn’t want to. None of what had happened in the past year was even remotely funny. It was sad more than anything, she realized. So many lives ruined. Others irrevocably changed.

“Ian left a flannel shirt behind the last time he was here.” Unable to look at him, she dropped her gaze to the skillet in front of her. “I’ll get it for you.”

“Why won’t you look at me?”

“Because I’m trying to fix you something to eat,” she said, her voice filled with exasperation.

“It doesn’t bother you to see me in a towel, does it?”

“Don’t be an idiot.” She glared at him, refusing to acknowledge that her heart was pinging hard against her ribs.

One side of his mouth curved. “Red, you’re refreshing as hell.”

“I’m glad at least one of us is finding the situation amusing.” Turning away from him, she stalked into the living room, swung open the closet door and jerked the blue flannel shirt off a hanger. Back in the kitchen she thrust it at him. Because she couldn’t quite meet his gaze, she found herself staring at the sterile gauze he’d taped haphazardly to his shoulder. She could see that the surrounding flesh was swollen and discolored, and hoped to God it wasn’t as serious as it looked. “That’s a pathetic excuse for a bandage.”

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t do a very good job with one hand.” He gazed steadily at her. “I’m going to need you to butterfly me.”

She didn’t want to get anywhere near him, let alone administer first aid. “Look, Jack, the only stuff I know about first aid comes from the occasional episode of
E.R.
”

“That’s good enough for me.” Wincing a little, he eased into the shirt, then looked down at the pink towel wrapped around his hips. “How long until my pants are dry? I want to be out of all this pink by the time Chandler arrives. It doesn’t do much for my credibility.”