Midnight Run (5 page)

“I hate to tell you this, Jack, but you don’t have any credibility.”

His smile was cold. “I’d almost forgotten how cutting you can be.”

“I don’t want you here. What do you expect?”

“The benefit of a doubt.”

“Maybe we should just concentrate on getting through the next couple of hours without coming to blows.” She carried their plates to the dining room table. Though she didn’t look at him, she felt his gaze on her as she pulled out a chair and sat.

Momentarily, he followed and sat next to her. Without looking up or speaking, he ate like a man possessed, making her wonder how long it had been since he’d had any food.

As she watched him, a sudden jolt of despair wrenched at her. She told herself it was the feelings she’d once had for him fueling the doubts inside her. Damn it, she trusted the criminal justice system. He’d had a fair trial. Justice had been served. She’d seen the evidence. She’d heard the witnesses testify against him. Yet buried in the recesses of her mind, a shadow of doubt had taken root. Was it possible Evan had gotten himself into trouble and been killed for it? Was Cyrus Duke involved? Could Jack be innocent?

She tried not to imagine what he’d been through. As an assistant prosecutor, she’d been inside prisons before. She knew how the inmates were treated. She knew the humiliations, the violence and the lack of humanity that was an integral part of prison life. She knew what being locked in a cage did to a man. She knew what it had done to her own father. The parallels between the two men made her shiver.

Jack had lost everything in the past year. His best friend. His career. His freedom. Yet he’d endured, never sacrificing his dignity. What kind of a man did that make him? A murderer who wanted freedom at any cost? Or a survivor who was willing to risk it all to prove his innocence?

“Do you have a first aid kit?”

The sound of his voice startled her, and Landis realized with some embarrassment that she’d been staring. “Everything I have is in the medicine cabinet. Gauze and tape.”

“Antibiotic cream?”

“Yes.” His politeness was beginning to annoy her. It would be easier to hate him if he were rude.

“What you need is a doctor,” she said, praying that for once in his life he would agree with her. “Not me to play nursemaid.”

Rising, she gathered his dishes, her own untouched food, and took them to the sink. Even without looking at him, she knew he was assessing her, trying to read her body language. Mercy, she knew him too well. It was disconcerting to know he knew her just as well.

“It might be a few days before I get to the doc,” he said.

Landis closed her eyes, dread gathering in her chest. It was crazy, but a small part of her wanted to help him. She wanted to ease his pain. She wanted to do this one, compassionate thing for him because she knew it would be the last kindness she would ever show him. After tonight he would be gone, and she would never see him again. Oddly, the notion wasn’t as comforting as she wanted it to be.

Taking a calming breath, she faced him. “The cut above your eye looks bad, too.”

“Pretty careless of the prison system to string barbed wire where the inmates could get hurt. Think my lawyer could get a settlement out of them?”

“That’s not funny.”

Irked by his flippant tone, Landis left the kitchen. In the bathroom, she found the gauze, tape, peroxide, aspirin and a crinkled tube of antibiotic cream. Dreading the job ahead, she entered the living room to find Jack slumped on the sofa, watching her through heavy-lidded eyes.

“You got anything stronger than aspirin?” he asked.

Despite the intrepid facade, she could tell he was tense about the wound. He should be, considering what he expected her to do. “I guess you’re not going to let me talk you out of this,” she said.

“Think revenge, Counselor. That should get you through it.”

Frowning, she went to the bar and found the old bottle of brandy she’d gotten for Christmas last year. Working off the cork, she snagged a good-size tumbler from the cabinet, and walked back to the living room.

“Ah, a little brandy for the soul,” he said. “That ought to do nicely.”

She set the bottle and glass on the coffee table and looked down at him. “That wound is serious, Jack. If it gets infected you could find yourself seriously ill.”

“Careful Landis, or I might think you still care about me.”

“Like you said, Jack, I’ve always had a weakness for strays—even when I know they’re likely to bite.” She poured two fingers of the amber liquid into the glass.

“More,” he said.

“You just want to kill the pain, not put yourself into a coma.” But she filled the glass to the halfway mark and handed it to him.

“I hate to waste the expensive stuff on a gunshot wound.”

“Go ahead. I haven’t exactly been celebrating much lately.” She tapped out three aspirins. “These will help.”

Never taking his eyes from hers, he tossed back the aspirin, brought the glass to his lips and drained it in three gulps. Landis watched, fascinated as he shuddered, then set the glass back on the table.

Leaning against the sofa back, he closed his eyes. “Give this a minute to kick in, will you?”

She looked down at her scant first aid supplies, praying she could get through this without making the wound worse than it already was.

“Okay. Let’s get this over with.” Grimacing, he unbuttoned the shirt, wincing as it came down over his shoulder.

Careful not to get too close, Landis peeled back the bandage he’d applied after his shower. The moment the wound came into view her stomach did a slow-motion somersault. She wasn’t squeamish, but the sight of the bruised flesh and gaping wound made her feel light-headed. “I’m sure this isn’t what you want to hear, but I flunked basic first aid.”

“You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

A chuckle rumbled in his throat. “From the looks of you, I’d say the jury’s still out on that. Maybe you ought to sit down. That floor’s hard as hell, and I don’t have the strength to pick you up.”

“I’m not going to pass out.”

He didn’t move as she rounded the sofa and set the peroxide and antibiotic cream on the end table. “Hold this.” She handed him the gauze. “And be quiet. I need to concentrate.”

Unable to avoid it any longer, she looked closely at the wound. It was no longer bleeding, but the gash was deep, the flesh jaggedly cut. She could only imagine how painful it was. “Hand me a section of gauze,” she said.

He opened the wrapper and held it out for her. “Am I going to live?”

“That depends on how much pain you can take.”

“On a scale of one to ten, it’s already a nine.”

“So we’ve got some room to work with.” Saturating the square of gauze with peroxide, Landis drizzled it over the wound. His quick intake of breath told her it stung, but he didn’t flinch. She repeated the procedure several times until the peroxide stopped foaming. As gently as possible, she applied some of the antibiotic ointment.

“Hurt?” she asked.

“No worse than the day you walked out of my cell for the last time.” A fine sheet of sweat coated his forehead. “On a scale of one to ten, that was definitely a ten.”

Her hands stilled, but she didn’t look at him. A day didn’t go by that she didn’t remember the look on his face when she’d left him standing in his cell, looking like the ground had just caved in beneath him. Aside from burying her brother, it was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do.

“This isn’t a good time to dredge up the past, Jack.”

“Another hour and I’ll be gone. We won’t get another chance.”

She felt his gaze burning into her, but she focused on the bullet wound, realizing with dismay the mass of damaged flesh was easier to look at than those accusing eyes of his. “Maybe that’s best for both of us.”

“Maybe it’s time you looked a little deeper. Maybe it’s time somebody put Duke in prison for what he did to Evan. For what he did to us. For God’s sake, Landis, what we had…”

The tube of antibiotic cream slipped from her hand and fell to the floor. Exasperated, she cursed and dropped her hands to her sides. Her heart pounded, and she couldn’t keep her mind from racing with the possibilities of what he was saying. “Damn it, Jack, if you want me to get your shoulder bandaged, you’re going to have to shut up.”

Turning his head slightly, he glanced down at the wound. Landis didn’t miss the slight paling of his face. “I’m going to need some more of those aspirin.”

She hesitated, knowing she was going to cause him real pain when she tried to join the jagged edges of the wound. “You need stitches, Jack. I’m not sure I can butterfly this. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Ah, come on, Red. You’ve already ripped my heart out. This ought to be a breeze.”

She glanced sharply at him, but his eyes were closed. He had an incredibly sensuous mouth for a male, and she suddenly remembered how many times that mouth had kissed her, how good he was at it….

He shifted slightly, and the shirt fell open the rest of the way. Her eyes did a slow, dangerous sweep, skimming over his magnificent chest, the dark sprinkling of hair, and the rounded pectoral muscles. The towel was knotted just below his navel and she could see the flat stretch of his belly, the thickening of hair…

“Your hands don’t look too steady, Red.”

She jolted, jerked her gaze back to his. “Bullet wounds make me nervous.”

“Maybe it’s the convict making you nervous.”

“I don’t think so.”

He stared at her, making no move to close the shirt, one side of his mouth curved into a knowing smile.

Struggling to keep her hands from shaking, she withdrew three long sections of first aid tape from the dispenser. She then placed a sterile gauze pad over the wound. Sweat moistened her forehead as she stretched the first piece of tape tightly over the gauze, effectively pulling the edges of the wound together.

Jack winced and cut loose with a curse. “Jesus…”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hurry up,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

Holding her breath, she secured the second length of tape, trying in vain to ignore his groan of pain. Oh, dear God, when was Aaron Chandler going to arrive?

By the time the bandage was in place Landis was shaking all over. A dime-size stain of fresh blood marred the gauze. The injury would leave a tremendous scar, but at least it wouldn’t get infected. Sighing with relief, she stepped away, aware that her legs were rubbery.

Jack slumped against the back of the sofa with his eyes closed. He cradled his left arm as if it were broken. His face was pale and drawn and his strong jaw had finally stopped clenching. She watched him for several minutes. Slowly, his breathing returned to normal. His hands, which had been fisted in pain, relaxed. The furrow at his brow smoothed out. At least he wasn’t hurting anymore.

Surprising herself, she raised her hand and touched his lean cheek the way she’d done a hundred times in the months they’d been involved. The stubble of his beard felt rough and unfamiliar beneath her fingertips. She could smell his clean, masculine scent. Memories stirred uncomfortably inside her. She stared at him, remembering, hurting, regretting and wishing things could have turned out differently.

“Why can’t I hate you for what you did?” she whispered.

Chapter 4

B
y the yellow light of the banker’s lamp in her study, Landis scrutinized the brief she’d spent the last hour hammering into her computer. It was a technique she’d developed in her first year of law school, and the habit had stuck with her. Whenever she was perplexed by a case she could usually work things out by outlining the facts, the points of contention, the supporting evidence and analyzing it. Ironically, the one time she desperately needed logical conclusions, her system failed her. How was she supposed to concentrate when the man convicted of murdering her brother was sleeping upstairs in her guest room?

Cursing the memories and emotions for getting in the way, she slipped her reading glasses on to her nose and stared at the screen. On the first page she’d organized the data indicating Jack’s guilt, which consisted of a multitude of damning physical evidence, namely his service revolver and a $50,000 bank deposit, both of which conceivably could have been planted. In addition, two witnesses had placed him at the scene of the crime. A fellow cop had testified that he’d heard Jack and Evan arguing just days earlier. None of the evidence was conclusive in itself but combined it was compelling as hell.

Lower, she’d listed the prosecution’s portrayal of what happened that night, including his version of motive, means and opportunity. It hadn’t been difficult for him to convince the jury Jack had killed his partner to cover up his own illicit dealings, which included bribery, extortion and racketeering. The truth of the matter was he looked guilty as sin.

Landis composed a few of her own theories based on what Jack had told her. At the bottom of the page the name Cyrus Duke stood out in stark black and white followed by a question mark. To anyone else, the case might have looked cut-and-dried. A cop on the take who’d murdered his partner to keep his crimes from coming to light. But Landis wasn’t just anyone. She was an assistant prosecutor. She’d once known Jack well. She’d been his lover for the better part of a year. She’d known his mind and his heart. And in her own heart she suddenly knew there was nothing cut-and-dried about the case.

The thought was not a comforting one.

Taking into consideration Jack’s background in law enforcement, his street smarts and keen intelligence, the case against him was almost
too
neat. There was no way he would have made some of the mistakes that had convicted him. Jack would have covered his tracks well.

“So why didn’t you?” she whispered.

She considered his actions after his escape from prison. Would a guilty man risk his newfound freedom chasing down a known criminal who’d proven himself untouchable even to the police? Was it her own wretched conscience that was bothering her? Or maybe it was her father’s ghost that wouldn’t let her see this case in black and white.

Dropping her face into her hands, Landis let out a weary sigh and acknowledged the headache at her temples. She refused to believe Evan had been involved with Cyrus Duke. After what their father put them through twenty years earlier, she just couldn’t believe Evan would put himself—or his family—in the same position.

But if not Evan, then whom?

She jolted when the doorbell sounded, telling her Aaron Chandler had arrived. Relief poured through her that she would no longer have to deal with Jack alone. Leaving her study, she walked briskly to the foyer, checked the peephole and opened the door.

Aaron Chandler stood on the porch looking like a cross between a drug lord and a high-dollar gigolo. The Italian suit and expensive wingtips lent him an air of sophistication. But the ponytail, the gold earring and his lack of physical stature, did little to further the image. Landis had learned early in life that looks could be deceiving, so she refrained from making judgments based on first impressions. She didn’t know the man personally, but as an attorney herself she was well aware of his reputation.

Despite his height, people noticed when Aaron Chandler walked into a room. Judges respected him. Hostile witnesses opened up to him. Juries invariably trusted him. His fellow lawyers feared him—especially prosecutors facing off with him in the courtroom. He took on cases that left other defense attorneys quaking in fear. The high-profile cases. The controversial cases. He thrived on visibility, debate and victory. On the rare occasion when he
did
lose a case, it was rumored that he was a consummate sore loser and prone to temper tantrums.

Landis had stopped being intimidated by facades a long time ago. Personally, she didn’t care for the kind of dark brilliance Aaron Chandler brought to the profession. It didn’t matter to him if his clients were guilty or innocent. In a game where winner took all, a little detail like justice was inconsequential.

“Jack always swore Lady Luck was a redhead.” Brandishing a thousand dollar smile, he extended his hand.

She returned the handshake, regarding him with a combination of professional respect and personal disdain as he stomped the snow from his shoes and walked into the foyer. “It seems Jack has been incorrect quite often recently,” she said.

Chandler looked around the cabin as if he were in the market for a summer home—and hers didn’t quite fit the bill. Landis watched as his eyes traveled to the first aid supplies she’d left on the end table to the French door where a piece of cardboard covered the broken pane. A quiet shrewdness rested easily behind his wire-rimmed bifocals, and she found herself immediately on guard.

“Not bad for an assistant prosecutor.” He winked at her with a sort of fatherly wisdom he didn’t quite manage, then leaned closer as if to let her in on a much-coveted secret. “But I’m sure you know the real money is in defending the private sector.”

She shrugged. “Not every lawyer is motivated by money.”

“There’s nothing wrong with earning a good salary.”

“I guess that depends on what you have to do to earn it.”

“Touché.” Looking thoroughly amused, his gaze traveled from the dining room to the staircase, then back to her. “I’ve heard you’re good. If you ever want to cross over to the other side, give me a call.”

Landis had met enough people like Aaron Chandler in her lifetime not to be flattered. No wonder Jack hated lawyers. “My legal brilliance aside, Mr. Chandler, I’d say you have a rather large problem on your hands this evening.”

“Ah, yes, our mutual friend.” His brows snapped together. “I’m afraid he’s jumped out of the frying pan and into the flame this time, hasn’t he?”

“You’ve got to talk him into turning himself in.”

“He’s innocent, you know,” he said, eyeing her over the tops of his bifocals.

“All of your clients are innocent.”

“Just as all of your defendants are guilty?”

“Innocent until proven guilty,” she corrected. “I’m sure I don’t need to inform you that Jack LaCroix was found guilty in a court of law.”

“Unjustly, I’m afraid. Where is he?”

“Upstairs in the guest—”

“I’m right here.” Jack’s baritone voice cut through the air like a lance.

Landis and Chandler turned simultaneously to see Jack moving gingerly down the stairs.

After only an hour of sleep, the improvement in his appearance amazed her. He was still pale, but the sharpness had returned to his eyes. He watched them with the caution of an animal that knew it was being stalked. On reaching the foot of the stairs, he walked toward them.

Landis couldn’t take her eyes off him as he approached. His very presence seemed to suck all the oxygen from her lungs. Six feet, four inches of lean muscle, bad attitude and one of the most complex personalities she’d ever encountered. He’d put on his clean prison issue trousers and shirt, and she was keenly aware of the way the fabric lay over hard-as-rock muscle.

Chandler extended his hand when Jack reached them. “You’re the last person I expected to do something so incredibly stupid.”

Grimacing, Jack accepted the handshake. “You’re the last lawyer I expected to lose my case.”

“We won’t lose the appeal.”

“No offense, but I didn’t want to stick around to find out.”

Landis watched the exchange, telling herself she was doing the right thing. She couldn’t harbor a fugitive. Jack was better off with his lawyer. Maybe Chandler could talk him into giving himself up.

“Your lack of patience has landed you in a heap of trouble this time,” Chandler said. “You made the evening news.”

“Lead story?” Jack asked.

Chandler shook his slicked-back head. “They gave the lead story to a big warehouse fire in Provo.”

“Can’t say I’m disappointed.”

“Possibly armed and very dangerous—or so they said. A witness claims to have seen you with Elvis on board the Burlington Northern near Brigham City.”

One side of Jack’s mouth quirked. “Hell of a guy, that Elvis.”

Annoyance rippled through her that the two men could be so casual about such a grave situation. “Elvis sightings aside, gentlemen, I think you should be using your collective brain power to figure out how you’re going to rectify the situation.” She looked at Jack. “We know the only smart thing for Mr. LaCroix to do is give yourself up.”

Jack met her gaze unflinchingly, his eyes dark and indecipherable as he studied her. “I didn’t risk my life breaking out of prison just to give myself up,
Ms.
McAllister.” He used the formal title with a hefty dose of sarcasm. “I plan to use what little time I have as a free man to prove I didn’t kill my partner. Then I’m going to nail the bastard who framed me.” He looked at Chandler. “I need a car, some clothes and some money.”

The attorney snorted. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the term aiding and abetting. Does the word disbarment mean anything to you?”

Landis’s heart rate sped up. She couldn’t imagine Chandler agreeing to aid and abet a convicted murderer—even if it was his own client. “You can’t operate outside the law, Jack,” she said. “Every law enforcement agency from here to the Canadian border is looking for you.”

Jack raked a hand through his hair, wincing with the sudden movement and cutting loose with a curse.

“He’s been shot,” Landis explained.

Shock flashed across Chandler’s face. “
Shot?
My God, man, you need to see a doc—”

“What I need is some bloody cooperation!” Jack shouted.

Shaking his head, the attorney studied him. “You look dead on your feet. You can’t afford to jeopardize your health on a wild-goose chase that will do nothing but earn you another ten years in prison.”

Jack scowled. “For the record, Chandler, my health doesn’t mean a whole hell of a lot if I’m going to be spending the rest of my life behind bars.”

Chandler set his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Landis is right. You can’t operate outside the law. The police have itchy fingers when it comes to cop killers. As your attorney, the only advice I can give you is to let me handle this through the appeal process.”

A cynical laugh escaped Jack. “I hate to break your heart—not that you have one—but my faith in the legal system is a little shaky at the moment. I’ll take my chances with the hounds and bullets before I let myself get railroaded again.”

“Just how do you plan on proving your innocence when I couldn’t?” Chandler looked ruffled.

“Did you bring me a change of clothes?” Jack asked, dodging the question.

Chandler sighed. “There’s an overnight case in the car. I’ll merely add the cost of the clothes to your final bill.”

“What about money?” Jack asked.

Chandler looked as if a gas pain hit him. “I’ve got a couple of hundred on me—”

“That’ll do.”

The attorney looked at Landis over the top of his glasses. “Are you two…?”

“No!” Landis blurted, dismayed that Chandler had jumped to that conclusion. She didn’t even want to think about what else he may have assumed. “I don’t want any part of this.” She felt the heat of Jack’s stare on her, but she maintained eye contact with Chandler. “I don’t want him here, Aaron. As of right now I’m washing my hands of the entire situation. You’re taking him with you or I’m calling the police.”

Blowing out a breath of frustration, Chandler frowned at Jack. “Does she know?”

Jack shook his head. “I tried. She doesn’t believe me.”

Landis didn’t like surprises. Judging from the men’s expressions, she had the feeling this one was going to be a doozy. “Believe what?”

Jack’s gaze swept to Landis. “Chandler is close to getting proof that Evan was taking money from Duke,” he said quietly.

She couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d pulled out a switchblade and slashed her. For a moment she could only stare, first at Jack, then at Chandler. She forced herself to breathe.

“What kind of proof?” she asked in a voice that sounded much calmer than she felt. All she could think of was that Evan wasn’t here to defend himself. That Jack was a desperate man. And that Aaron Chandler would do anything to win a case.

“I’m working on getting his bank records subpoenaed,” Chandler said. “The proof is there. We’ll get the subpoena.”

Her lawyer’s mind clicked into place. “Money can be planted.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Jack said dryly.

Chandler frowned. “Not if we can prove Evan had been depositing and withdrawing for quite some time.”

She was aware of Jack’s eyes burning into her, as hot as lasers. Was this another brilliant legal maneuver by the illustrious Aaron Chandler? Or had her brother followed in their father’s footsteps and taken a very dark secret with him to the grave?

“Why didn’t the police do that?” she asked.

“Because they thought they had their man,” Chandler said.

“I’m sorry, Landis,” Jack said. “I’m not trying to make Evan out to be the villain, but I’ll do what I have to in order to clear my name.”

Landis risked a look at him. “Even if you’re able to prove Evan was taking bribes, it doesn’t prove your innocence,” she pointed out.

“No. But it does give the courts cause to have another look at Jack’s case,” Chandler said. “We’ll get a retrial.”

Releasing the breath she’d been holding, Landis stepped away from the two men, her head spinning. She thought of the brief she’d drafted and realized everything Jack had told her was plausible. She felt betrayed. By her own heart. By the brother she’d loved. And now by the system upon which she’d based her career.