Midnight Run. Linda Castillo
an old Christmas tune, her voice carrying over the din of the windshield wipers and the sound of tires crunching through ice. She didn’t care that she sang a little off-key as she steered the Jeep up the driveway. She didn’t care that it was snowing so hard she could barely see as she parked in her usual spot and shut down the engine.
Landis had just won the first major case of her career. Twelve weeks of dealing with a team of egocentric defense attorneys, a temperamental jury and a judge with a grudge against female prosecutors had finally paid off. Not only had she put the worst kind of criminal behind bars, but she’d ended a child’s suffering. That, she knew, was the biggest reward of all.
But despite her efforts to convince herself otherwise, Landis hadn’t walked away from the case unscathed. This one had taken something out of her. The child abuse cases always did. She felt spent, as if all the energy she’d thrown into the past twelve weeks had been sucked out of her. She’d tried not to let the ugliness affect her, but the testimony, the witnesses—and most of all the little victim herself—had hit home with the force of a sledgehammer.
Laying the memories of her own childhood aside, Landis focused instead on what the victory meant to her professionally. She’d taken a giant leap toward building the reputation she’d dreamed of her entire life. Her win today had opened doors for her, and she had every intention of breezing through those doors all the way to the district attorney’s office.
She poured her heart and soul into the cases she prosecuted, and she was damn good at what she did. Justice was important to her, especially since her older brother had been killed in the line of duty.
Refusing to let the past tarnish her mood, she hefted the bag of groceries and got out of the Jeep. Tonight was reserved for celebration, she told herself. It didn’t matter that her guest list consisted of a cat, a mystery novel and a fire—if she could manage to dig some wood out of the snow.
The tang of chimney smoke hung pleasantly in the frigid air as she made her way to the cabin. Snow blanketed the ground, reminding her that Christmas was less than a month away, and she had yet to begin her shopping. Struggling with the groceries and her perpetually overstuffed briefcase, she unlocked the door and stepped inside.
Pleasure fluttered through her as the familiar smells of home engulfed her. Vanilla. Old pine. The lingering aroma of this morning’s coffee. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted BJ, her three-legged alley cat, as he darted from behind the Indian-print sofa. Knowing the crafty tom was angling for a field mouse before dinner, she used her foot to close the door and lugged the grocery bag into the kitchen.
The cabin had been a gift to herself on her thirtieth birthday last year. It was the first home she’d owned, and she loved every square inch of it right down to the squeaky floors and drafty upstairs bedrooms. The isolated location satisfied her need for privacy while the view of the mountains to the west never ceased to take her breath away.
As Landis stacked the last of the cat food in the pantry, thoughts of the cabin gave way to an uncharacteristic bout of uneasiness. The hairs at her nape prickled. If she didn’t know better, she might have thought she was being watched. But that was crazy. She was alone.
Closing the pantry door, she turned, expecting to see her cantankerous tom stalking her. “BJ?” she called and froze. Her heart slammed against her ribs when the silhouette of a man moved out of the laundry room. Shock riveted her in place. She stared in stunned disbelief as his dark, familiar eyes latched on to hers.
“Jack,” she gasped, telling herself it was an absolute impossibility for Jack LaCroix to be standing in her kitchen dripping water all over the floor. “My God, how did you—”
“We need to talk.”
She smelled the desperation on him as clearly as she saw the dangerous light in his eyes. Melting snow clung to his black hair and dripped on to his face. On his temple, a cut stood out stark and red against the prison pallor of his complexion. A heavy five o’clock shadow darkened his jaw.
For a moment, Landis couldn’t speak. Her mind grappled for logical explanations, but she knew there was only one that explained his presence. “You escaped.”
“You always were a quick study.”
It wasn’t really fear that speared through her, but it was close. Something volatile and powerful she couldn’t put a name to. Adrenaline danced through her midsection, but she didn’t move. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. “How did you get in?”
“Through the back door.” He regarded her through piercing eyes. “Sorry about the pane.”
She choked back a hysterical laugh as the irony of his words struck her. A murderer with a conscience, she thought bitterly. But she knew his gentle voice and polite words didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. After all, tigers were wild and beautiful, but they were killers at heart. Just like Jack LaCroix.
“I don’t want you here,” she said with a calm she didn’t feel.
“I don’t care. I need your help.”
She didn’t think he would harm her, but she’d been wrong about him before. Dead wrong. In the back of her mind, she wondered if she could reach the phone before he stopped her.
Why had he come to her when a sane man would have fled to another country where the police weren’t looking for him? When surely he knew she was the last person on earth who would help him?
Her gaze flicked to the telephone on the wall. “I’m calling the police.”
“I’d tell you not to waste your time, but I know you won’t listen. You never were much good at listening.” His lips twisted into a wry smile. “That’s one of the things I always liked about you.”
With forced calm she strode to the phone, her every sense honed on the man behind her. She felt his gaze on her as she moved, vaguely aware that he didn’t follow. Snatching up the receiver, she punched 9-1-1 only to be met with silence.
Her heart thrumming in anger, she turned to him. “You had no right—”
“Don’t talk to me about rights,” he cut in. “Mine were taken away from me, and I damn well want them back.”
She watched him stride to the sofa, pick up her purse and dig out her cell phone. “What are you doing?” she asked.
Without looking at her, he dropped the phone to the floor and crushed it with his boot. “Trying to stay out of jail.”
Landis stared at her broken phone. “Destroying my phone isn’t going to help.”
“Maybe not, but it will buy me some time.” His expression was inscrutable, but then she’d never been able to read him. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to. To know what was going on behind that enigmatic expression was a frightening notion. Jack LaCroix was the most unsettling human being she’d ever met.
“What do you want?” She looked into the disturbing depths of his eyes. The intensity burning there nearly sent her back a step. But she held her ground, telling herself she was still in control, knowing deep down inside she’d never been in control when it came to Jack.
He looked like he’d been to hell and back. Mud streaked his face and clung to his clothes. The elegant hands she remembered so well were grimy, bruised and scratched. A red stain darkened his shirt from shoulder to waist. Landis stared at it, praying the hole in the fabric wasn’t from a bullet. She tried to ignore that he was shivering with cold, telling herself he didn’t deserve compassion, least of all hers.
“I know you don’t trust me.” He stepped toward her. “But I need your help.”
She took a reflexive step back, knowing immediately it was a tactical error. Never show weakness. Never give up ground. Not in the courtroom. Not in any situation. They were the rules of her trade, and she followed them unerringly. Too bad she hadn’t been as successful in assimilating them into her personal life.
But she’d forgotten how tall he was. Thinner than she remembered, but it