Midnight Run. Linda Castillo
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 daylights 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.
The most important thing was that he was gone, she told herself as the deputy drove away. She could get on with her life and try to forget he’d ever shown up. She wouldn’t even have to admit to herself that as she’d listened to his declarations of innocence, a small, gullible part of her had been tempted to believe him.
She knew there was a possibility of Jack returning, but she didn’t think he would. She’d made her position clear. He was a lot of things, but a fool wasn’t one of them. Tomorrow, she would call his lawyer, Aaron Chandler, and fill him in on the situation. If Jack got in touch with him, perhaps Chandler would be able to persuade him to turn himself in.
Turning