Midnight Run
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.
“I know you don’t trust me.” He stepped toward her. “But I need your help.”
She’d forgotten how tall he was. A year ago, she’d been taken in by his muscular physique and that reckless glint in his eye. Tonight, the cold reality of what he’d done blurred the sweet memory of how good things had once been between them. Landis raised her chin and met his gaze. “You should have considered the consequences before you committed murder.”
“I’m sure this is going to throw a wrench into your undying faith in the criminal justice system, but I didn’t kill Evan. Someone set me up.”
“I’ve heard this before. I didn’t believe it then. I don’t believe it now. Nothing has changed.”
“Everything has changed,” he said quietly. “I can prove it now.”
Dear Reader,
This year may be winding down, but the excitement’s as high as ever here at Silhouette Intimate Moments. National bestselling author Merline Lovelace starts the month off with a bang with
A Question of Intent,
the first of a wonderful new miniseries called TO PROTECT AND DEFEND. Look for the next book,
Full Throttle,
in Silhouette Desire in January 2004.
Because you’ve told us you like miniseries, we’ve got three more for you this month. Marie Ferrarella continues her family-based CAVANAUGH JUSTICE miniseries with
Crime and Passion.
Then we have two military options:
Strategic Engagement
features another of Catherine Mann’s WINGMEN WARRIORS, while Ingrid Weaver shows she can
Aim for the Heart
with her newest EAGLE SQUADRON tale. We’ve got a couple of superb stand-alone novels for you, too:
Midnight Run,
in which a wrongly accused cop has only one option—the heroine!—to save his freedom, by reader favorite Linda Castillo, and Laura Gale’s deeply moving debut,
The Tie That Binds,
about a reunited couple’s fight to save their daughter’s life.
Enjoy them all—and we’ll see you again next month, for six more of the best and most exciting romances around.
Yours,
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Editor
Midnight Run
LINDA CASTILLO
Books by Linda Castillo
Silhouette Intimate Moments
Remember the Night
#1008
Cops and…Lovers?
#1085
A Hero To Hold
#1102
Just a Little Bit Dangerous
#1145
A Cry in the Night
#1186
The Phoenix Encounter
#1208
Midnight Run
#1259
Silhouette Books
Uncharted Waters
LINDA CASTILLO
knew at a very young age that she wanted to be a writer—and penned her first novel at the age of thirteen. She is the winner of numerous writing awards, including a nomination for the prestigious RITA® Award, the Holt Medallion and Golden Heart. She loves writing edgy stories that push the envelope and take her readers on a roller-coaster ride of breathtaking romance and thrilling suspense.
Linda spins her tales of love and intrigue from her home in Texas, where she lives with her husband and four lovable dogs. Check out her Web site at www.lindacastillo.com. Or you can contact her at P.O. Box 670501, Dallas, Texas 75367-0501.
To my editor, Kim Nadelson, for seeing the magic
and helping to make this story a reality.
You have my admiration and heartfelt thanks.
Contents
Prologue
F
ate had a twisted sense of humor, Jack LaCroix decided when the first shot rang out. Branches slashed at his clothes and face as he sprinted through the dense brush and low-growing trees. His prison-issue boots pounded through the mud in a rhythm that had pushed his body to the limit for what seemed like eternity. Behind him, the hounds were so close he could hear their frustrated baying over the sound of his own labored breathing.
He’d always considered himself a lucky man. At least up until a year ago when Lady Luck turned on him and bared her fangs. Damn, he wished he’d remembered how capricious she could be before trying a crazy stunt like breaking out of prison. If only he could charm her into keeping the dogs off him long enough for him to reach the river.
Desperation hammered through him as he calculated how far he had yet to go. Two hundred miles separated him from freedom. From justice. From the truth. A bitter laugh escaped him as the odds of his getting away struck him. Even if he made it to the river, he still faced his biggest obstacle yet. The only person who could help him believed he was a murderer.
Panic reared inside him at the thought. Everything he’d ever worked for or believed in—his very life in fact—hinged on whether he could convince her to help him. If she refused, or if they caught him before he reached her, he would be sent back to prison. He couldn’t let that happen. Not now. Not when he’d already ventured beyond the point of no return.
Plummeting down a steep embankment, he reached the flood plain of the river. Hope curled through him when he heard the sound of rushing water. He picked up speed and ran blindly in the darkness, stumbling over rocks and stumps, no longer feeling the branches cutting his face or the rain that pelted him.
He stopped at the edge of the clearing, listening, his breaths rushing out in great white puffs. Behind him, the dogs howled in an eerie bloodlust symphony. The rain-swollen river loomed beyond the trees, the black, swirling water teasing him with the seductive promise of escape.
Every muscle in his body tensed as he stepped into the clearing. He could barely hear the dogs over the frenzied beating of his heart. He was in plain sight now, an easy mark for any government-paid sharpshooter looking to cut a notch in the butt of his rifle. Crouching, he started for the river, knowing fully if fate decided to dupe him again, she would win for good.
White-hot pain streaked through his left shoulder. An instant later the clap of a rifle shattered the air. He heard himself cry out as the impact of the bullet spun him around. Clutching his shoulder, he lost his footing and tumbled down the muddy bank. Shock tore through him when he realized he’d been shot, then again as the icy water enveloped him.
Damn, he didn’t want to bleed to death in this godforsaken river. Not like this. He didn’t want to die like a criminal.
An eerie calm descended. Instinctively, he began to swim. The dogs couldn’t scent him here, he thought as the current tugged at him. He wouldn’t leave any footprints. The trackers would find blood on the bank. Hopefully, they’d think he succumbed to the cold and drowned. With a little help from Lady Luck, he might just live long enough to see daybreak.
Chapter 1
W
ith the thrill of victory still humming through her veins, the last thing Landis McAllister wanted to deal with was the weather. She could handle a few snow flurries. Even an inch or two on the roads didn’t bother her. It was when Mother Nature went overboard and dumped two feet of the stuff that she questioned the wisdom of mountain living.
Determined not to let something like a little snowstorm dampen her spirits, Landis flipped on the radio and sang along with 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 wasn’t for lack of muscle. He looked hard-as-rock and lean as a marathon runner. A year ago, she might have been taken in by his muscular physique and that reckless glint in his eyes. Tonight, the cold reality of what he’d done blurred the sweet memory of how good things had once been between them.
Forcing back the memories, Landis raised her chin and met his gaze. “You shouldn’t have come here. You shouldn’t be—”
“I shouldn’t be a lot of things.” Bitterness laced his voice. He’d never been a bitter man, but she supposed there were worse fates for a convicted murderer. “I shouldn’t be in prison for starters.”
Her temper stirred. She didn’t like mind games. She didn’t like being frightened. Or lied to. Especially when it came to the man who murdered her brother. “In my business I hear that so often it makes me sick.”
“Still putting them away, are you?”
“I happen to believe people like you belong in prison.”
“That’s my girl. A lawyer first—a human being second. Your daddy did a real number on you, didn’t he?”
Her heart kicked with another jab of anger. She didn’t want to discuss her father or what he’d done. Not with a man whose betrayal had cut her even deeper than her old man’s.
“Have you lost your mind or merely your sense of decency?”
“I lost any decency I might have had the day they put me in a cage.”
“Maybe you should have considered the consequences before you committed murder.”
He raked a shaking hand through his hair. “I’m sure this is going to throw a wrench into your undying faith in the criminal justice system, but I didn’t kill Evan. Someone set me up. The money. The gun. The bogus witnesses. I tried to tell you—”
“I’ve heard this before. I didn’t believe it then—I don’t believe it now. Nothing has changed since your trial.”
“Everything has changed,” he said quietly. “I can prove it now, but I need some time to do it.”
The night of the murder skittered through her mind. She winced with pain, then fury rumbled through her with such force she felt it all the way to her belly. She wasn’t a violent person, but she wanted to hurt him. He’d caused her so much pain. He’d taken so much away from her. First her heart. Then her brother.
“You were his partner, for God’s sake. He trusted you. I trusted you.” The need to strike out nearly overpowered her, but she maintained control if only by a thread. “I’d have to be insane to believe anything you say now.”
“I thought you might want to hear the truth,” he said. “I never had you pegged as a hypocrite, but Lord knows I’ve been wrong about you in the past. You claim to love the law so much. Maybe you believe in your beloved laws when it’s convenient. When they suit your needs. When it’s easy. Or maybe you hide behind justice when you’re not brave enough to face the truth.”
The words sliced her like a blade. It outraged her that he would take the one thing she truly believed in and use it to manipulate her. “It was your revolver that killed Evan. You took money from a known criminal. Two witnesses placed you at the murder scene. What am I supposed to believe with such overwhelming evidence staring me in the face?”
“You of all people should know the truth isn’t always handed over on a platter,” he said. “Reality isn’t that neat.”
“Don’t preach to me about reality. Of the two of us I’d say I’m a hell of a lot more grounded in reality than you. Damn it, Jack, what were you
thinking
breaking out of prison?”
As if the weight of the world suddenly settled on his shoulders, he sagged against the wall. The unpredictable light went out of his eyes, and Landis felt a new kind of tension tighten in her chest. For an instant he looked incredibly vulnerable, as if the odds stacked against him had finally worn him down and crushed him.
An alarm trilled in her head when she saw fresh blood coming through his shirt. He looked pale and shaken, but far too dangerous to touch. Like a snarling, wounded animal.
“You’re bleeding,” she said.
“I’ve got worse problems than that.”
For a fleeting instant she wanted to reach out and offer comfort. Just as quickly, she shoved the notion away, telling herself that caring for him would not only be self-destructive, but dangerous. He was no longer a detective with the Salt Lake City Police Department. He was no longer a free man. And he was certainly no longer the man who’d stolen her heart.
Jack LaCroix was a cold-blooded murderer.
“Don’t shut me out, Landis.” He reached out with his uninjured arm and traced the line of her jaw with his thumb. “At least listen to me. Hear me out. That’s all I’m asking.”
Angered by the contact, she slapped his hand away. She knew better than to trust him. He’d lied to her, taken her heart and torn it to shreds, then proceeded to turn her life upside down. She refused to put herself on the line again. Certainly not for a man who wouldn’t hesitate to do it all over again.
“You could have left the country, Jack. What could you possibly want from me?” The instant the words were out she regretted them, realized she didn’t want to know.
“You’re the only person I know who gives a damn about the truth,” he said. “At least you used to.”
He stood so close she could smell the sweat and dirt and the lingering redolence of panic. His gaze pierced her so that she couldn’t look away. If she hadn’t known better, Landis might have been taken in. His bedroom eyes and whiskey-smooth voice could be very convincing. But she’d learned the hard way that he was a capable liar and master manipulator. She wasn’t foolish enough to fall into the same trap a second time.
“I can’t help you,” she said. “I won’t.”
Jack flinched, closed his eyes briefly. He looked miserable. Cold. Dirty. She watched, stunned, as a single drop of blood rolled off his fingertips and splattered on the floor. That he didn’t notice told her a lot about his frame of mind.