The Truth About Love (3 page)

A middle-aged woman raced into the room. Her gray hair surrounded her face like a lion’s mane. “What’s going on out here?” she asked.

“Suzanne,” Gina spoke slowly and held her hands in front of her as if trying to convey that everyone should calm down. “This is Landon Vista. He’s here to see me.”

“She’s the one driving this, isn’t she?” He waved his arm toward the older lady. “She’s the one trying to get Cyrus Alexander out of jail.”

Gina held her hands outstretched and flat, waiting for Landon to give her more information. Her thoughts began to click together, like pieces of a puzzle falling into place.

Cyrus Alexander.

The victim, Barbara Landon.

The little boy in the pictures with the dark, curly hair.

Olive-green eyes.

Oh.

My.

God.

Gina sank into her chair. “You’re named after your mom’s side of the family,” she said. It wasn’t a question. Not now that all the facts had fallen into place in her mind.

Her throat closed as her hand mechanically fell to the file on her desk. The one detailing the death of Barbara Landon. Her hand was like a shield, hiding from Landon the bloody crime scene photos she’d viewed just days ago. She glanced from the file to Landon and back again, knowing that the little boy in the pictures now stood in front of her, his big body surging with anger.

“Her last name wasn’t the same as yours,” she said. Her mind grasped for details as she tried to remember what her thought process had been before this news. “How would I have known?”

He stepped closer, breathing as if he’d just finished a marathon. “I’m supposed to believe you had no idea?”

Those accusing eyes bored into her. Their distinctive olive green haunted her.
How could I not have seen it?
The room started to spin.

He stomped around the desk to stand over her. “Did you think it’s a complete accident that I work for the guy who takes the toughest stance on crime?”

Anger bubbled in her chest as she realized what he was accusing her of. “It’s the state capitol. Half the people here work for the government.”

“They’re in Tallahassee.” His voice quavered. “To make the laws. To decide what happens to criminals when they kill somebody.”

Gina’s mouth opened, then shut. She’d thought about Landon all night last night. Dreamed of his hands gliding over her skin. Wondered why he made her feel like she hadn’t felt in a long time . . . maybe ever.

But as powerful as those dreams were, they were colliding with the mission she’d had for so long. Her reason for being here. To make amends for what she’d done following her brother’s death. To find justice for people who’d never found it.

Suzanne seemed to understand that Gina was having trouble continuing the conversation. “We have DNA tests now that didn’t exist then.”

“He had a big gash on his arm.” He motioned to his wrist. “He’d already served time for robbery.”

Suzanne thumped the file folder in her hand onto a desk. “That doesn’t make him a killer.”

Landon squared toward Suzanne. “I saw him running out the back of the store. How much more evidence do you need?”

Suzanne hesitated at the sight of the large man now focused on her. “And if he’s the killer, then the DNA test will prove it, once and for all.”

“All my life”—the vein in Landon’s neck corded beneath his skin—“the one little bit of peace I’ve had is knowing her killer was in prison.”

Gina finally felt like the room had stopped spinning. “Don’t you want to make sure the right man was convicted?”

He turned to her, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow. “He had a trial. He’s lost all his appeals.” His jaw tightened. “I know what I saw that day.”

“I’m sorry.” Suzanne’s voice was calm, but stern. “I know this process will be difficult for you, but it’s got to be done. Witness misidentification is the primary reason people are wrongly convicted. People often don’t do a good job of describing what they’ve seen.”

His eyes never left Gina’s as her boss spoke. In them, Gina saw confusion and pain. She saw the little boy whose mother had been murdered.

She hoped he could read her gaze, too. The confusion. The pain from her past that gave them a common bond. Her desire to reach out and touch him. To make everything better.

But instead, he turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

CHAPTER TWO

G
ina dropped to her chair inside Morgan’s Ladder and stared at the door Landon had just slammed behind him when he’d exited the building.

“I had no idea.” She was mentally processing their argument, so her words were meant for herself as much as for Suzanne. “I should have seen it.” Those eyes. How could she have missed those eyes?

“I take it you two have met.” Suzanne still stood across the room from her.

Gina nodded, still staring at the front door. “Our volleyball league. Our teams played each other last night.”

“You must have made quite an impression.” Suzanne crossed the room and pulled out the chair from the empty desk next to Gina’s.

Gina turned, her eyes searching her boss’s face for what that last comment might mean. No way could Suzanne know Gina had kissed him last night.

Could she?

A wave of heat crept up Gina’s neck and she knew she was blushing. She swiveled to rest her elbows on her desk, her head in her hands. How could she have screwed this up so quickly?

Suzanne reached out and touched Gina’s shoulder. “There are a lot of emotions surrounding these cases. You, of all people, should know that.”

Gina swallowed and nodded, her head still cradled in her hands. It was the reason she’d come here. The reason she’d turned down more prestigious internships to spend her summer at Morgan’s Ladder.

She took several deep breaths, gathering herself, then raised her head to look at her boss. “I guess I was just surprised by how quickly he rushed in here. I’ll be better prepared next time.” She didn’t want her boss to think she wasn’t up for the job.

“We’ve cracked open a part of his life he thought was settled years ago. It’s a natural reaction,” Suzanne said.

Gina nodded. Of course she knew that anger was to be expected, but it was hard to look at things intellectually when a six-foot-four-inch, two-hundred-pound man confronted you with the kind of ire Landon had shown.

Suzanne continued. “I’m sure your family went through much of the same.”

“Yes.” Her gaze fell to the floor as she steeled herself against the memories. The months following her brother Tommy’s death had been like someone rubbing sandpaper on an open wound. It had nearly torn her family apart. “Do you think I should go talk to him?” She motioned toward the door.

The hint of a smile crossed her boss’s face. She shook her head. “He doesn’t need someone from Morgan’s Ladder to console him. I’m sure he’s got friends he can talk to. Family, maybe. They’ll be able to help him more than a stranger.”

And, yes, that’s all Gina was. A stranger who’d had her tongue in his mouth last night. A stranger whose life now intersected with his in ways they hadn’t known about on the patio of the Twilight Pub.

“This is going to be horrible for him.” She knew, because she, too, had lived through the emotions of a trial. A conviction. The determination that the wrong person had been sent to jail. Nick Varnadore had spent eighteen months in a juvenile lockup because of her testimony. He’d gone in a scared, naive teenager and come out an angry, hardened adult, despite the fact that less than two years had passed. He’d grown up while he was in there, and it had changed him forever.

The details of the case on her desk flooded her mind. Like her, Landon had helped send a person to prison. Had his testimony also been wrong? Had he ruined Cyrus Alexander’s life the same way she’d ruined Nick Varnadore’s?

Even if the right man was in prison, their reopening the Cyrus Alexander case was going to make Landon relive his mother’s murder.

As if reading her thoughts, Suzanne spoke up. “Are you rethinking your decision to come here this summer?”

Gina shook her head. “No.” There was no way she was going to back out now, despite the run-in with Landon. She’d watched from afar as Nick Varnadore struggled. Gotten snippets of information from others who knew him better than her family had—he’d gotten his GED. Attended one semester at the community college, then dropped out. Had trouble finding a job. Gotten kicked out of welding school.

She’d completely changed the trajectory of his life, and she owed it to him to be here. She’d decided months ago that this was how she would make amends. How she’d pay the world back for her mistake.

Landon Vista could yell at her all her wanted. She had a plan and she was going to stick to it.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Landon tossed the
Sports Illustrated
onto the coffee table and went to answer the door of his condo. Boomer and Ricardo usually walked right in, but he hadn’t unlocked the door yet this morning. Maybe they’d picked up breakfast before the three of them helped Imelda move.

Landon looked through the peephole. The man outside wasn’t one of his friends.
Damn.
A fist-size lump of anger and resentment hardened in his chest. Even just the distorted fisheye view told him everything. His dad was coming off a major drunk.

Landon pulled his cell phone from his pocket and glanced at the time. Thirty more minutes before Boomer and Ricardo were due to arrive. He opened the door and blocked the entry with his body as he leaned against the doorjamb. Not very welcoming, he knew, but then, he felt less hospitable the more he saw. Graying whiskers, the sweat-rimmed neckline of his dad’s faded T-shirt, jeans that looked almost khaki from the dirt covering them. A smell from Landon’s childhood that he tried to forget—the mixture of cigarette smoke and stale whiskey breath.

His dad tipped forward, but caught himself before he leaned too far. “I was beginning to think you weren’t home.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I’m walking to a friend of mine’s who lives down the road.” He angled his chin in the direction of the interstate. “Thought I’d stop in to say hello.” The older man’s grayish skin glistened from the humidity.

As much as Landon hated talking to his dad when he was drunk—which was just about every time he saw him—he wanted to get him out of here before his friends showed up. Embarrassment rose inside him, even though there was no one around to see them. It was the same embarrassment he’d felt about his father most of his life.

Landon opened the door wider and walked into the living room, leaving his dad to stumble in on his own.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” his dad slurred. “Been wondering what you’ve been up to.” He sank into the leather recliner.
My recliner.
The one stationed for prime sports viewing at just the right angle in front of the TV. He fought down the rush of irritation that flashed through him.

“I stopped by spring practice the other day,” Landon said as he walked around the breakfast bar for a bottle of water. Football was typically a safe subject between them.

His dad raked his hand over the stubble on his face. “They should be pretty good this year.”

“Coach needs to make Tompkins the starting quarterback.” He handed the bottle to his father. “Grable can’t throw anything but a big can of corn.”

“Coach doesn’t want to admit Grable ain’t the wonder boy he thought he was.” His dad snorted. “Shoulda let the Gators sign him instead.”

“How’s your job going?” Landon knew he shouldn’t aggravate him, but the stubble on his dad’s face told him he hadn’t been to work in a few days.

“Damn Dwayne.” His dad wiped his hand across his eyes, then took a big swig of water.

The embarrassment of his childhood tightened in Landon’s chest. “You got yourself fired, didn’t you?”

“What a shithead.” The old man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “But I got a better deal going, anyway.”

A better deal.
Landon had heard promises of better deals ever since his father had started hanging around Tallahassee. “Dwayne did me a favor by giving you a chance, Dad. And you blew it? You couldn’t just go to work and do what he asked you to do?”

“Me and this buddy of mine—we’re gonna lease this old building and open a bait shop. It’s right on the road to Cedar Key. Lots of traffic going by . . .”

“Where are you going to get the money to lease a building?” As far as he knew, his dad didn’t even have a permanent address.

“My buddy’s about to get this big settlement from a car wreck and—”

Landon sighed. “You’re here to ask me for money.”

The old man’s rubbery face slid into a grin. “You want to get in on this? Become an investor?”

“I don’t have that kind of money.” Landon didn’t know how much his dad was looking for, but he wasn’t going to give it to him, even if he had it.

“Outdoorsy stuff is big business. Got their own cable channel and everything.”

Damn it. Would the man ever stop chasing after these crazy ideas?
“I don’t want to be an investor.”

“I’m not here for money, anyway.”

Good.
Their last big fight had been because his dad needed to be bailed out of debt. Again.

“I need you to come to the bank with us,” his father continued. “Part of our marketing plan. Tell the ol’ boys down there you’re doing our TV commercials. For free. Can’t help but get a bunch of customers come football season.” His dad’s eyes showed more enthusiasm than he’d seen in them in . . . maybe ever.

“TV commercials for a bait shop?”

The old man’s legs stilled. The rocking of the recliner stopped. “So you’ll do it?”

Landon grunted. “No way.”

“You can’t help your old man out? Like I’m not the one who gave you that pretty face to begin with? Or that arm? You wouldn’t even be the big stud quarterback if it wasn’t for me.”

His jaw tightened. “I am not going to risk my reputation . . .”
For a couple of drunks running a bait shop.

“You think you’re too good to do this, don’t you?”

“You couldn’t afford the airtime, even if I agreed to do them.”

“You let me figure out the finances.”

Landon stood, hoping his dad would understand it was time to go. “And you let me know once you’ve got the building under contract. Then we’ll talk.” He knew it was a safe bet. His dad’s schemes never worked out.

His father stood, wobbly at first, then closed the space between them, his breath warm and rancid across Landon’s face. “I’d like it if once—just once—you had a little faith in me.”

“And I’d like for you to give me a call sometime. Maybe we could have dinner. When you don’t need something from me.”

He’d gotten used to people using him a long time ago. Latching on to him because he could think in the pocket or throw an accurate pass, but never really looking at him as a person. People who wanted to say they knew him, to say they’d had a beer with Landon Vista, to talk about this game or that, like they’d been as much a part of it as he’d been on the field. He guessed all National Championship towns were like this one—not wanting to let their football heroes go. It was like they thought he belonged to them. To use however they wanted.

He just wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the fact that his dad was the one who tried to use him most of all.

The old man’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not my fault Dwayne fired me.”

Yeah, right.

Landon had never known his dad to have a steady job. He’d even come around the old country store, asking Mama for money.
Even when Mama was alive . . .
Landon’s breath caught in his throat. His gaze darted to his father. Maybe the old guy’s drunkenness would finally pay off for him. Make him off guard. Maybe a little loose with his information. “What do you know about Cyrus Alexander?”

His father’s back stiffened. “Why are you asking me that? Why are you asking
now
?”

“There’s a group trying to get him out of prison. They say he might be innocent.”

His dad grunted. “Ain’t no way he’s innocent.”

“How much did you know about the case? Did you go to the trial?” Landon’s aunt had protected him from the newspapers at the time, but he’d looked it up online as soon as he was old enough to Google without anyone watching him.

“Your aunt and uncle did right by you.” His dad looked out the window of the condo at nothing in particular, his gaze distant. “You got no reason to bring all this up.”

“You’re not going to answer my questions about Mama’s death?” The muscles in Landon’s throat squeezed tight, then he gasped for air. He rarely talked about her death. Not to Boomer. Not to Ricardo. Not to anyone.

“You should put it all behind you. Not drag it all out again.”

Landon paced the room. Desperation coursed through his body like an unwelcome, frigid liquid. “But you knew Cyrus Alexander. You used to go fishing with him.”

The older man stepped toward the front door and scrubbed a hand down his face. “I haven’t seen the guy in fifteen years.”

“Because he’s been in prison.” He wanted answers to all the questions that had rumbled inside him for years.

His father placed his hand on the doorknob. “And I’d been out of town for two days when she was killed.” He slashed his other hand through the air. “I hadn’t seen him in a long time before that. Just because I knew the guy doesn’t mean I know anything about her murder.” He ripped the door open and stomped out, slamming it closed behind him.