it. I just need a few hours to pull myself together. I need some dry clothes. Food. Money.”
A hundred questions rushed through her mind, but they were jumbled by emotions and memories and the cold, hard fact that she didn’t want to get involved. “As an attorney, the only advice I can give you is to turn yourself in.”
One side of his mouth curved. “Not my style, Red.”
The endearment affected her, reached into her and touched a part of her heart she’d carelessly left unguarded. A heart that had once belonged to him—no holds barred. She cursed him for having that ability. She cursed herself for responding, wondering what kind of a person that made her. How could she feel anything but disdain for the man who killed her brother?
“You’ll only make things worse if you don’t go back,” she said.
“Things can’t get any worse.”
“Things can always get worse. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“Worried about me?”
She stared at him, aware that her pulse was racing, that she didn’t have an answer.
Jack sighed. “Look, I can give you Cyrus Duke, but I need some help.”
Landis stomped the quick flare of interest. “I’m not naive enough to risk everything I’ve ever worked for on the word of a convicted murderer.”
“You don’t have to be naive to listen to the facts.”
“You murdered my brother. I won’t help you. And I’ll never forgive you. My loyalty runs deeper than that.”
“What do you know about loyalty?” Though his voice remained calm, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “If I recall, you were pretty quick to turn tail and run when the going got rough.”
“Loyalty to my family—not you! You don’t deserve loyalty. You don’t know the meaning of the word.”
“What about loyalty to Evan? Don’t you want to know what really happened? Don’t you want to know who really murdered him? Or do you prefer sweeping the entire mess under the rug so you don’t have to get those pretty hands of yours dirty? So you can get on with playing Lady Justice? Isn’t that what they call you these days?”
“I believe in what I do, but that isn’t the issue, is it?” She hated the defensive ring in her voice. She didn’t have to defend her choices to anyone, especially Jack.
“What is the issue, Landis?” He offered a cynical smile. “Justice?”
“Justice is real—”
“Justice is an illusion!” He stepped closer. So close she felt the searing heat of his stare, the warmth of his breath, the startling power of his presence. “I’m living proof of that. So, Counselor,” he snarled, “if you believe in your precious justice so much, I suggest you come look for it, starting with me.” He rapped his fist against his chest with the last word. “Somewhere out there, Evan’s murderer is a free man, while I’ve spent the last year in prison for a crime I didn’t commit!”
The words pounded through her. Simultaneously, her emotions clashed with the logical part of her brain. She’d always prided herself on her ability to keep her feelings removed from her judgment. That was one of the things that made her a good prosecutor. But when it came to Jack, her logic and emotions tangled and melded into a big, confusing ball.
Was it possible he was telling the truth? Or was he a desperate man willing to do anything to avoid going back to prison? It took every ounce of courage she could muster to meet his gaze. “I want you to leave. Now.”
He choked out a humorless laugh. “I don’t have anywhere else to go. To hell perhaps, but I’ve been there, and I can tell you it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
She wasn’t sure why the words hurt. But they did, and the pain was so sharp she had to turn away. She couldn’t face him with uncertainty etched into her every feature. Jack was a perceptive man, and he’d always been able to read her. She didn’t want him to get inside her head. In the year he’d been away, she’d simplified her life, focusing solely on her career and her future with the D.A.’s office. She refused to let him destroy what she’d worked so hard to achieve. She wouldn’t jeopardize her professional reputation or risk hurting her mother and younger brother.
With her professional mask in place, she turned to face him. “I’ll turn you in,” she said. “You know I will.”
His eyes flicked over her. He looked into her, through her. She sensed the appraisal, and her knees went weak with the power of it. Her heart banged against her ribs with such ferocity she felt certain it might pound its way right out of her chest.
“Sit down,” he said.
“You’re not staying.”
“I can’t force you to help me. But I can make you listen. It’s up to you whether or not you care enough about the truth to get involved.” Raising his arm, he wiped the blood from his fingers on to his shirt, then stared at the crimson smear as if its presence stunned him. “If you still don’t want to help me after you’ve heard me out, I’ll find another way to do this.”
Landis watched him walk to the kitchen table. He moved with the grace of a wild, hunted animal. One that was tired and injured and anxious for the hunt to end. If it hadn’t been for his eyes, she might have thought he’d given up. But that would have been as out of character for him as if he’d thrown in the towel and gone to prison without a fight.
No, she thought, Jack was definitely a fighter. He fought hard, long and dirty for what he wanted. If she didn’t get him out of her house; if she didn’t get to a phone and call the police, she was in for the battle of her life.
Jack had known she would affect him. What he hadn’t realized was just how profoundly. Seeing Landis McAllister after a year was like taking a sledgehammer to the solar plexus. The ache was so sharp that he questioned the wisdom of coming here tonight. He’d been foolish to believe his feelings for her had dulled with time. Funny how much a man forgot in a year.
He watched her walk to the pantry, trying in vain not to notice the way those slacks skimmed over her hips or wonder if she still painted her toenails the color of cherry bubblegum. Even from a distance he could smell her hair, that exotic mix of coconut and musk that made him want to reach out and run his fingers through it one more time. She looked very much the part of tough prosecuting attorney in her black suit and leather boots. A year ago he’d known a part of her that was soft and kind and compassionate. He wondered if that part of her still existed, or if she’d managed to eradicate it along with the feelings she once had for him.
Her movements were controlled and deliberate as she walked to the counter and started a pot of coffee. He knew the gesture had nothing to do with the fact that he was shivering with cold, but because her nerves were strung tight and she needed to do something.
Once upon a time she’d loved him. She’d seen him as decent and kind and honorable. Jack had loved her more than his own life. He’d needed her more than his next breath, would have died a thousand deaths for her. What a fool he’d been to believe any of those things would matter now.
It tore him up inside knowing she thought he was a cold-blooded killer. That knowledge had tortured him every second of every day he’d been locked away. He knew if he gave her the chance, she’d go straight to the police. He didn’t plan on giving her the chance.
Every muscle in his body protested as he lowered himself into the chair. He’d covered over one hundred cold, rugged miles in the past two days, some on foot, some in a filthy cattle car courtesy of Burlington Northern. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d stopped moving. Or eaten. Or slept. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in a civilized place that spoke of warmth and comfort and home. Most of all, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in the company of a woman. Especially a woman he’d spent the better part of a year trying