“Unless you want to spend the night in jail, I suggest you refrain from passing out,” she said.
“It’d be hell explaining to the police how an escaped con got in your bathtub.”
She didn’t want to think about that. “Toss me your clothes from inside. I’ll throw them in the washing machine.”
Abruptly, he reached out. Landis tried to avoid the contact, but he was too quick. He brushed his knuckles along her jaw, but she felt the contact like an arc of electricity that snapped through her body and went all the way to her toes. Her intellect told her to pull away, but her body refused the order. Instead she found herself melting and softening, and she had to resist the impulse to lean closer….
“Thank you,” he said.
She swatted his hand away from her face. “Don’t read too much into it. You’re not in jail right now because you’ve led me to believe you’re going to turn yourself in.”
A smile traced the corners of his mouth. “You still have a weakness for strays, don’t you, Red?”
“You’re not a stray, Jack. You’re a wolf, and I only hope you don’t turn on me.” She raised her chin and looked him in the eye. A year of bottled-up pain and anger burgeoned in her chest and began to flow. It was as if he’d reached into her and wrested the plug from her damaged heart. “Don’t assume you’re going to flash that smile, hand me a few tidbits on Cyrus Duke and expect me to help you.”
“The thought never crossed my mind,” he said dryly.
“Don’t insult my intelligence by thanking me for something I would never do for you.”
“I’m going to enjoy proving you wrong.”
“For your sake, I hope you can. Personally, I don’t care as long as you stay out of my life.”
“A couple of hours,” he said. “Until Chandler gets here. That’s all I’m asking.”
“You have no idea what you’re asking.”
“Listen to your heart, Landis.”
“My heart has been wrong about you every time it got involved.”
“Not this time.” His voice was like a caress, so soft and gentle that for a moment, she wanted to believe him….
Never taking his eyes from hers, Jack worked off the shirt and handed it to her. It took all of her discipline not to let her eyes drop, to explore what she knew was a magnificent chest. But she didn’t; control was too important to her. And Jack had always been a threat to that control. He’d always wreaked havoc on her in one way or another. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. Landis only hoped she could keep a handle on her emotions long enough to get him out of her life once and for all.
Needing to get out from under his discerning gaze, she turned and started down the hall. She could feel his eyes on her as she walked, but she didn’t stop, didn’t even look back. And for the first time since his arrival, she knew she was much more vulnerable to him than she’d thought.
Leaning forward with his hands against the tile, Jack let the hot spray pound away the dirt, the aches and the bone-deep chill. The water felt like a hot branding iron against his shoulder wound, but there was no getting around a shower so he simply endured. He gladly put up with the pain to get clean. The water ran brown with grime and dirt and blood. He’d never wanted a shower so badly in his entire life. Prison had a way of making a man feel dirty right down to his soul.
He closed his eyes against a bout of dizziness, and for a moment the darkness transported him back to the penitentiary. He heard the steel doors banging shut, the locks turning with the kind of finality that could drive a man insane. He heard the crude shouts, listened to the words of hatred and bitterness and felt his humanity slip a little bit more.
Jack had always considered himself a strong, resilient man. But the year he’d spent in prison had come very close to destroying him. He’d tried to adjust to the routine of prison life; he’d tried to accept the reality that he would be spending the rest of his life behind bars. But something inside him refused to acquiesce no matter how impossible the situation.
Back when he’d been a troubled teen, he’d been unable to fight the injustices inflicted upon him by a system that wasn’t perfect. But Jack was a man now. Deep down inside, he was still a cop. And even if that title had been stripped from him, he would draw his last breath fighting for what was right.
Or die trying.
Using a heart-shaped soap, he lathered his body twice, marveling at the feel of being warm and clean. He washed his hair with shampoo that smelled startlingly like Landis. For a moment, he lost himself in her scent and wished for the hundredth time he could turn back the hands of time.
But Jack was through lamenting the past. For the first time in over a year, his fate was in his own hands. He didn’t intend to squander it. He wouldn’t waste one second of that time wishing for things he couldn’t have. The relationship he’d once shared with Landis was over. She’d turned her back on him when he’d needed her desperately. She would do it again if he gave her the chance. The sooner he accepted that, the better off he’d be.
He didn’t have much time. Twenty-four hours. Thirty-six hours tops. He had no idea when the police or the department of corrections would catch up with him. The way his luck was running, capture seemed imminent. He hated to waste time on sleep, but he hadn’t slept for two days. His brain was barely functioning. His body was operating on sheer will alone. He needed food and a few hours in a bed. He needed a clear head for his meeting with Chandler because it wasn’t going to be easy convincing his attorney to look the other way while his client became a fugitive from justice.
He switched off the water and opened the glass door. A fluffy pink towel hung neatly on the rack. Jack stared at it, realizing with mild amusement that he had nothing to wear while his clothes were being laundered. Cursing mildly, he stepped out of the tub and reached for the towel. The fabric felt soft against his fingers. Even before bringing it to his nose, he knew it smelled like Landis.
Pleasure jumped through him as her scent wrapped around his brain. Despite the fatigue, and the pain of his injury, his body responded. Closing his eyes against the hard tug of longing, he whispered her name. “Landis…”
Landis’s hands shook as she tossed sliced mushrooms into the omelet. Cooking usually calmed her, but tonight her battered nerves refused to cooperate. She couldn’t stop thinking about Jack. The way he’d looked at her when he’d proclaimed his innocence. The sound of his voice when he’d whispered her name. The way he’d touched her. Oh dear God, why had she allowed herself to get sucked into this maelstrom?
“Don’t tell me you finally learned to cook.”
She jolted at the sound of his voice. The slice of toast she’d been buttering slipped from her hand and landed butter-side down on the floor. She was about to utter a very unlady-like curse when the sight of him wearing nothing but a towel froze her in place.
Her eyes swept over him. Shock and a jolt of something that felt vaguely electrical ran the length of her body. Water from his shower glistened on broad shoulders. She saw a chest that was rounded with muscle and covered with thick black hair. The towel was wrapped snugly around an abdomen that was flat and rippled with muscle. Even as she told herself she wasn’t going to let the sight of all that hard male flesh get to her, she felt the burn of a blush on her cheeks.
Appalled by her reaction, she quickly turned away, telling herself it was stress that had her blushing and speechless when she should have been doling out ultimatums.
Plucking a paper towel from the roll, he stooped to retrieve the fallen toast. “The omelet’s singeing,” he said easily.
Landis reached for the spatula and proceeded to mangle the omelet.
With the self-assurance of a man who knew his way around the kitchen, Jack moved in beside her and usurped the spatula. “Let me do that.”
She watched him expertly fold the eggs and shovel them on to waiting plates. “Where did you learn to do that?” she asked, determined to get a grip before he got the wrong idea. Just because he’d flu
stered her didn’t mean she was going to change her mind and help him.
“I cooked for cellblock C six days a week,” he said. “Breakfast shift, mostly.”
When he looked at her she knew instinctively the smile was there only to hide something he didn’t want her to see. Sadness. Humiliation, perhaps. The thought put an uncomfortable twinge in her chest.
“I make a pretty mean beef stew, too,” he said. “Baby carrots. Turnips. You ever had turnips with beef stew?”
He was the only person she’d ever known who could make her smile when she didn’t want to. None of what had happened in the past year was even remotely funny. It was sad more than anything, she realized. So many lives ruined. Others irrevocably changed.
“Ian left a flannel shirt behind the last time he was here.” Unable to look at him, she dropped her gaze to the skillet in front of her. “I’ll get it for you.”
“Why won’t you look at me?”
“Because I’m trying to fix you something to eat,” she said, her voice filled with exasperation.
“It doesn’t bother you to see me in a towel, does it?”
“Don’t be an idiot.” She glared at him, refusing to acknowledge that her heart was pinging hard against her ribs.
One side of his mouth curved. “Red, you’re refreshing as hell.”
“I’m glad at least one of us is finding the situation amusing.” Turning away from him, she stalked into the living room, swung open the closet door and jerked the blue flannel shirt off a hanger. Back in the kitchen she thrust it at him. Because she couldn’t quite meet his gaze, she found herself staring at the sterile gauze he’d taped haphazardly to his shoulder. She could see that the surrounding flesh was swollen and discolored, and hoped to God it wasn’t as serious as it looked. “That’s a pathetic excuse for a bandage.”
“Yeah, well, I couldn’t do a very good job with one hand.” He gazed steadily at her. “I’m going to need you to butterfly me.”
She didn’t want to get anywhere near him, let alone administer first aid. “Look, Jack, the only stuff I know about first aid comes from the occasional episode of E.R.”
“That’s good enough for me.” Wincing a little, he eased into the shirt, then looked down at the pink towel wrapped around his hips. “How long until my pants are dry? I want to be out of all this pink by the time Chandler arrives. It doesn’t do much for my credibility.”
“I hate to tell you this, Jack, but you don’t have any credibility.”
His smile was cold. “I’d almost forgotten how cutting you can be.”
“I don’t want you here. What do you expect?”
“The benefit of a doubt.”
“Maybe we should just concentrate on getting through the next couple of hours without coming to blows.” She carried their plates to the dining room table. Though she didn’t look at him, she felt his gaze on her as she pulled out a chair and sat.
Momentarily, he followed and sat next to her. Without looking up or speaking, he ate like a man possessed, making her wonder how long it had been since he’d had any food.
As she watched him, a sudden jolt of despair wrenched at her. She told herself it was the feelings she’d once had for him fueling the doubts inside her. Damn it, she trusted the criminal justice system. He’d had a fair trial. Justice had been served. She’d seen the evidence. She’d heard the witnesses testify against him. Yet buried in the recesses of her mind, a shadow of doubt had taken root. Was it possible Evan had gotten himself into trouble and been killed for it? Was Cyrus Duke involved? Could Jack be innocent?
She tried not to imagine what he’d been through. As an assistant prosecutor, she’d been inside prisons before. She knew how the inmates were treated. She knew the humiliations, the violence and the lack of humanity that was an integral part of prison life. She knew what being locked in a cage did to a man. She knew what it had done to her own father. The parallels between the two men made her shiver.
Jack had lost everything in the past year. His best friend. His career. His freedom. Yet he’d endured, never sacrificing his dignity. What kind of a man did that make him? A murderer who wanted freedom at any cost? Or a survivor who was willing to risk it all to prove his innocence?
“Do you have a first aid kit?”
The sound of his voice startled her, and Landis realized with some embarrassment that she’d been staring. “Everything I have is in the medicine cabinet. Gauze and tape.”
“Antibiotic cream?”
“Yes.” His politeness was beginning to annoy her. It would be easier to hate him if he were rude.
“What you need is a doctor,” she said, praying that for once in his life he would agree with her. “Not me to play nursemaid.”
Rising, she gathered his dishes, her own untouched food, and took them to the sink. Even without looking at him, she knew he was assessing her, trying to read her body language. Mercy, she knew him too well. It was disconcerting to know he knew her just as well.
“It might be a few days before I get to the doc,” he said.
Landis closed her eyes, dread gathering in her chest. It was crazy, but a small part of her wanted to help him. She wanted to ease his pain. She wanted to do this one, compassionate thing for him because she knew it would be the last kindness she would ever show him. After tonight he would be gone, and she would never see him again. Oddly, the notion wasn’t as comforting as she wanted it to be.
Taking a calming breath, she faced him. “The cut above your eye looks bad, too.”
“Pretty careless of the prison system to string barbed wire where the inmates could get hurt. Think my lawyer could get a settlement out of them?”
“That’s not funny.”
Irked by his flippant tone, Landis left the kitchen. In the bathroom, she found the gauze, tape, peroxide, aspirin and a crinkled tube of antibiotic cream. Dreading the job ahead, she entered the living room to find Jack slumped on the sofa, watching her through heavy-lidded eyes.
“You got anything stronger than aspirin?” he asked.
Despite the intrepid facade, she could tell he was tense about the wound. He should be, considering what he expected her to do. “I guess you’re not going to let me talk you out of this,” she said.
“Think revenge, Counselor. That should get you through it.”
Frowning, she went to the bar and found the old bottle of brandy she’d gotten for Christmas last year. Working off the cork, she snagged a good-size tumbler from the cabinet, and walked back to the living room.
“Ah, a little brandy for the soul,” he said. “That ought to do nicely.”
She set the bottle and glass on the coffee table and looked down at him. “That wound is serious, Jack. If it gets infected you could find yourself seriously ill.”
“Careful Landis, or I might think you still care about me.”
“Like you said, Jack, I’ve always had a weakness for strays—even when I know they’re likely to bite.” She poured two fingers of the amber liquid into the glass.
“More,” he said.
“You just want to kill the pain, not put yourself into a coma.” But she filled the glass to the halfway mark and handed it to him.
“I hate to waste the expensive stuff on a gunshot wound.”
“Go ahead. I haven’t exactly been celebrating much lately.” She tapped out three aspirins. “These will help.”
Never taking his eyes from hers, he tossed back the aspirin, brought the glass to his lips and drained it in three gulps. Landis watched, fascinated as he shuddered, then set the glass back on the table.
Leaning against the sofa back, he closed his eyes. “Give this a minute to kick in, will you?”
She looked down at her scant first aid supplies, praying she could get through this without making the wound worse than it already was.
“Okay. Let’s get this over with.” Grimacing, he unbuttoned the shirt, wincing as it came down over his shoulder.
Careful not to get too close, Landis peeled
back the bandage he’d applied after his shower. The moment the wound came into view her stomach did a slow-motion somersault. She wasn’t squeamish, but the sight of the bruised flesh and gaping wound made her feel light-headed. “I’m sure this isn’t what you want to hear, but I flunked basic first aid.”
“You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
A chuckle rumbled in his throat. “From the looks of you, I’d say the jury’s still out on that. Maybe you ought to sit down. That floor’s hard as hell, and I don’t have the strength to pick you up.”
“I’m not going to pass out.”
He didn’t move as she rounded the sofa and set the peroxide and antibiotic cream on the end table. “Hold this.” She handed him the gauze. “And be quiet. I need to concentrate.”
Unable to avoid it any longer, she looked closely at the wound. It was no longer bleeding, but the gash was deep, the flesh jaggedly cut. She could only imagine how painful it was. “Hand me a section of gauze,” she said.
He opened the wrapper and held it out for her. “Am I going to live?”
“That depends on how much pain you can take.”
“On a scale of one to ten, it’s already a nine.”
“So we’ve got some room to work with.” Saturating the square of gauze with peroxide, Landis drizzled it over the wound. His quick intake of breath told her it stung, but he didn’t flinch. She repeated the procedure several times until the peroxide stopped foaming. As gently as possible, she applied some of the antibiotic ointment.
“Hurt?” she asked.
“No worse than the day you walked out of my cell for the last time.” A fine sheet of sweat coated his forehead. “On a scale of one to ten, that was definitely a ten.”
Her hands stilled, but she didn’t look at him. A day didn’t go by that she didn’t remember the look on his face when she’d left him standing in his cell, looking like the ground had just caved in beneath him. Aside from burying her brother, it was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do.