Midnight Run Read Online Free PDF

with every fiber of her being…
    Shaken by the memories twisting through her, she turned away, aware that her heart was beating too fast. How could she have been so wrong about him?
    Knowing there was nothing she could do for him except, perhaps, keep him from self-destructing, she reached for her coat. Just as her fingers closed around it, Jack’s voice rang out. She froze at the sound of her name and turned, half-expecting to see him sitting up, hitting her with that devastating smile. But he wasn’t sitting up. He wasn’t smiling. His eyes were closed. A sheen of sweat coated his forehead. His face was contorted in pain.
    Alarmed, she walked over to him, straining to hear as he mumbled 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