The Truth About Love Page 2

  He grinned and nodded. “Saturday night.”

  “Thanks for the beer,” she called as he headed toward the door to go back inside the bar.

  He smiled as he turned to look at her. “No problem.”

  “And sorry you had to lose tonight.”

  He chuckled, a low, husky sound that echoed through the night air. “I don’t consider tonight a loss at all.”

  Gina smiled as she read the text that popped up on her phone.

  Is it Saturday night yet?

  She glanced toward Suzanne’s doorway to see if her boss could see her. Only she and Suzanne worked for the small nonprofit full time. Gina didn’t want to get caught goofing off during her second week on the job.

  And last night’s texting marathon with Landon Vista had shown her that the two of them could go back and forth for hours as they got to know each other.

  She smiled as she typed her response. Does the senator know you’re texting the opposition during work hours?

  I don’t want to talk about work.

  Good. Because neither did she. Talking about her job would lead to questions—what she did all day, how she’d come to work at Morgan’s Ladder. She wasn’t sure how to tell someone she’d put an innocent boy in jail. That the grief of her brother’s death had been compounded by her own unforgivable mistake. That she’d come to Tallahassee this summer to begin making up for what she’d done to Nick Varnadore. I don’t want my boss to catch me goofing off, she typed.

  Tell her you’re texting this really hot guy you met last night.

  Gina smiled as memories of their kiss washed over her. She glanced toward her boss’s office again, wondering what Suzanne would say if she knew Gina had major lust for a guy who worked for Suzanne’s opponent.

  But how could she not lust after him? That dark stubble on his jawline. Curls the color of onyx, cut just the right length to be a little unruly. A little wild. Have you decided what we’re going to do Saturday night?

  I’ve been asking around about the best place for Thai.

  A warmth blossomed in her chest. Thai food. She’d said she loved it. He’d texted back that he hated it. Only one of the many back-and-forth volleys they’d exchanged as she lay in bed a couple of hours after their kiss at the Twilight Pub. I thought you hated Thai food.

  You convinced me to give it another try.

  She typed her response. Or you’re sucking up to me?

  Why would I do that?

  She laughed under her breath. To get her in bed? Wasn’t that what all guys wanted from girls they took out on dates? But in this case, the feeling was mutual.

  Except she didn’t sleep with guys on the first date. Or the fifth. Or the tenth. The intimacy of sex was something she reserved for those who’d shown her that she meant something to them. Who’d shown her they were as interested in the rest of her life as they were in her body. Christopher’s betrayal had proven she was right to feel that way.

  But this was Landon Vista. A man who epitomized everything masculine in the world. Just the closeness on the patio last night had tempted her to break all her major rules.

  Her phone vibrated, dragging her back from her daydream. Gtg. Conference call.

  And a follow-up text. Saturday night. Thai food.

  Yes. He was definitely sucking up.

  And she was perfectly fine with that.

  Landon walked past the opaque-glass wall of the conference room on his way to get a second cup of coffee. Gina’s kiss last night had left him awake until three in the morning. He’d lain in the dark after they’d texted for a couple of hours, his mind ping-ponging between memories of her soft curves and what he might look forward to with her on Saturday night.

  Scott Meredith, the senator’s chief of staff, jumped from his chair as Landon passed the meeting room. Scott held the door open and waved Landon over. “Can you come in here a minute?”

  Landon looked around. Was Scott talking to him? Rarely did he get to go into the high-level strategy sessions in the boardroom. He’d long ago realized he was a pawn in a football-crazy town—someone the senator invited to parties when potential donors were being wooed. But he wanted to be one of the guys who set the strategy. Who decided which bills would be written and endorsed. He’d been crunching numbers on important issues—crime statistics, recidivism rates, success factors in turning juvenile delinquent facilities around—but as much as he loved statistics and analytics, he was tired of being a behind-the-scenes numbers guy. He wanted to make a difference. It’s why he’d come to work here and why he stayed—that hope of making this a better place for people to live.

  He set his cup on the narrow decorative table in the hallway and walked into the cherry wood–lined room.

  “Sit down, son,” Senator Byers said, looking even more serious than usual.

  A stranger in a dark suit watched as Landon pulled out one of the rolling leather chairs. Scott introduced him as a prosecutor from Pascaloosa County.

  “I assume you recognize the name Cyrus Alexander,” the senator said.

  Landon swallowed and looked from one face to the next. His breathing grew shallow as his body went on alert, waiting for what might come next. “I know who he is.” His answer was barely audible.

  Scott handed him a chilled bottle of water. He set it on the heavy, custom-made coaster in front of him.

  The senator continued. “There’s a group called Morgan’s Ladder that works to—”

  “I know who they are”—he stared at his hands where they gripped the edge of the table—“sir.” They get people like Cyrus Alexander out of prison.

  “They’ve been digging into the case,” the prosecutor said. “Planning to do a DNA test. Talking about getting him out of prison.”

  “The prosecutor’s office thought the senator should know, as a courtesy,” Scott said. “And you, of course.”

  A chill shot down Landon’s spine like a jolt of electricity. For a split second, that same feeling of utter helplessness he’d felt as a nine-year-old threatened to overtake him. He tamped it down, the same way he’d been burying it for years. He tugged the top off the bottle of water, hoping to wash down the bile surging into the back of his throat.

  Cyrus Alexander’s wiry body and stringy blond hair flashed through his mind. The slapping sound of the back door of the store. Cyrus running away . . . just moments before Landon had walked in to find his mother’s body.

  Even after Landon had been ferried off to live with his aunt and uncle in Jacksonville and Cyrus was behind bars, that pockmarked face haunted him.

  The senator rubbed his chin. “Hate to bring it all up for you again, but I’d rather you find out from us than anyone else.”

  “I appreciate that, sir.” He could barely concentrate on the conversation. Cyrus Alexander had gotten his trial, had his appeals. And Landon knew what he’d seen. Knew it was Cyrus who’d run out the back door. Had seen photos of the cut on Cyrus’s hand at the time they’d arrested him.

  Gina must have known last night when they’d spent time together at the bar. When he’d kissed her. Hell, all of Tallahassee knew his story. Even the national sports announcers had talked about it during his playing days.

  There was no way Gina couldn’t know. She must have known the whole time that her organization was trying to get Mama’s killer out of prison.

  His breathing was shallow. His hands shook. He wasn’t sure if it was from the little-boy memories crashing inside him or his anger at Gina. Either way, he had to get out of there. “Is that all?”

  “We may need to get in touch with you.” The prosecutor slid a business card toward him. “I’ll call your mom’s sister to let her know, too.”

  Landon nodded. He hadn’t spoken to his aunt and uncle in months. Not since he’d learned they’d tried to use his name to influence their city councilman on some stupid zoning law
Landon knew nothing about.

  “The prosecutor’s office will keep us apprised of the situation,” Scott said.

  Landon stood and turned toward the senator. “I need to take some time off this afternoon.”

  To find out why the hell Gina would do this to me.

  “Of course, son.” The senator stood, too. “Whatever you need.”

  Landon thought about returning to his desk to shut down his computer, but wasn’t sure he could bear to talk to any of his coworkers. He didn’t want anyone asking questions about where he was going. He felt in his pocket for his keys and cell phone, then went straight out the front door of the senator’s suite of offices. The friendly guy from the deli downstairs was in the elevator, retrieving a half-empty tray of bagels from some office event on a floor above them. The guy tried to make conversation, but Landon could only grunt in response.

  How was a person supposed to act when he learned the man convicted of killing his mom might be let out of prison? How could that even happen, given what Landon had seen? It seemed like the last fifteen years had never happened. Like he’d just found her this morning, her dead eyes staring. Did Gina really think he was that stupid? Did she really think it didn’t matter that she was trying to get Mama’s killer out of prison?

  He was in his truck, driving, before he knew where he was going. He took a left on Apalachee Parkway, then right into the parking lot of the shabby building next to the florist, a building he’d passed nearly every day he’d lived in Tallahassee.

  A placard on the handle rattled as he pushed open the door to Morgan’s Ladder. The sign read, “Helping the Wrongly Convicted Climb to Freedom.”

  Gina swiveled in her desk chair to face the door. She was the only one in the tiny, cluttered room.

  “Landon.” Her smile faded as he approached her.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” He crossed the room toward her. A musty smell grew stronger as he passed a cardboard box of old files.

  “What are you talking about?” She shrank back as her face registered a mixture of fear and confusion.

  “You knew last night, didn’t you? You let me kiss you.” He shook with anger. “Jesus, I asked you out on a date. And you knew the whole time.”

  “Knew what?” She rose, as if her full height might be a better match for his ire.

  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

  Gina 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 s
o 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.