The Truth About Love Page 3

  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 eye
s 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.

  Landon rested his forehead on the door as his father’s footfalls echoed on the sidewalk outside his condo.

  He’d waited years to ask these questions. Stuffed them down inside himself so deeply even he was convinced they shouldn’t be dredged up.

  His mother would always be dead. Cyrus Alexander would always be in prison. Nothing about those facts would ever change. He’d thought that chapter of his life was over. At least until one night when a redheaded volleyball player had blocked all his shots and seduced him with the softness of her skin and the sweet taste of her lips.

  He hated that he couldn’t get her out of his mind. That he thought—even on their night at the bar—he could spend a long time with her.

  But that was before he’d found out about her involvement in his mom’s case. His chest burned as his thoughts jumped to the file folder she’d rested her hand on that day in her office. He’d do anything to get the answers he wanted about his mother’s death.

  But no way was Gina going to entice him again. No way could he ever be attracted to a woman whose organization would let Cyrus Alexander out of prison. Landon knew what he’d seen that day—the stringy-haired man running out the back of the country store.

  Cyrus Alexander had killed his mother. He knew that as well as he knew how to read a defense or lead a passer into the end zone.

  He reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone. His thumb scrolled to the number he’d been so excited to get that night in the bar. His motives were different now. He inhaled a deep breath. His shaking finger punched the keypad and he waited for her phone to ring.

  If Gina had information about his mother’s death, he was going to get it.

  Gina licked the last bit of apple butter off her finger so she could pick up her cell phone from her kitchen counter. She hesitated when she saw the name on the caller ID.

  Landon.

  “This is Gina,” she said in her best lawyerly tone, immediately wishing she’d done better at hiding the shakiness in her voice.

  “We never decided what time I’d pick you up tonight.” There was no mistaking the deep voice on the other end of the phone.

  “Landon, I . . .”

  “How about seven?”

  “I assumed after my office the other day . . .” That you despised me. “. . . that our date was canceled.”

  “I’m helping someone move today. Maybe we should make it seven thirty, just to be safe.”

  She hesitated. Sure, there’d been instant attraction between them at the bar. An immediate bond, sparked by their fun banter, then set ablaze by the kiss she couldn’t wipe from her consciousness. The teasing and joking via text later that night had made her even more interested. Made her think even more about the kiss. She still felt his big hands on her hips, pulling her closer. Promising more.

  “Look, Landon.” She bit her lip. “I’m not comfortable going out with a guy who’s a witness in one of our cases.” Her curiosity was piqued. Why did he still want to see her?

  “It doesn’t have to be a date. No drinking. No dancing.”

  “No kissing.” She closed her eyes and remembered the hard planes of his body as it pressed against hers. The first brush of his lips on hers. The soft warmth of his mouth. She shuddered. Even knowing what she’d discovered since then, she longed to feel his touch again.

  He scoffed. “Definitely no kissing.”

  Her sternum contracted as if she’d been hit. Yes, he was a key witness in one of her cases, but she still wanted to see that same hungry look in his eyes that she’d seen on the patio of the bar. She wanted him to want her, even if nothing could happen between them. “So we can call it a business dinner?”

  “Sure, if that makes you feel better,” he said. “What’s your address?”

  “I could just meet you there.”

  “Or I could pick you up.”

  He was challenging her. Trying to establish his dominance. She hesitated. “8201 Bronough. I live in the apartment over the detached garage.”

  A loud noise—like a door banging open—sounded on Landon’s end of the conversation. “Sorry, man,” a male voice said in the background. “Ricardo here yet?”

  Landon seemed to ignore him. “I’ll pick you up at seven thirty. We have dinner reservations at eight,” he said into the phone.

  “I’ll understand if you change your mind.” She still wondered why he’d want to have dinner with her.

  “I won’t. See you then.” He ended the call before she could find out anything more about his intentions.

  She punched the button to return to her phone’s home screen, then closed her eyes. The churning in her stomach reminded her to take slow, even breaths, to try to center herself like she’d learned in yoga class. It didn’t work. She grasped for one of the thoughts that fluttered through her mind like a flock of startled birds.

  Would Suzanne approve of her seeing Landon outside the office? Sure, Gina had known she and Landon would eventually talk about the details of the case, but she’d assumed Suzanne would be there, too. She’d envisioned they’d interview him in the rundown conference room at Morgan’s Ladder. The one with a corner piled high with boxes of files because they’d long ago run out of filing space.

  But she’d assumed her focus would be on getting an innocent man out of prison. She’d known this is what she wanted to do since she’d first learned of organizations like Morgan’s Ladder. Like the one that had helped determine that Nick Varnadore had been wrongly convicted. She’d known since then that this would be her way to pay the world back for her mistake.

  Maybe meeting with Landon was all part of the same big plan. Cyrus Alexander sat in prison tonight, the possible victim of witness misidentification. It was he
r duty to help determine the truth. To figure out his guilt or innocence.

  The truth was all she wanted and she planned to get it.

  Even if there was a two-hundred-pound football player standing in the way.

  One corner of Boomer’s lips rose in a mischievous grin as Landon stuffed his cell phone into his pocket.

  “The redhead from the other night?” Boomer said.

  “Her name’s Gina.”

  His friend grinned. “You’re thinking you’re going to get laid tonight.”

  Landon bent to pick up the tennis shoes he planned to wear to help Imelda and her husband move. Boomer’s comment didn’t fit Gina. She may be on the wrong side of the Cyrus Alexander case, but she had more class than the girls who normally hung around the bar after volleyball games. Besides, it wasn’t really a date.

  The front door burst open and Ricardo sauntered in.

  A rush of irritation flashed through Landon’s body. “Don’t you assholes ever knock?”

  The pair exchanged a puzzled look. “No,” they said in unison.

  The truth was, Landon wasn’t sure either of them had ever knocked. Not in the two years since he’d moved here.

  Ricardo raised his hands as if to surrender. “What are you so worked up about?”

  Landon tamped down his annoyance. His friends weren’t the source of his frustration. Hell, it had never bothered him before that both of them walked right in without knocking. He went back to tying his shoes, hoping the aggravation would pass.

  “Predate jitters.” Boomer opened the refrigerator and stuck his head in. “He’s taking the redhead out tonight. I think he’s worried about losing his virginity.”

  Ricardo laughed. “I thought you were afraid of her.” He mimicked a slow motion volleyball spike, his hand landing on top of Landon’s head as he was bent over his shoe.

  Boomer straightened and tossed Ricardo a bottle of water. “Are you kidding? He was all over her at the bar the other night.”