Darker Than Midnight (15 page)

“I'm not angry. I'm frustrated as hell. We're going to my house.”

She drove out of the town limits and over a narrow, twisting road toward the Blackberry Inn, but pulled into a driveway a few hundred yards before it. Her house. A ranch-style home that seemed out-of-place amid all the Victorians, but cozy and warm, somehow, with its glass-enclosed front porch filled with enough plants to double as a greenhouse, and a fat black cat snoozing in a pool of sunlight on one sill.

Jax followed Frankie into the house, barely having time to look at it as she rushed to keep up with the woman. Frankie blew past the glass-enclosed porch, through a door that led into a dining room, and through that into what appeared to be a library. The large room's walls were lined with shelves, paperback books filling every one of them, and as Frankie moved to the desk at the far end of the room, Jax noticed they were all science fiction novels.

“Wow,” she said. “I never would have pegged you as a trekkie type. Have you read all of—?”

A bang brought her head around. Frankie had dropped a fat manila envelope on her desk, and even now was unwinding the string from its tab, flipping it open and taking things out. When she found what she wanted, she handed it to Jax.

“There,” she said. “Take a look. A long, thorough look.”

Jax did. The woman was gorgeous. A brunette with the bone china features and huge hollow eyes of a runway model. Way too thin. But in a waiflike way that made her beautiful. “Who is she?”

“Stephanie Corbett,” Frankie said. “At least she was, before half her house went up in flames and her along with it.”

Jax closed her eyes and let that sink in. This was her, River's wife. The one he had allegedly murdered. “She was gorgeous,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

“She was young, she was alive and she was pregnant. She didn't deserve to go out that way, Jax. No one does.”

“Frankie, I'm the last person in the world to argue with that. You know that.”

“I do. I just thought you might need reminding. Every scrap of evidence points to River as the killer. There's nothing to suggest otherwise. Believe me, I tried to find something—anything—but I came up empty. So if you've decided to become this guy's savior for some insane reason, you oughtta know up-front what you're up against.”

Jax nodded slowly. “I don't want to be anyone's savior. Believe me, that's the last thing I want. But Frankie, tell me this. What made you try so hard?”

Frankie laid the photo on her desk, sighed heavily. “I didn't think he did it. I didn't want to think he did it. He's a nice guy. Hell, he's a great guy. It was completely out of character. I just…I finally had to let it go. Jax, even he didn't fight it. Didn't argue his innocence.”

“Yeah, but couldn't that have been because he couldn't remember what happened?”

Frankie nodded. “It bothered me. It's never stopped bothering me.” She closed her eyes. “You're a good cop, Jax. I don't want to see you screw up your career over this.”

“It may be a little late for that.”

Frankie looked up fast. “You've seen him, haven't you?” Then she held up a hand. “Don't answer that. Hell, if you're bound and determined to dig into this mess, take this.” She shoved the photo back into the envelope and handed it to Jax. “It's all the unofficial work I did, everything I learned after the case was supposedly closed. There's a copy of the autopsy report in there. That's on file, too, of course, but it came in after the case was already closed. No trial, no need for it. So there's stuff that was never made public. I don't even know if River knows what's in that report.”

“Thank you, Frankie.”

“Don't thank me. If you step too far over the line, and this backfires on you, there's not gonna be a damn thing I can do to get you into my office.”

“Understood.”

“Good.” She handed her the SUV's key ring. “You can drive us back. That tank out there comes with the job. You may as well get a feel for it just in case, by some miracle, you don't manage to blow yourself right out of the running.”

* * *

He pored over the police file throughout the morning, and by noontime, when the chills hit, he'd read it end to end, scrutinized every comma, and was still no closer to knowing the truth. But he'd filled an empty notebook with things to be done. Number one among them should be contacting his lawyer. He'd only barely been aware he'd even had a lawyer. Ethan had taken care of everything. River had been…hell, he'd been in no shape back then.

At any rate, it was around noon that he started feeling cold. He stoked up the fire in the living room and moved his notepad closer to it. But within a few minutes he was shivering. So he made a cup of tea and wrapped a blanket around himself, continuing to jot his plans in his notepad, even as the shivering increased.

* * *

Jax returned home, half-afraid her houseguest wouldn't be there. And it occurred to her that finding him gone should be a relief, but she knew it wouldn't be. There was something about him, something that tugged at her on a level too deep and complicated to analyze right now.

She unlocked the front door and was greeted by Rex, who stood patiently waiting for her to come in, then nudged her hand for a pat on the head.

“Well, you certainly have changed your attitude, haven't you? What, you're my friend now? Huh? Just 'cause I'm shacked up with your favorite guy? Is that it?”

He ignored her, turned and walked through the house into the living room. Jax dropped her car keys and her bundle of papers on the table, and walked in behind him. The heat hit her in the face when she walked in. She thought it must be close to eighty degrees in her drafty old house, and her gaze snapped from the blazing fire in the hearth to the man huddled in a blanket in a chair close to it.

“River?” Alarm surged inside her as she took in his face. It was pale and damp, and he was shivering.

“Ah, hell, River.” She hurried to him, pushed his head up and back against the chair so she could press a hand to his forehead. “God, you're burning up.”

He opened his eyes. “I like when you touch me.”

“I'm calling my father.”

He didn't object, or at least not loudly enough to make her take note. In fact, when she let go of him to grab the phone, he just let his head fall back against the chair.

She hit her dad's number at the clinic, with a quick look at her watch as she did. It was only five-twenty. Her father was there most nights until six. She guessed right. The receptionist answered on the second ring. “Pinedale Veterinary Clinic,” the woman said.

“I need to speak to Dr. Jackson. This is his daughter. It's important.”

“Sure, Miss Jackson. I'll put him right on.”

There was a pause, a pause that seemed endless to Jax as she gathered up the police files River had been reading, and tucked them away on a shelf in the coat closet. River slumped in the chair, and she worried that he might fall on the floor. But he didn't quite. She moved closer, put a hand on his shoulder to keep him from tipping any farther.

It hit her that helping River would be a risk for her father. But she didn't see that she had any choice here. They'd just have to be careful. She'd take the full shot if there were any repercussions. She'd protect her dad.

“Hello, honey,” he said into her ear.

“Hi, Dad. Listen, um—I need your help and I need you to be extremely discreet about it.”

She could almost see him, his narrow face thoughtful as he analyzed her words. After a moment, he said, “What's wrong?”

She bit her lip. “Dad, this is very sensitive. Are we private?”

“Well, of course, Cassie. What's going on?”

She sighed. River slumped in spite of her hand on his shoulder, and she had to quickly tuck the phone between her neck and ear to grip him with both hands. “I have a…a stray here, and no one can know he's here. He's kind of…wanted. And I think he's sick. Really sick, Dad.”

Her father hesitated. “This is about that dog?”

“He's got a pretty high fever, shaking with chills, pale.”

“The
dog
is
pale?
”

“It's not a dog, Dad. It's a person. I'll explain when you get here. Bring antibiotics and whatever else you think you might need. Please. I really need your help. And…use the back door, okay?” She didn't want her father seeing River until she'd had a chance to prepare him. He was not going to like this.

“Sure, honey. I can be there in a half hour. I was just finishing with a patient here. Border collie—got hit by a car.”

“Is it going to be all right?”

“Looks that way. I'll see you soon, hon.”

“Thanks, Dad.” She let go of River, hit the cutoff and tossed the phone onto the sofa, then turned to lean over her patient.

“Come on, now, River. Come with me.” She moved around in front of him, crouched low and pulled his arms around her shoulders. “Come on, help me out here.”

He lifted his head a little. She tugged him, and he came off the chair, only to land on it again. Then his arms tightened around her neck and he tried again. “Where we going?”

“Couch.” She straightened and he got to his feet with her help. “That's better.” She moved him over to the sofa, then crouched slowly so he could sit on its edge. But as soon as he touched down, he fell backward, his arms still locked around her neck, so that he landed on his back, lengthways on the sofa, and she lay atop him, her face inches from his.

His eyes met hers, momentarily clear enough to make her wonder if he'd done the falling bit on purpose, and then his hands threaded in her hair and he drew her head down, closing the distance between his lips and hers. For some illogical reason that had very little to do with his health or her career, she didn't pull away, though she could have. She let him draw her mouth to his, let him kiss her, even relaxed her chest against him, and ran her fingers through his hair as she tipped her head sideways, and kissed him back. His lips against hers were feverish and hot and hungry. His hands on the back of her head pressed and massaged and rubbed, and his chest beneath hers pounded.

She lifted her head, not because she wanted to, but because common sense intervened. The man was burning up with fever, probably didn't even know what he was doing. But, damn, he did it well.

He blinked up at her. “I…didn't…mean…”

“You did so.” She pulled herself off him, got up on her feet and strode out of the room.

“Cassandra—”

“Stay put, River. I'm getting you some aspirin.” She hurried up the stairs and into the second-floor bathroom, then braced her hands on the sink basin and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

“Is that it then?” she asked herself softly. “Is that why you're putting your ass on the line for this guy, because you're hot for him?”

Her reflection didn't answer her. She didn't really think it was possible a physical attraction she'd only just recognized as a full-blown case of the hots could be motivating her to help River. Hell, she hated women who did self-destructive things just because of some male. It was the height of stupidity. And yeah, maybe she realized now that he'd put a match to her loins, that she'd been turned on by him. The flirting she'd told herself was only teasing had been dead-on-balls serious. But she didn't think it was the
only
thing motivating her.

Hell, it was far from the only thing and she knew it.

“Corral the libido, honey. You've got work to do.” She cranked on the taps, cupped her hands beneath the flow and splashed cold water on her face. Then she let it drip from her chin while she located a plastic basin and ran it full of cool water. Grabbing a washcloth from the stack and a bottle of aspirin from the cabinet, she carried them and the basin of water back downstairs. She set the aspirin on the coffee table, the basin on the floor, then rushed to the kitchen for a glass of water. When she returned River was sitting up slightly, trying to tug his blanket out from under him to get it around him more thoroughly. He was still shivering.

“Here,” she said. “Take these.” She handed him three aspirin tablets and the glass of water. He swallowed them down.

“Now sit up a little and I'll get your shirt off. It's soaked.”

He sat up, Jax putting her arm around him to help him. And she felt that tingle again. Dammit, she never should have kissed him. Now this heat was going to rear its head every time she got close to the man. What kind of moron cop fell for a suspect? It was the first thing in the book on dumb things a cop could do.

River leaned on her as she tugged the shirt off him, over his head, and then she let him go. He fell backward, and she sat on the edge of the sofa, wet the washcloth and brought it to his chest. His hot, sweaty, magnificent chest. “Damn,” she muttered. “You had to throw the switch, didn't you?”

“What?”