Cops and ... Lovers?

by Linda Castillo

  Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him.

  He gazed levelly at her. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have said those things." His jaw flexed. "I shouldn't have touched you."

  No man had ever gazed at her the way Nick Ryan did. She wondered how he could look intense and coldly distant at the same time. Erin couldn't keep her eyes from making a quick sweep of him, taking in the rise and fall of his wide chest. The rigid set of his shoulders. The fact that he was still blatantly aroused.

  "I have to go," she whispered in a strangled voice.

  Never taking her eyes from his, she backed toward the front door. He watched her with predatory intensity, his expression inscrutable.

  "Stay away from Stephanie," he said in a quietly dangerous voice. "She likes you, Erin, but she's vulnerable. I don't want her hurt."

  "I'd never hurt her," she said.

  "I know you wouldn't. Not purposefully. But she's fragile, and I don't want her heartbroken when you decide to go back to Chicago."

  Erin steeled herself against the words. She told herself they didn't hurt. That she didn't care. She was a cop; relationships weren't her thing. Still, she felt his words like the jab of a bayonet right through her solar plexus. Dignity forgotten, she turned and fled the barn without looking back.

  * * *

  Erin promised herself she wasn't going to cry. Not again, for goodness sake. It seemed crying was getting to be a habit since she'd moved to Logan Falls and taken up residence on Nick Ryan's hit list. The problem, she decided as she got into her cruiser and slammed the door, was that she'd started breaking her own rules. The ones she'd been living with and doing just fine by since the day Warren had broken her heart and proved to her that most men didn't have the self-assurance to handle a relationship with a woman in a dangerous profession.

  Only she knew Nick Ryan wasn't like most men.

  As she pulled out of the driveway, she made the mistake of looking in her rearview mirror and catching a glimpse of Stephanie sitting on the front porch, waving her back. The little girl looked so forlorn sitting there with her horse-show trophy in her lap that Erin's throat locked up. A hundred yards away, Nick stood at the barn door, his arms crossed at his chest, watching her pull away.

  Erin's heart ached for both of them. Stephanie because she wanted so desperately to lead a more active, normal life, and Nick because he couldn't bear the thought of his child taking any kind of risk. A heartbreaking situation. The only question that remained was which one of them would end up losing the most, and how much it would cost them.

  Stay away from Stephanie.

  Nick's words rang in Erin's ears, and another wave of pain sliced under her ribcage. For the first time, she realized just how involved her heart had become. The thought elicited an uncharacteristic jab of panic. When was she ever going to learn that police work and relationships didn't mix? Not relationships with men. Certainly not with their children.

  It was obvious Nick didn't want to get any closer to her. Well, at least not emotionally. A physical relationship with a man unable to risk his heart for fear of losing it was something she wanted no part of, no matter how attracted she was to him. Not that she wanted his heart in the first place, she reminded herself firmly.

  Stephanie, on the other hand, had already snagged Erin's heart. Not a good thing, considering Nick had all but forbidden her to see her. She knew if her feelings for the little girl got any deeper, she herself was going to get hurt. Best not to get involved. Nick didn't want her in either of their lives. He wasn't ready to care for anyone. Stephanie certainly didn't need any more hurt in her life. Maybe Nick was right. Maybe Erin should just go back to Chicago and forget both of them.

  And cows had wings.

  Not ready to return to the station and risk running into Hector with a kiss-bruised mouth and red-rimmed eyes, Erin turned onto County Line Road

  and headed away from town. Shrouded with trees from the greenbelt that ran along Logan Creek, the route was virtually deserted. With a little luck, she'd have a few minutes to pull herself together.

  She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't see the black Lincoln behind her until it was nearly on top of her. Not opposed to handing out a speeding ticket, she eased up on the gas pedal and reached for her emergency strobes switch.

  "Okay, speed racer—"

  Her words were cut off abruptly as the Lincoln's bumper slammed into the rear of her cruiser. The impact jolted her. Erin gripped the wheel, surprise burning in her gut. She turned her head to get a look at the driver, but like the sedan that had hit her at the school crossing, the windows were darkly tinted. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she checked for a license number to call in, but there was no plate.

  Recalling lessons from driving courses she'd taken over the years, she put her foot on the brake. Probably a drunk, she told herself, checking her speedometer and slowing. Never taking her eyes from the car, she reached for her radio mike to call Hector for backup.

  Another more forceful jolt knocked the mike from her hand. She looked up in time to see the Lincoln veer to the left and try to pull alongside her. She leaned forward and snagged the mike off the floor. Instinct had her pressing down on the cruiser's accelerator.

  "This is McNeal. I've got a code one. County Line Road

  just west of the Logan Creek bridge."

  The Lincoln was nearly alongside her now. She looked over. Her stomach did a slow, sickening somersault when she spotted a shotgun muzzle sticking out the open passenger-side window.

  "Code eight! Hector, this is Erin! He's got a damn shotgun! He's trying—"

  Her windshield exploded. Glass pelted her. Erin didn't have time to scream. She jerked the wheel to the left, hoping to bump the Lincoln and send it off the road. In the side mirror, she caught a glimpse of the hood. Engine whining, the Lincoln drew up fast on her left. She looked down at the speedometer. Only fifty miles an hour. It seemed like they were going a hundred.

  A second shotgun blast rang out. Erin ducked instinctively. Her hand went to her revolver, jerked it from her holster. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she saw that the Lincoln had fallen back.

  The cruiser hit a bump and lurched wildly. Realizing she'd veered onto the shoulder, she stomped on the brakes, but it was too late. The Logan Creek bridge loomed before her. The car pitched. Erin saw tall grass. A green kaleidoscope of trees rushed toward her. Oh, God, the car was going to roll. Bracing against the seat back, she screamed, praying the men in the Lincoln didn't decide to brave the ravine and finish the job they'd started.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  « ^ »

  Nick should have realized Stephanie would be angry with him. He couldn't expect her to understand why he'd sent Erin away, that he was only interested in protecting his little girl, and saving them both from another run through hell.

  The truth be told, Nick wasn't even sure if he understood all the intricacies behind his inability to deal with Erin. The one thing he knew for certain was that his instincts were telling him she was a threat to Stephanie. Maybe even to himself. He wasn't sure which scared him more.

  Nick hadn't wanted to acknowledge the similarity between Rita and Erin. But the truth was indisputable; the parallels were now clear. Rita had been a risk taker. Spontaneous. Careless. Daring. Once upon a time he'd loved her for it. But she'd dared fate one too many times. The pain he'd endured after her death had soured his taste for risk, especially when it came to matters of the heart. In the last three years he'd paid the price for loving her a thousand times over.

  Was he headed in the same direction with Erin by caring for her? What about Stephanie? She had lost her mother, her ability to walk—and the precious happiness known only by children. Had he put his little girl's heart at risk by allowing her to get close to another risk taker?

  He wanted that happiness back for his child. Wanted it back for her so badly he felt it with every cell of his body. As much as he was attracte
d to Erin—as much as he'd begun to care for her—she was exactly what they didn't need. A relationship with the gutsy lady cop from Chicago would be nothing short of disaster. He couldn't let himself get any closer. God in heaven, he couldn't let his heart get involved.

  Nick nearly laughed at the absurdity of the situation. No, he assured himself, he wouldn't fall for Erin McNeal. Yes, he was … attracted to her. What red-blooded American male wouldn't be? She was sexy as hell. But the bottom line was that he refused to put himself or his daughter through any more heartbreak no matter how much he liked the way Erin kissed.

  He could handle his urges. Given some time, he'd find a nice woman he could care for, and eventually bring her home to Stephanie. A woman who knew how to cook and didn't spend her time wrestling suspects and playing with guns. Nick could keep his distance from Erin, he told himself. He possessed the control. He certainly possessed the will.

  In his dreams, maybe.

  He stood on the front porch and stared at the driveway where her cruiser had disappeared just ten minutes earlier. Guilt tugged at him for the way he'd treated her. What had be been thinking, putting his hands on her like that? That wasn't his style. She hadn't deserved to be humiliated. She hadn't deserved to be pawed at like some kind of sex object. She was no more ready for that kind of relationship than he was. What in the world had prompted him to act so out of character?

  Lust, he figured. The hell of it was he hadn't cared at the time. He'd wanted her, had used his own anger as an excuse to cross an indelible line. He'd been so out of control, he hadn't been able to walk back to the house for a while, not without Mrs. Thornsberry noticing the state Erin had left him in.

  Nick had too much respect for Erin, and women in general, to treat her with such blatant disregard. In the back of his mind, he'd known what he was trying to accomplish. He'd intended to drive her away permanently with his crude advances. Only his plan had blown up in his face the moment he'd felt the warmth of her flesh beneath his fingertips. When she'd looked at him with those bottomless green eyes, his plan had collapsed beneath the weight of his own desperate need to touch her. He'd ended up losing control and forgetting everything the moment he'd taken that first, sweet taste of her mouth.

  "Nick?"

  He turned, arching a brow at Mrs. Thornsberry's tone. "What is it, Em?"

  The nanny pushed open the screen door and shoved his cell phone at him. "It's Hector. Erin's been in an accident."

  * * *

  A plume of dust clouded the air as Nick raced the Suburban down the driveway. He reached for the radio mike. "Hector, did she give her location?"

  "County Line Road

  is all I heard, Chief. Called in a code one, then an eight. It sounded urgent. Said there was a shotgun—"

  Nick cursed at the last word, vaguely aware that he'd flipped on the emergency lights and floored the accelerator. "Where on County Line Road

  ?"

  "Logan Creek bridge. You want me to meet you out there?"

  The mention of the Logan Creek bridge gave Nick pause, but only for a moment. "Get an ambulance—"

  "Parke County Rescue is en route."

  "I'll see you in a few minutes." Nick racked the mike. An odd sense of déjà vu engulfed him as he turned onto County Line Road

  . It had been nearly three years since his wife's accident, but he remembered every agonizing detail with a clarity that made his heart race. Shaken by the force of the emotions surging through him, he gripped the steering wheel and willed his pulse to slow. He wouldn't think of Rita now. He wouldn't think of that terrible day. Or the black months that followed.

  He wasn't involved with Erin McNeal, didn't care about her. If she'd gotten herself hurt—or worse—he wouldn't feel it all the way to his soul, the way he had when Rita had died. McNeal was his deputy, nothing more. A troubled cop who'd needed a chance to get back on her feet after a tragic shooting. He'd lent a hand. He liked the way she looked, and had behaved badly. But that was where it ended. He refused to analyze his feelings for her any more deeply than that.

  He wouldn't tempt fate by caring for a woman who didn't hesitate to put herself on the line. Nor would he risk his daughter's young heart. No matter how attracted he was to Erin, he wouldn't get involved with her. He wouldn't let her hurt him. He wouldn't let her touch him emotionally. He was immune, dammit. Had been since the night Rita had quietly died in his arms. Never again would he lay his heart out on the chopping block so that fate could slash it at will.

  His heart thrummed like a jackhammer when he spotted skid marks near the bridge. Fear gripped him with clawlike fingers as he brought the Suburban to a screeching halt. Throwing open the door, he hit the ground running.

  "McNeal!"

  The car wasn't anywhere in sight, but the pungent smell of burning rubber filled the air. He stopped at the bridge, dizzy with fear, sick with remembrance. His gaze followed the skid marks to the edge of the asphalt, where they tore into the shoulder. The car had barely missed the steel girders, cutting a path through the weeds, then plummeting down the embankment.

  He stumbled to the edge of the road. His heart rolled when he spotted the overturned cruiser a few feet from the muddy creek bank. A second later he was moving, scrambling down the steep incline. "Erin!" He heard her name as if the voice had come from someone else.

  His pulse raged as he sprinted toward the vehicle. "McNeal! Answer me, dammit!"

  Dropping to his knees outside the driver's side door, Nick leaned forward, peered inside, and his heart simply stopped. Em's lifeless form hung suspended, held in place by her safety belt. Her face was deathly pale, her eyes open and staring. Nick's first thought was that she was dead.

  "McNeal!" Panic knifed through him. Without thinking, he reached for her. Her flesh was cold to the touch. She didn't stir. "Erin! Honey, can you hear me?"

  Her answer came in the form of an elongated groan. She blinked at Nick. "Oh, Nick. I think I screwed up."

  The sound of her voice nearly undid him. His emotions rose dangerously to the surface. Relief. Thankfulness. A hundred others he didn't want to name. For a moment he couldn't speak, could do nothing but sit back and thank God she was alive.

  "Do you hurt anywhere?" he managed to ask after a moment.

  She shifted, her brows knitting. "That's a really dumb question at this point, Chief."

  He stared at her, choking back emotions that were trying to strangle him. He was losing it, and she was cracking jokes. "Where do you hurt?" he croaked. "Your neck? Your back?"

  "Everywhere except the soles of my feet."

  A tension-breaking laugh squeezed from his throat. "You scared the dickens out of me."

  Closing her eyes, she smiled faintly. "Me, too."

  "I smell gas. Honey, I've got to get you out of the car. Can you move?"

  Both of her hands opened and closed. "Yeah."

  "What about your legs?"

  Her face screwed up with the effort, but Nick saw her ankles flex. "I can move. Let's do it. I don't want to take a chance on becoming a s'more."

  Praying he wouldn't cause additional damage in the event that she had a spinal or neck injury, Nick crawled halfway through the window, then reached up to release her safety belt. "I'm going to unsnap your belt. Just relax and fall against me, okay?"

  She nodded.

  Holding her in place with one arm, he released the belt and felt her sag against him. "Feel okay?"

  "Doesn't even hurt."

  Nick closed his eyes as another wave of emotion pushed through him. "I'm going to set you down and pull you out of the car. Don't move. Just let me take care of you, okay?"

  He should have known she wouldn't obey. By the time he'd backed out of the overturned car, Erin was crawling on all fours. "Nick—"

  "I told you to lie still," he growled.

  "There was another vehicle. A Lincoln. There was a gun—"

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. "Whoever it was, they're gone." Rising, he looked over his
shoulder and thumbed off the strap of his holster. "I'll ask you about the car in a moment, okay? Right now I want you to lie down. I've got a cervical collar and blanket in my truck—"

  When she started to stand, he merely swept her into his arms. "When are you going to learn to follow orders?"

  "Maybe my next life." She looked toward the road. "The other car. Are you sure it's gone?"

  "There was nobody here when I drove up. Hector's on his way. An ambulance is en route—"

  "They tried to kill me, Nick. Shot out the windshield. I couldn't see. The bridge came out of nowhere…"

  "Shh." The need to protect her made him grind his teeth. "I'm armed. No one's going to hurt you."

  She felt delicate cradled in his arms. Even through the stench of gasoline, her tantalizing scent floated around his brain. He resisted the urge to put his face against hers and close his eyes just to feel her warmth, just to make sure she was really there.

  Grunting with the effort, he ascended the ravine with her in his arms, then settled her onto the grass. A sound from the ravine arrested Nick's attention. They both looked over in time to see fire engulf the cruiser.

  "Oh, my God," Erin said hoarsely. "You saved my life."

  Nick didn't want her gratitude. He didn't like the way she was looking up at him with those large, green eyes of hers. The combination was messing with his head and making him want to hold her tight and never let go.

  "For having just flipped your cruiser, you sure are talking a lot," he growled.

  "You're not going to fire me for wrecking it, are you?"

  "Depends on how badly the town council rakes me over the coals. I'll let you know."

  When she started to sit up, he gently pressed her back into the grass. "Easy, McNeal. Do me a favor and just lie still for a couple of minutes, okay?"

  She didn't fight him.

  "I'm going to get that collar and blanket. Don't move." He loped to the rear of the truck and threw open the door. Rummaging quickly through the emergency case, he removed what he needed, then rushed back to her. Dropping to his knees, he fastened the cervical collar around her neck, then snapped open the blanket and covered her from chin to the tips of her toes. Even through the flannel he could see that she was trembling. A cut stood out stark and red on her left temple. Nick hated seeing her pretty skin marred.