Nick knew better than to touch her.

He’d been around the block a few too many times to court the kind of trouble a touch would rouse. He didn’t like the way he was reacting to her as it was. He knew if he touched her, if he learned her skin was as soft and warm and fragrant as he imagined, it would make dealing with her even more complex.

“You ought to have it looked at,” he said stiffly.

“It’s just a scratch. I’ll take care of it.”

Nick fought another rush of blood to his groin. He denied it. He cursed it. But his body betrayed his intellect, reacting with an intensity that left him incredulous and disturbed. Now wasn’t the time. This wasn’t the place.

And Erin McNeal wasn’t the woman.

Dear Reader,

The excitement continues in Intimate Moments. First of all, this month brings the emotional and exciting conclusion of A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY. In Familiar Stranger, Sharon Sala presents the final confrontation with the archvillain known as Simon—and you’ll finally find out who he really is. You’ll also be there as Jonah revisits the woman he’s never forgotten and decides it’s finally time to make some important changes in his life.

Also this month, welcome back Candace Camp to the Intimate Moments lineup. Formerly known as Kristin James, this multitalented author offers a Hard-Headed Texan who lives in A LITTLE TOWN IN TEXAS, which will enthrall readers everywhere. Paula Detmer Riggs returns with Daddy with a Badge, another installment in her popular MATERNITY ROW miniseries—and next month she’s back with Born a Hero, the lead book in our new Intimate Moments continuity, FIRSTBORN SONS. Complete the month with Moonglow, Texas, by Mary McBride, Linda Castillo’s Cops and…Lovers? and new author Susan Vaughan’s debut book, Dangerous Attraction.

By the way, don’t forget to check out our Silhouette Makes You a Star contest on the back of every book.

We hope to see you next month, too, when not only will FIRSTBORN SONS be making its bow, but we’ll also be bringing you a brand-new TALL, DARK AND DANGEROUS title from award-winning Suzanne Brockmann. For now…enjoy!

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

Cops and… Lovers?
Linda Castillo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my husband, Ernest, for your encouragement

and undying support—I love you always.

LINDA CASTILLO

grew up in a small farming community in western Ohio. She knew from a very early age that she wanted to be a writer—and penned her first novel at the age of thirteen, during one of those long Ohio winters. Her dream of becoming a published author came true the day Silhouette called and wanted to buy one of her books!

Romance is at the heart of all her stories. She loves the idea of two fallible people falling in love amid danger, and against their better judgment—or so they think. She enjoys watching them struggle through their problems, realize their weaknesses and strengths along the way and, ultimately, fall head over heels in love.

She is the winner of numerous writing awards, including the prestigious Maggie Award for Excellence. In 1999, she was a triple Romance Writers of America Golden Heart finalist, and her first Silhouette release, Remember the Night, took first place in the romantic suspense division.

Linda spins her tales of love and intrigue from her home in Dallas, Texas, where she lives with her husband and three lovable dogs. You can contact her at P.O. Box 670501, Dallas, Texas, 75367-0501.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

Prologue

Erin McNeal had always liked the taste of adrenaline. But as she stared at her partner lying on the floor with his hands bound and a pistol at his nape, it sat in the back of her throat in a bitter pool. He knew better than to get himself into a situation like this. She sure as hell knew better than to follow him into this godforsaken warehouse. But not even the caution instilled by nine years of law enforcement experience was enough to keep her from going in after him.

Heart thundering, she slipped her service revolver from the holster at the small of her back, praying she wouldn’t have to use it. She didn’t want to get into a firefight with two men wielding semiautomatic weapons and displaying a complete lack of conscience. But the cop in her wouldn’t allow her partner to die simply because she was outgunned two to one.

Never taking her eyes from the men, she eased the hammer back with her thumb. She’d radioed for backup, but knew her counterparts wouldn’t arrive in time to stop the inevitable. She figured her partner had about a minute left to live—if he was lucky. That gave her about thirty seconds to come up with a plan.

“You gonna tell us who your snitch is, cop, or do we get to beat it out of you?” said a man in an ill-fitting suit.

Erin was too far away to recognize the thug, but she could tell by his calm demeanor and steady hand he’d murdered before. Probably more than once, judging by the anticipation resonating in his voice. Where the hell was her backup?

“We ain’t got all night,” the second man said. “Do him.”

The man in the suit raised his gun. “Last chance, cop.”

Moving out from behind the forklift where she’d taken cover, Erin raised her revolver and leveled it on the man in the suit. “Police! Drop your weapons and put your hands over your heads!”

The second man pivoted, his right hand slithering into his jacket. “What the—”

Erin shifted her aim to the man reaching for his gun. “Get your hands where I can see them!”

The two men exchanged looks. A sinking sensation rippled in her gut. In that instant she knew they weren’t going to go down without a fight—not to a woman.

Her partner raised his head, drawing her attention. Erin saw fear in his eyes. She felt her own like a raging beast in her chest. She was outnumbered, and they all knew it. Not the kind of odds she wanted to stake her life on, not to mention someone else’s.

Damn, this wasn’t working out the way she’d hoped.

Panic threatening, she dropped into a shooter’s stance, with legs apart, pistol cocked and level, but not quite steady. “Drop ’em!” she said, barely hearing her own voice over the roar of blood in her ears.

In her peripheral vision, she saw movement from above. Surprise jolted her when she saw a figure on the catwalk. Dark clothes. Tinted glasses. A glimpse of blue steel.

Terror fused with adrenaline and cut a path through her belly. She swung her weapon upward—and felt her blood turn to ice. The man on the catwalk was too young to be aiming a gun at a cop. Her police training told her to fire, but her finger froze on the trigger. An instant later, the sound of a gunshot rocked her brain.

The bullet slammed into her shoulder with the force of a cannonball. She reeled backward. White-hot fire seared down her arm to her fingertips. The ensuing pain sent her to her knees.

Through a haze of dizziness, she raised her weapon and fired twice in quick succession. The figure on the catwalk tumbled over the rail and hit the concrete with a sickening thud.

Another gun blast reverberated through the warehouse.

Erin screamed her partner’s name, but she knew it was too late. She’d seen the bullet hit its mark. She tried to stand, but her legs refused to obey. An animal-like sound tore from her throat as she sank to the cold concrete. Her vision blurred, but she didn’t lose consciousness. Through a haze of shock, she heard sirens wailing in the distance. Angry shouts. The shuffle of shoes against concrete.

Twenty yards away, her partner lay silent and still.

Rage and disbelief mingled with grief. Pain slashed her with brutal force, but it was nothing compared to the guilt exploding in her heart.

Please, God, don’t let him die.

As the darkness caved in around her, she silently prayed her partner would live. In a small corner of her mind, she prayed he would be able to forgive her for what she’d done. As unconsciousness overtook her, she prayed she would someday be able to forgive herself.

Chapter 1

Erin McNeal pulled her car up to the parking meter outside the Logan Falls, Indiana, police department and stared at the two-story brick building, a sense of dread gathering in her chest like a thunderstorm.

“You can do this,” she said aloud, ordering her fingers to release their death grip on the steering wheel. But the words did little to ease the rapid-fire beat of her heart or the suffocating clenching in her chest.

The realization that she was nervous sent a bitter laugh to her lips. She’d dealt with some of the toughest criminals on the street during her nine-year career with the Chicago Police Department. Yet here she was, reduced to a mass of frayed nerves over a job interview with the police chief of a town half the size of the beat she’d once walked.

But that was all over now, she reminded herself darkly. She was no longer a member of the Chicago Police Force. She was no longer the only woman who’d gone from beat cop to tactical officer to narcotics detective in the span of nine years.

The fact of the matter was that Erin was out of a job. The deputy position with the Logan Falls PD was the best prospect in sight, especially for a cop with a bum shoulder, a tarnished reputation and a duffel bag full of personal baggage. Small town or not, she’d damn well better make a good impression.

Her nerves snapped like lit dynamite fuses as she got out of the car and approached the august portals of the police station. Her purse slung over her good shoulder, she clutched her résumé in one hand, raised her chin and took two deep breaths. The ritual should have calmed her, but it didn’t. The laugh hovered in her throat again, but she didn’t give in to it. Six months ago, bursting through the door of a deserted warehouse with an armed suspect holed up inside hadn’t scared her this much. Of course, back then she’d had that addiction to adrenaline and the knowledge that she was damn good at what she did to back her. Now, with her confidence shattered and her career down the proverbial drain, she figured she’d be lucky to get through this with her dignity intact.

Vowing not to let the past interfere now, Erin put on her cop’s suit of armor and headed toward the door, praying the man on the other side wasn’t particularly discerning.

Police Chief Nick Ryan brooded over the résumé. On paper, the career of ex-detective Erin McNeal left no room for disappointment. Two department commendations. The Blue Star Award. The Award of Valor. She’d come recommended by Commander Frank Rossi of the Chicago PD—a man Nick had called a friend since his academy days. A man to whom Nick owed a favor.

Erin was a good cop, Frank had assured him. Streetwise. Tough. A little too confident. A little too cocky. Well, up until the night she’d botched a sting operation—and her partner paid the price. Frank had been forced to take her off the street. She had ended up resigning in disgrace.

Hell of a note that the situation had ended up in Nick’s lap. He needed a damaged cop working for him about as much as he needed a tornado ripping through his town. Why didn’t Frank just ask him to jump off the bridge down at Logan Creek?

Nick had been looking for a deputy for nearly a month. Tarnished reputation or not, Erin McNeal fit the bill. The fact that she was Frank’s niece pretty much sealed the deal. Damn Frank for calling in the chips now.

Nick stared at her résumé, troubled and more than a little annoyed by the situation. He knew better than to get involved in this woman’s plight. He didn’t care about Erin McNeal or her problems. He didn’t care that she’d once been a good cop. McNeal had committed the ultimate cop’s sin: she’d frozen up at a crucial moment. In Nick’s book, a cop who couldn’t back up her partner didn’t deserve to be a cop.

But Nick owed Frank. Frank had been there for him after Rita. He’d been Nick’s best man when he’d married her. Twelve years later, Frank had been a pallbearer at her funeral.

Blowing out a sigh, Nick leaned back in his chair and raked his fingers through his hair. He didn’t want to deal with this. He didn’t want to take a chance on a damaged cop, even if Logan Falls was a small town where the crime consisted of petty theft and the occasional domestic dispute. But he’d promised Frank he’d keep an eye on her. Keep her out of trouble. Give her a chance to get back on her feet. Nick figured he’d probably live to regret it. But then, he was good at living with regrets. What was one more heaped atop a pile that was already sky-high?

“Heck of a résumé.” Hector Price, Nick’s only other full-time deputy, whistled. “Best one we’ve seen, Chief. This guy has credentials out the bazoomba. Six years on patrol. Two on the tactical team. A year in narcotics.”

“McNeal is a woman,” Nick said irritably.

Hector looked dumbstruck. “Shoot, Chief, she’s good. A black belt in karate. Holy cow, her marksmanship is better than yours. She’s good.” Catching Nick’s dark look, Hector added, “I mean, for a woman.”

Good by a man’s standards, too, Nick thought sourly. Too good, in fact. He wondered what she had to prove, who she needed to prove it to. He wondered if all those skills had anything to do with guilt.

He’d known her partner, Danny Perrine, from his days in Chicago. He’d heard the rumors about the shooting. The night Erin McNeal forgot about her marksmanship, her black belt in karate and everything else she’d learned at the academy. Danny had paid a steep price because of her.

“As long as she doesn’t mind putting those fancy credentials to use down at the school crosswalk,” Nick said.

“We’ve never had a woman cop in Logan Falls, Chief. That ought to be interesting.”

Nick could do without the interesting part. He could damn well do without the headache. He hadn’t even met the woman and already disliked her on principle alone. He knew it wasn’t fair, but he didn’t care about that, either. Of course he didn’t have to like her to appease Frank—just put up with her until she figured out small-town police work wasn’t to her liking.

The bell on the front door jingled. Nick looked up. Something went soft in his chest when he saw the woman standing at the door looking as if she’d just walked into a lion’s den—and wanted to personally kick him out no matter how big his fangs. Her expression was an odd combination of raw nerves and don’t-mess-with-me tough. McNeal wasn’t due for another two hours. Besides, he would know a cop on sight. This woman wasn’t a cop, but a piece-of-fluff civilian. He wondered what she was selling, and if this was her first day on the job.

She wore a nicely cut pantsuit that sacrificed curves for style. Even with low heels, she was tall, just a few inches short of his six-foot-two frame. Nick could tell by the way she moved that she was athletic. He groaned inwardly when he imagined her lugging in a trunkful of office supplies and offering him the deal of a lifetime.

Not bothering to rise, he made eye contact. “Can I help you with something?”

“I’m here to see Nick Ryan.”

She had the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. Cat eyes, he thought, large and cautious and full of female mystery, all framed by lashes as dark and lush as mink. High cheekbones and a full mouth were set into a face that was a little too pale, a little too serious. Freckles dusted her small nose. Her reddish-brown hair was tucked into an unruly bun at her nape. She looked like she’d driven for a long distance with the windows down.

“You probably missed the No Soliciting sign posted on the door,” he offered, hoping to save both of them some time.

“I’m not selling anything,” she said. “I have an appointment.”

Nick stared at her, taking in the folder in her hand, the determination in her cool green eyes, and felt a sinking sensation in his gut. He didn’t embarrass easily, but the back of his neck heated. Suddenly, he found himself wanting to throttle Frank Rossi.

“You’re Erin McNeal,” he said.

She nodded. “I’m a little early.”

“You’re a lot early.” He glanced at his watch. “Two hours to be exact.”

“The drive didn’t take as long as I thought it would.” She strode forward, eyes level on his, hand extended.

Rising, he rounded his desk. “I’m Nick Ryan.”

She wasn’t what he’d expected the ex-detective to look like. He’d expected hard eyes that were tired from too many years of seeing too much. This woman was anything but hard. She was young and slender and way too…soft to be a cop.

“Frank said to tell you hello,” she said.

Frowning, Nick extended his hand, wondering if Frank was back in Chicago having a good laugh. But the moment her fingers closed around his, Nick’s concentration wavered. The force of her grip surprised him. It was a little too quick. A little too firm. He hadn’t expected to feel calluses on her palm. A weight lifter, too. How on earth could he have mistaken her for a solicitor? Soft or not, this woman had “cop” written all over her.

“I brought my résumé,” she said.

“Frank faxed me a copy.”

Belatedly, he remembered he was still grasping her hand, and released it. Even though she wasn’t standing particularly close, he caught a whiff of her scent, some exotic spice tempered with the essence of clean hair and female. How could a woman with calluses on her palms and a cop’s eyes smell so good?

Realizing he was staring, Nick gave himself a mental shake and looked at Hector, who had yet to close his mouth—or take his eyes off her. “This is Deputy Price.”

Erin extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure, Deputy.”

“Ma’am.” Hector jumped to his feet, wiped his palms on his uniform slacks and stuck out his hand.

Nick was still struggling with the fact that Detective Erin McNeal wasn’t the hardened, cynical cop he’d expected, but a woman who smelled like heaven and looked like she’d just stepped off the set of some high-drama police TV show.

She wasn’t beautiful in the classic sense. Her hair was too red to be brown, too brown to be truly red and struggling valiantly to break free of that bun. Her mouth was a tad full and too wide for his taste. He’d never cared for freckles, either. But she was attractive in an earthy, girl-next-door sort of way—the kind of girl who’d played with slingshots instead of dolls.

She studied Nick. “Frank tells me you two are old friends.”

He frowned, not liking the way she’d used the word old. Just because he felt a lot older than his thirty-eight years didn’t mean it was fact. “We go back a few years,” he said.

All too aware that his deputy wasn’t the only one having a difficult time keeping his eyes off her, Nick cleared his throat. “Frank and I partnered up for a couple of years in Chicago.”

“He speaks well of you,” she said.

“Only when he needs a favor.”

Her gaze sharpened, and he knew she was wondering if he’d just slighted her. Perceptive, too, he thought, and felt a glimmer of hope that she wouldn’t take this job, after all.

“I’m really early,” she said. “If you’re in the middle of something, I don’t mind waiting.”

Great, he’d been staring again. He was acting like a pimply-faced teenager who’d just come face-to-face with his favorite centerfold. Erin McNeal was a cop—and a bad one at that. He’d worked with plenty of female cops back in Chicago. This one shouldn’t be any different.

Noticing that Hector’s eyes still hadn’t settled back in their sockets, Nick motioned toward his office. “We can talk in here, Ms. McNeal.”

She started for the door with long, confident strides. He followed, refusing to let his eyes peruse what he instinctively knew was a nice derriere. He didn’t want to know that she was built just the way he liked. He’d just as soon not like anything at all about this woman.

Once in his office, he slid behind his desk, then watched her take the chair opposite him. Her jacket gaped slightly when she crossed her legs, and he caught a glimpse of lace and the swell of her breasts beneath her blouse. Determined to keep his mind on the interview, he forced his gaze to the file in front of him. “Your credentials are impressive,” he said. “Frank gave you a favorable recommendation.”

“Frank was a good commander.”

“It’s probably no handicap that he’s also your uncle.” Nick looked down at the file, wondering if she realized Frank had told him about the shooting. “You scored high on your detective’s exam. You transferred out of tactical to become a detective after only two years. Says here ‘because you like to think.’ Your solve rate is high. Your marksmanship is outstanding.” He raised his eyes to hers. “Those are some pretty remarkable achievements considering there are over thirteen thousand sworn officers on the force.”

Her gaze never left his. “I like being a cop.”

Despite his resistance to her, the answer scored a point with him. Nick had a pretty good idea how many hurdles this woman had had to leap to reach detective status. He knew plenty of men who couldn’t match half her skills. He knew plenty of others who would do their utmost to hold her back just because she was the wrong sex. Yet she’d prevailed. Nick admired tenacity almost as much as he admired guts. He wondered if she was gutsy enough to bring up the subject neither of them wanted to discuss.

“We don’t get much action here in Logan Falls,” he said. “A few juvenile delinquents. Domestic disputes. The Brass Rail Saloon got robbed last Friday, but that sort of thing is pretty unusual. Think you can handle that kind of excitement?”

“If I can handle the South Side of Chicago, I’m sure I can handle anything that happens in Logan Falls.”

He’d asked the question lightly, but she’d taken it as a personal challenge. An ego to boot, he thought. He studied the file, irritated with her for not being what he’d expected, annoyed with Frank for not warning him how good she was to look at—and downright ticked off at himself for noticing.

“I see you’ve had a couple personnel problems,” he said.

“They were relatively minor—”

“It’s my responsibility to ask you about them.” He flipped to the next page. “You’ve been written up for insubordination.”

Eyeing him warily, she shifted in her chair. “I didn’t like an assignment, and I let my lieutenant know about it.”

“What was it about?”

“Cases involving unpopular victims that were shoved aside in lieu of the more affluent ones. Prostitutes mostly, because nobody cared about them. I didn’t think that was fair.”

Nick nodded noncommittally, not liking it that he agreed with her. He didn’t miss big-city police work, or the politics that went along with it. “Any problems with your shoulder?” He could tell by the way her eyes widened that he’d caught her off guard. “Frank told me about the shooting,” he clarified.

“I have a little arthritis,” she replied. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Did you pass the physical?”

She nodded. “I’m left-handed, so the injury didn’t affect my marksmanship. I lost some strength in my right hand.”

On the surface, her answer seemed adequate. To the point. Acceptable. Just the way she’d planned, Nick thought. But he was observant enough to notice the other signs that weren’t quite as apparent. He didn’t miss her white-knuckled grip on her purse. The slight tremor in her hand. The tight clench of her jaw. All signs of stress; all signs that the shooting had affected her much more profoundly than she was letting on. Just like a cop, he thought, and inwardly groaned. He knew intimately the signs of personal baggage—he was an expert on the subject, after all—and bet his bottom dollar the woman across from him had a truckload sitting on those rigid shoulders.

“Frank said you were lucky to get out of that warehouse alive,” he said.

She looked as though she wanted to argue for a moment, but didn’t. “I was very lucky.”

Her partner, Danny Perrine, hadn’t been as lucky. The thought sent a flare of irritation through Nick. He wondered if she was going to come clean with the entire story, or if he was going to have to squeeze it out of her one question at a time.

“Did you spend any time with the department shrink afterward?” he asked casually.

Her gaze snapped to his. He could tell from her expression she knew it wasn’t a casual question. Though she tried to shutter her reaction, Nick saw the flash of emotion in the depths of her gaze.

“I saw Dr. Ferguson for a couple of months. It’s department regulation for any cop involved in a shooting. She gave me a clean bill of health.”

“So if the shrink gave you a clean bill of health, why did Frank fire you?”

“Frank didn’t fire me. I resigned.”

“On paper maybe. It’s obvious you were on your way out. Only you knew a resignation would look better than a termination on your résumé, didn’t you?” Nick didn’t look up, but rather felt the rise of tension. He let the silence work for a moment, then met her gaze. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t ask you about the shooting, did you?”

Erin stared at him, her expression guarded. “Of course not.”

“I have your complete file,” he pointed out. “I was wondering if you wanted to give me your take on what happened.”

“Frank said—”

“Why don’t you stop wondering how much of this Frank has already told me, and just lay it out?”

For the first time, her composure wavered. She blinked, then looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap. Quickly, she relaxed them. “He had no right to give you my entire file. Some of it’s confidential.”

“You don’t think he’s going to let you waltz in and dazzle me with your test scores and solve rate when we both know you’ve had some serious problems in the last six months, do you?”

“Frank knows I’m a good cop.”

“He also knows you’re wobbly on your feet. You were involved in a shooting. There are repercussions to that sort of thing whether we like to admit it or not. Frank didn’t expect me to walk in blind. Not after what happened to Danny Perrine.”

She flinched. “I’m not wobbly. I made a mistake—”

“A very serious one that nearly cost a man his life.”

“I’m fully aware—”

Nick’s throat squeezed out a short, incredulous laugh designed to let her know just how he felt about cops and mistakes. “Just because you’re aware, Ms. McNeal, doesn’t mean it’s going to go away or that it won’t happen again.”

“I screwed up,” she said. “I went back to work too soon after…Danny. But I’m better now—”

“Ah, I’ll feel a hell of lot better going through a door with you, knowing you’re all better.”

Her eyes heated. “I can do without the sarcasm.”

Ignoring her anger, maybe even enjoying it a little, Nick continued, “This isn’t personal, McNeal. I’m just trying to decide if you’re still suitable for police work.”

“Why don’t you give me the chance to prove it?”

“Because I’m afraid you’ll freeze up when I need you. I can do without a bullet in my back.”

She stared at him, her eyes wide, nostrils flaring slightly. “I’m solid.”

“If that was the case you’d still be in Chicago.”

“Frank’s assessment of me was incorrect.”

Nick leaned forward. “You mean he lied? Why would he do that?”

“I’m his niece. He’s overprotective. He thinks I ought to be home baking cookies, for Pete’s sake.”

“Maybe you should have considered administrative work when he offered it.”

“I’m a police officer. I don’t want to sit behind a desk.”

“You’d rather play Rambo, and freeze up on your partner.”

“That’s not how any of this happened.”

Nick knew he was being hard on her, but he figured since this was his town he had every right to put her on the hot seat.

“I know what happened in that warehouse,” he said. “I know about Danny Perrine. You froze up, McNeal. Were you going to bother mentioning that to me?”

She stared at him, her jaw tight, her eyes shooting fire and ice.

“So before you come in here trying to dazzle me with your assorted bragging points, why don’t you explain to me why I ought to hire you?”

Erin wanted so badly to tell him to go to hell she could taste it. Of course, she didn’t. Six months ago she would have laughed in his face. Today, shaken, uncertain and a little desperate, she could do nothing more than stare at him and wonder how the interview had gone from bad to downright catastrophic in less than ten minutes.

He knows, she thought. He knows I can’t hack it anymore. The familiar pain cut her and went deep. Doubt and guilt slashed her, and she felt the blood well like a fresh wound. She looked down at where she held her purse with a death grip. Forcing her hands to relax, refusing to let this man reduce her to a bumbling rookie, she looked up and met his gaze levelly.

“I think we both know this isn’t working,” she said.

Lowering his head, Nick pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s an understatement,” he growled.

Disappointment burned, but she raised her chin in spite of it and rose. “I won’t waste any more of your time, Chief Ryan.”

“We’re not finished yet.”

“Yes, we are.” She slung her purse over her shoulder.

He rose. “Look, I told Frank—”

“Don’t do me any favors, Chief. Just because my uncle is your friend doesn’t mean you have to feel obligated to hire me. I don’t need your charity.” She didn’t need this job, either, she assured herself. There were other opportunities. She just needed to find the right one. She sure as hell didn’t need a jerk like Nick Ryan humiliating her at every turn.

For the first time he looked chagrined. “Don’t make this personal—”

“Don’t sweat it, Chief. I’m used to being underestimated. Besides, my skin’s a lot thicker than it looks.” She offered a crisp smile, hating that she had to bite her lower lip to keep it from quivering. “I’ve got some other prospects lined up, anyway.”

“Do you?”

“Corporate security. That sort of thing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I prefer working in a larger town, anyway.”

“Sure you do.”

She was going to have to figure something out, considering she hadn’t made her car payment last month. Maybe security work wasn’t such a bad thing, after all.

“Thanks again for your time.” Without looking at him, Erin started for the door. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like such a failure. Maybe the last interview she’d screwed up. Or the day she’d walked out of the precinct for the last time. Or maybe the day she’d frozen at a crucial moment and realized she wasn’t as strong as she’d once believed.

“McNeal.”

She didn’t stop until she reached the door of his office. Even then she didn’t turn around. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she did. She wasn’t a crier or overly emotional, but for the first time in a long time, she felt on the verge of a crying jag the likes of which the world had never seen.

“Frank Rossi doesn’t recommend just anyone,” Nick said.

Erin’s hand froze on the knob. Furiously, she blinked back tears.

“I trust his judgment,” he said. “You worked for him for nine years. Maybe you should trust him, too.”

The meaning behind his words registered slowly, like an easy rain falling over a drought-stricken land. Hope jumped through her with such force that her knees went weak. One breath. Two. She turned and looked at him, trembling no matter how hard she tried not to. “Frank is my uncle. He’s probably not objective when it comes to me.”

“Taking that into consideration, is there any reason I should doubt your ability to perform police work?”

“I was a good cop,” she said a little breathlessly. “I’m still a good cop.”

“I need a deputy. You came with a recommendation. You’ve got the credentials. Are you interested?”

Erin stared at him, wondering if he would be offering her the job if he knew about the nightmares. Or the flashbacks that swooped down on her like a giant bird of prey when a car backfired and her memory transported her back to that warehouse.

“You mean you want to hire me?” she blurted.

He hit her with a piercing stare. “Logan Falls is a small town. It might be a good place for you to get back on your feet and decide if you want to stay in law enforcement, or move on to something else.”

Her heart thrummed against her breastbone as if she’d just run a mile. Hope and fear roiled in her chest as his gaze burned into hers. “I want the job.”

“Maybe you should sit back down so we can finish our interview.”

Six months ago, her pride would have dictated she tell him to take a flying leap into whatever body of water Logan Falls had been named after. Today, she figured they were both too hard up to look a gift horse in the mouth. Either Frank had done a number on him, or Chief Nick Ryan was desperate to get a deputy hired. She wasn’t sure which scenario bothered her most.

“All right.” On numb legs, she walked back to the chair and sank into it.

She watched him take the chair behind his desk. Judging from the crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes, she guessed he was probably in his late thirties. His brown hair was cropped short and so dark it was almost black. Even though it was barely past noon, a five o’clock shadow darkened a jaw that was lean and strong. He wasn’t handsome—well, not exactly—but then pretty boys had never appealed to Erin. She preferred rugged over perfect. Character over charm. This man possessed generous amounts of both in the hardened planes of his face.

From the scar on his right eyebrow to his hard eyes and uncompromising mouth, Nick Ryan was as rugged as a man could get and still look civilized. He stood well over six feet, so that even with her lofty height of five-nine, she had to crane her neck to look up at him. He possessed the lean build of a distance runner tempered with the brawn of a boxer. But despite his physique, it was his eyes that emanated power. They were the color of strong coffee and as coldly sharp as the wind off Lake Michigan in January. His mouth was a straight slash she instinctively knew didn’t smile much.

“How soon can you start?” he asked.

She blinked, realizing with some embarrassment she’d been staring. “Monday.” How she would move from Chicago to Logan Falls in two days when she didn’t even have an apartment yet was a mystery to her, but somehow she’d pull it off.

“You’ll need to fill out these forms.” He passed several sheets of paper to her. “The pay isn’t as good as it is in Chicago, but the cost of living is a lot less.”

Numbly, she took the papers, starkly aware that her hands were shaking. “I don’t have an apartment yet.” She’d made the one-hundred-mile trip from Chicago in less than two hours just that morning. Once in town, she hadn’t taken the time to sightsee, but headed directly to the police station.

“There’s a two-bedroom apartment for rent above the florist shop on Commerce Street.” Nick opened his pencil drawer, pulled out a business card and handed it to her. “Mike Barton is my neighbor. He’s been trying to rent it for two months. You might want to give him a call.”

She was still trying to absorb that he’d hired her when he hit her with the bit about the apartment. “I’ll do that.”

“Are you staying in town tonight or heading back to Chicago?”

“I’ll find an apartment today, then drive back tonight for my things. If all goes well, I’ll move in the day after tomorrow.” Erin rose, feeling as though she’d just stepped off a roller coaster.

“Good, then I’ll see you Monday morning.”

She started toward the door, but paused halfway there. Taking a deep breath, she stopped and turned to face him. “What made you change you mind?” she asked.

Rising, he approached her, his expression inscrutable. “You wanted to tell me to go to hell. You almost did, but your pride wouldn’t let you because you didn’t want me to know I’d rattled you. I thought that ought to count for something.”

“I wasn’t rattled.”

He had the gall to look amused. “Really?”

Her cheeks heated. She didn’t like having her dignity toyed with. She didn’t have that much to spare. “I was ticked off that you felt the need to grill me when I clearly have the credentials to handle the job.”

“That remains to be seen.” Surprising her, he extended his hand. “Just don’t make me regret hiring you.”

“I won’t.” She raised her hand to his.

The contact jolted her like a mild electrical shock that jumped from him to her and wreaked havoc on every nerve ending in her body. She felt herself give a little jerk, praying he didn’t notice. Vaguely, she was aware of his grip—firm, but not painful. All the while his gaze bored into hers, sending pinpricks of awareness rippling through her like a flash flood.

The knot in her chest unraveled only to be replaced with another kind of tension. Erin wanted to think it was because she’d waited a long time for this moment, but in the backwaters of her mind she knew the weightless feeling had more to do with the fact that he was standing so close she could smell the clean tang of his aftershave. She told herself she was crazy for noticing something so irrelevant. She’d learned a long time ago that police work and relationships were about as compatible as gasoline and fire—and just as combustible.

Shaken by her reaction, she broke the connection and stepped back. Nick gazed steadily at her, but he wasn’t smiling. He looked taken aback and as annoyed as she felt. If his jaws clenched any tighter, he was going to need dental work.

Clearing his throat, he opened his office door for her and stepped back. Erin used that moment to escape. She barely looked at Deputy Price as she headed toward the safety of the front entrance. She wasn’t sure what had just happened between her and Nick Ryan, but knew it wasn’t good. It sure as hell couldn’t happen again. This job was her last chance.

Her hand was closing around the knob when Nick’s baritone voice cut through the air. “McNeal.”

She froze, a dozen scenarios tumbling through her brain. He’d changed his mind. He wanted to talk to Frank again. He wanted to hear the details about what had happened to Danny. He wanted to know why her hands were shaking, why he could hear her heart hammering against her ribs. Taking a deep breath, she turned and forced her gaze to his.

Nick stood just outside his office door, his face as expressionless as a stone. “Tell Frank I owe him one.”

Chapter 2

Nick stared into his coffee cup and called himself a fool a dozen ways. He wanted to think he’d caved in and hired Erin McNeal because he owed Frank a favor. Because of her impressive credentials, or maybe because he felt the need to lend a helping hand to a fellow cop. But Nick knew his decision to hire her probably had more to do with the desperation he’d seen in the depths of her gaze—and the fact that she would have walked out of his office and not looked back in spite of it.

He glanced at the wall clock, annoyed that it was the fourth time he’d done so in less than twenty minutes. He told himself he wasn’t thinking about her, that he wasn’t anxious because this was her first day of work and she was going to be riding with him. But he was honest enough with himself to know that wasn’t quite true. In the three days since he’d hired Logan Falls’s first female police officer, he’d found himself thinking about her more often than he wanted to admit. He assured himself it was because she’d been involved in a shooting, and it was his responsibility, as her direct supervisor, to know her mindset. Only Nick knew his interest in her wasn’t as impersonal as he wanted to believe.

What bothered him most was that he’d reacted to her on a personal level. Not as a superior or fellow cop, but a man who saw a deep well of vulnerability beneath that veneer of toughness. A man who’d been willing to go against his better judgment the moment he laid eyes on her and saw the damaged pride and go-to-hell attitude—and the kind of curves that made his pulse pound.

He wondered how Frank would feel if he knew his good friend was ogling his niece, who was nearly ten years his junior.

Grimacing, Nick took a drink of coffee. He’d often wondered how long it would take for the celibacy to get to him. After Rita, he’d believed he was as immune as a man could get when it came to women. That was fine with him; the lack of distraction left him able to focus all of this attention on his daughter. Then Erin McNeal had walked in and proved him wrong. This was a hell of a time for his hormones to tell him he was still human.

So what if she was attractive? Nick had more self-discipline than he knew what to do with, and a whole lot more common sense. He certainly knew better than to court trouble. Erin McNeal had trouble written all over that shapely body of hers. Not that he’d been looking, of course. But there were times when a man couldn’t help but see the finer points of a woman, no matter how staunch his resistance.

Nick was truthful enough with himself to realize the woman intrigued him. But he assured himself he could handle it. Even after three years, he was in no frame of mind to take on a relationship. After losing Rita, he’d sworn he’d never put his heart on the line ever again. The consequences were too dire. Besides, he didn’t even like McNeal.

The bell on the front door jingled. Nick jumped, cursing when some of his coffee sloshed over the top of his cup. Even without looking, he knew it was Erin. Steeling himself against the anticipation winding through his chest, he glanced out his office door. His heart kicked against his ribs when he spotted her striding toward him through the outer office.

He watched her approach against his better judgment, knowing his slow perusal of her would probably cost him later. The navy jacket and skirt she was wearing should have been conservative, but the sway of her hips and the shape of her thighs beneath the material were anything but. She reminded him of a sleek panther. Graceful. Wary. A little dangerous. A hint of tightly wound energy lay behind that smooth gait. Her legs were long, her strides confident. She returned his gaze levelly.

“Morning,” he said.

“Morning.” She entered his office.

“You’re early. It’s barely eight.”

“I like to get an early start.”

Even as an inner voice warned him against it, Nick found his eyes seeking out the silk blouse beneath her jacket. Before he could look away, the outline of lace and curves he had absolutely no business noticing scattered his concentration.

Silently cursing himself, he motioned to the chair opposite his desk. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks.”

Her eyes seemed darker today. They were the color of a rain forest, filled with shadows and secrets as mysterious as the forest itself. Taking the chair he’d indicated, she crossed her legs.

When her jacket parted, he looked down at his paperwork. “Did you find an apartment?”

“Actually, I took the one you recommended.”

“Good. I think you’ll find Mr. Barton is a fair landlord.” Nick wasn’t sure why he felt so off-kilter. In the ten years he’d been chief of police, he’d never felt awkward with his deputies. What was it about Erin McNeal that had him acting like a tongue-tied juvenile?

Disgusted by his behavior, he rose and walked to the metal file cabinet behind his desk, where her uniforms, service revolver and badge lay in a neat pile. He scooped it up and set it on the desk between them.

“You and I are riding together today,” he said. “We’ll be together until your probationary period is up in thirty days. I’ll show you around town. Point out the trouble spots, the city limits, the landmarks. Clyde Blankenship’s horses got out this morning. We’ll drive by and make sure he fixed the fence. He’s over ninety years old and doesn’t always do a good job.”

“Horses?”

Nick frowned at her, wondering if the lady hotshot cop from Chicago considered herself above such menial law enforcement tasks. “School started last week. Hector drew crosswalk duty. We’ll drive by and see how he’s doing.”

Erin nodded.

“There’s a locker room next to the water cooler,” he said. “You can change there. Locker number five.”

“It’ll just take me a minute to change clothes.”

The image of her slipping out of that skirt came to mind unbidden, but he ruthlessly shoved it away. “Assignments and shifts are posted weekly on the board above the time clock.”

Rising, she gathered her uniforms, revolver and badge from his desk. “How many other deputies work for you?” she asked.

“Hector and two part-timers.” Nick caught a whiff of her sweet, exotic scent—and nearly lost his train of thought. This was becoming downright annoying.

He studied her, trying not to notice the softness of her mouth or the delicate slant of her jaw. “Any questions?” he asked, rising.

“I’ll just get dressed.”

Rounding his desk, he started toward the main office, starkly aware that she was behind him. “Locker room’s there.” He motioned toward the hall leading to the rear of the building.

“I’ll be five minutes.”

“Take your time.”

Erin’s hands shook as she stepped into her uniform slacks and tucked in her shirt. Her service revolver lay on the bench beside her, reminding her that after six months and four interviews she was once again a police officer. She should have been ecstatic now that she was finally getting her life back on track. But the reality of what she faced was as disconcerting as it was thrilling. The responsibility of it pressed down on her like a lead weight. As she slipped the revolver into her holster, she tried not to think about whether she’d have the guts to use it.

Erin refused to second-guess herself. Not when she’d already passed the point of no return.

Smoothing her shirt, she picked up her extra uniform and started for the door, all too aware that her heart was pounding. “You can do this,” she murmured, determined not to let the uncertainty rattle her.

The sound of a child’s voice coming from the outer office broke into her thoughts. Curious, she continued down the hall and stopped on entering the main office. A little girl with hair the color of a wheat field sat at Hector’s desk, tugging a coloring book from her backpack. She looked to be only eight or nine years old, but possessed the most adult eyes Erin had ever seen on a child.

Nick had come out of his office and was walking toward the girl. “Why aren’t you in school, honeybunch?” he asked.

The child shrugged. “I wanted to ride with you today.”

“It’s a schoolday.”

“I don’t want to go to school today.”

Stooping, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, then stood back and regarded her with an expression of stern amusement. “I thought you liked school this year. Isn’t today library day?”

“Mrs. McClellan doesn’t like me.”

“Doesn’t like you? What’s not to like?” He tousled her hair, his hand lingering. “Just between you and me, Mrs. McClellan told me you’re her favorite librarian.”

The little girl looked at the coloring book spread out on the desk. “Can’t I just stay here awhile? I brought my coloring book, see? I’ll be quiet.”

“Honey, I’d love to spend the day with you, but you can’t miss any more school and I’ve got work to do.” Digging in her backpack, he pulled out a box of colorful markers. “Who brought you here to the station?”

The little girl leaned over and shot Erin a less-than-friendly look over Nick’s shoulder. “Who’s that lady?”

Nick glanced at Erin, then turned back to the girl. “Her name’s Erin. She’s my new deputy—”

“That’s a boy’s name.”

“Steph, I want you to tell me who brought you here.”

“No one.” She selected a marker and began to color. “I just left. Mr. Finn sent me to the office for talking to Kimmy Bunger during attendance. The hall monitor was in the bathroom, and nobody was paying any attention, so I just left.”

Erin saw Nick’s shoulders go rigid. “Wait a minute,” he said firmly. “You just left? An adult didn’t drive you here?”

“It’s not that big a deal, Daddy. The school’s only two blocks away.”

“I’m afraid leaving school without permission is a big deal, Steph. You know I’m going to have to call the school and talk to the principal again, don’t you?” Gently easing the marker from her fingers, he rounded her chair and pulled it back from the desk.

That was when Erin noticed the wheelchair. She stared, trying valiantly to curb the resulting shock.

“You know you’re not allowed to leave school without permission,” Nick said, picking up the phone and punching in numbers. “Why didn’t you tell your teacher you wanted to go home? Why didn’t you call me?”

In some small corner of her mind, Erin heard him ask for the principal. She stood frozen in place, telling herself the sight of the wheelchair hadn’t upset her, hadn’t made her remember.

Images from the night of the shooting burst forth in her mind’s eye. She fought the flashback, but it pressed down on her, a solid weight of fear that stole her concentration and threatened her control. Danny lying on the floor in a pool of blood. The churning in her gut. The smell of gunpowder.

The folded uniform she’d been clutching slipped from her hands and fell to the floor in a heap. Nick looked up, his eyes narrowing. Terrified he would misinterpret her reaction, Erin quickly scooped up the fallen uniform, then backed into the relative safety of the hall. Her chest felt as if it was being squeezed by a giant vise, but she forced air into her lungs. She was going to be okay, she assured herself. It had been a while since she’d had a flashback, but they still came on occasion. Whenever a sound or smell or sight reminded her of the night she’d been shot, it all came rushing back….

Ordering herself to calm down, she smoothed the front of her uniform and watched Nick kneel to tie his daughter’s shoe. The little girl wore a pink sweatshirt and matching pants, with polka-dot sneakers. It was a happy outfit, made for climbing trees and playing hopscotch. But Erin could plainly see by the look in this child’s eyes that she wasn’t happy. She certainly wasn’t going to get up out of that wheelchair and play hopscotch anytime soon.

“Get your books and markers together, kiddo,” he said. “I’m taking you home.”

“I don’t want to go home.”

“It’s either school or home,” he said firmly. “I’ll let you choose.”

“Please, Daddy, I want to go with you.”

Erin didn’t miss the pain that knifed across Nick’s features. Jaw clenched, he looked down at the floor, then slowly straightened, as if the effort cost him more energy than he had to spare. “Put your books and markers in your book bag, honeybunch. I’ll take you home.”

Huffing in displeasure, the little girl wheeled closer to the desk and started throwing markers one by one into her book bag.

Erin hadn’t even known Nick Ryan had a family. He didn’t wear a ring; she’d assumed he was unmarried. That his child was handicapped struck a chord within her. Pain broke open in her chest—a slow ache that burgeoned until it enveloped her entire body. And her heart silently wept when she remembered another wheelchair, and a man she’d sentenced to the kind of hell she could only imagine in her worst nightmares.

“McNeal.”

She started at the sound of Nick’s voice, and forced her gaze to his.

Standing at the end of the hall, he shot her a look cold enough to freeze acid. “In my office.”

Pressing her hand against her stomach, she walked past him and into his office. Oh, Lord, she hadn’t intended to react to the wheelchair. She couldn’t imagine what he must think of her.

Nick entered behind her and closed the door. When he turned to her, his eyes were the color of a force five tornado that was headed straight in her direction.

“If the wheelchair bothers you I suggest you go back to Chicago and forget you ever set foot in Logan Falls,” he snapped.

“It doesn’t—”

“You look like you just saw a ghost. I can’t have you falling apart every time you see my daughter, for crying out loud.”

Erin stared at him, heart pounding wildly, while the words built in her chest like a sickness. “I’m sorry. I was…distracted—”

“You were about to come apart at the seams,” he interrupted.

“I was…thinking—”

“Thinking?”

“I was thinking about…Danny,” she said, knowing it would be professional suicide to tell him about the flashbacks or the nightmares.

“What does he have to do with this?”

When she trusted her voice not to betray her, she raised her chin and met Nick’s gaze. “He’s in a wheelchair. I’m the one who put him there.”

Because he had an eight-year-old daughter, Nick didn’t usually curse, but today he made an exception. Of all the explanations Erin could have offered, the bit about her ex-partner knocked him speechless as effectively as a set of brass knuckles.

He was accustomed to negative reactions to his daughter’s wheelchair. Some people stared. Others ignored her. Some people just smiled too much because they were uncomfortable with the prospect of a child who couldn’t walk. No matter how innocent, those reactions invariably upset Stephanie—and set his own temper ablaze. He would never forget the day she’d come home from school crying so hard she couldn’t speak. His heart had broken into a thousand pieces when she’d told him the kids had made fun of her. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d wished it was him in that wheelchair instead of her.

He wasn’t sure why, but he’d expected Erin to be different. She was a decorated cop. She’d seen a lot over the years. He’d hoped she’d be somehow above it. Then she’d hit him with that bit about her partner, and he’d realized her reaction didn’t have anything to do with a lack of character, but with her own private hell.

Damn, he didn’t want to have to deal with this.

“It was wrong of me not to tell you I’m still…dealing with what happened to Danny,” she said.

“Frank didn’t bother,” he said dryly. “Why should you?”

“Frank doesn’t hold me responsible. It’s not an issue for him.”

“He didn’t clean up your file, did he?”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“Internal Affairs cleared you?”

She looked at him as if she were about to walk the plank—and he was the one holding the gun at her back. “Yes.”

Nick didn’t like the way this was playing out. It was clear this woman had been exonerated by the department. The problem was she hadn’t yet exonerated herself.

“The police department isn’t the place for personal baggage,” he said. “Even in Logan Falls.”

“I’m working through it.”

Even from three feet away he could see she was shaking. What in the world had happened to this woman? What had Frank gotten him into? Whatever the case, Nick wasn’t happy about the situation. He sure didn’t like the way he was reacting to her. At the moment, he wished he’d never heard of her. Wished he’d never hired her, for God’s sake.

But another part of him knew that wasn’t completely true. She might be an attractive woman who was affecting him in all the wrong ways. She might have let her partner down in a crisis. But she was still a cop. A cop who’d been cut down in the line of duty and needed a chance to get back on her feet.

Frowning, Nick crossed to his desk, but he didn’t sit. His temper was still lit, but he knew it would be wrong of him to take it out on Erin. He didn’t know all the details of what she’d gone through. Frank had told him the shooting wasn’t directly her fault—she’d followed procedure for the most part. But her momentary hesitation had cost her—and her partner—dearly. The ensuing Internal Affairs investigation irrevocably damaged her career. She’d lost her confidence. In the end, she’d resigned voluntarily, to keep herself from getting fired.

“I hope this doesn’t affect your decision about hiring me,” she said.

He turned and looked at her, taking in the rigid shoulders. The high chin. The gaze that was level and a little too intense. His chest tightened uncomfortably when he realized it was taking most of her nerve just to maintain eye contact. Whatever happened in that warehouse had taken a heavy toll on her. She blamed herself, he realized. Nick knew firsthand how easy it was to accept blame when the real culprit wasn’t able to.

“This isn’t going to work out if you can’t handle being around the wheelchair,” he said.

“I can handle it.”

“You sure about that?”

“It just…caught me off guard. I didn’t mean to upset her.”

“I don’t think she noticed. But she’s sensitive about her handicap. I don’t want it to happen again.”

“It won’t.” Guilt shimmered in the depths of Erin’s eyes. “I overreacted. I’m sorry.”

Once again, Nick couldn’t take his eyes off her. She gazed steadily at him, her green eyes dark against her pale complexion. Relief flashed through him when he realized she wasn’t a crier. Female tears were the one thing he’d never handled well. Thank God he didn’t have to deal with that heaped on top of those bottomless, troubled eyes and soft mouth.

“We don’t have time to discuss this right now,” he said. “But you owe me a more detailed explanation.”

A breath shuddered out of her. “I know.”

He glanced toward the door, beyond which Stephanie waited. He’d always been protective of his daughter. Especially since the car accident three years ago that had taken her mother from her and injured her spine. As of late, it seemed his protective instinct had grown into something even Nick couldn’t control.

“I need to take her home,” he said. “You can ride along. Then we’ll start our shift, and we can talk.”

“Look, Nick, I’m a good cop—”

“This has nothing to do with whether or not you’re a good cop. The question is whether or not you’re ready to return to the field.”

“I’m ready,” she snapped.

He contemplated her, trying not to notice the way the sunlight brought out the red in her hair and made it shine like Oriental silk. Damn her for complicating things by being a woman. Damn him for noticing.

“I hope you’re right,” he said, and headed toward the door.

Erin watched Nick scoop his daughter out of the wheelchair and settle her onto the back seat of the Suburban, where he strapped her in place. He didn’t speak, didn’t even look at Erin as he folded the wheelchair and stowed it in the rear. Crossing in front of the truck, he slid behind the wheel and started the engine.

Erin got in beside him, hating that she’d reacted to the wheelchair so intensely. She’d thought the flashbacks were over. But the moment she saw Stephanie’s wheelchair, the night of the shooting had rushed back like a deluge of rancid floodwater. The man on the catwalk. The blue steel of a gun. The split-second hesitation that would haunt her the rest of her life.

Shoving the memory aside, she leaned back in her seat and gazed out the window, determined not to let the incident shake her. So she’d overreacted. If Erin had learned anything in the last several months, it was that she couldn’t change what was already done. Another mistake heaped on top of a dozen others wasn’t going to make a difference now.

Two slow, deep breaths and her nerves began to calm. For the first time since she’d climbed into the truck, she noticed the scenery outside her window as they drove toward Nick’s house. She’d never lived in a small town before, but had fallen in love with Logan Falls the moment she’d arrived. Surrounded by endless fields of corn and wheat, neat white farmhouses and pastures dotted with cattle, Logan Falls was a typical Midwestern town. Cobblestone streets and brick storefronts distinguished the downtown area. A silver-roofed bell tower graced the top of the courthouse. Across the street, a fountain punctuated the center of the business traffic loop. Beyond, a redbrick school surrounded by maples and stately oak trees separated the downtown area from a well-kept residential neighborhood.

They rode in silence to a more rural area, the only sound coming from the occasional crackle of Nick’s police radio. In the back seat, Stephanie stared out the window, her face pulled into a sullen mask Erin couldn’t begin to read.

“It looks like Mrs. Thornsberry’s home.”

Nick’s voice jerked Erin from her reverie. She looked over at him just as he turned the Suburban down a gravel drive lined on both sides by a white rail fence. Ahead, a white frame house with black shutters and a wraparound porch beckoned. Erin wasn’t sure where she’d expected Nick Ryan to live, but it wasn’t here. The home spread out before her looked like a happy place where children played and adults barbecued in the backyard. But on closer inspection, she noticed the signs that no children had played in this yard for quite some time. A swing set sat like an abandoned ship in a sea of lush grass. A basketball hoop mounted above the garage door was rusty, its netting torn and swinging in the breeze.

Erin smiled when she noticed the spotted horse grazing next to the rail fence. “Whose horse?” she asked, hoping to land on a subject that would brighten Stephanie’s mood.

“That’s Bandito,” the little girl replied. “He’s an Appaloosa.”

“He’s beautiful,” Erin said. “Do you ride?”

“I used to be in 4-H and show in western pleasure and trail.” Stephanie sighed. “But I don’t anymore.”

“How come?”

A sound of disgust emanated from the back seat. “As if you haven’t noticed, my legs aren’t exactly strong enough to stay in the stirrups.”

Turning in her seat, Erin smiled at her. “Have you ever heard of therapeutic horseback riding?”

The little girl studied her with soft, intelligent eyes that held a lot more interest than she was letting on with her responses. “No.”

“That’s where kids with disabilities ride horses, work out their muscles and, basically, have a lot of fun.”

“My dad says we’re going to retire Bandito.”

Erin risked a look at Nick. “Have you checked with her doc—”

“Steph is concentrating most of her time on physical therapy,” Nick said firmly, then looked in the rearview mirror and smiled at her. “Aren’t you, honeybunch?”

“Yeah, but I still miss Bandito,” she said.

Deciding it might be a good idea to steer the conversation away from the riding aspect of horse ownership, Erin tried another approach. “Well, since you don’t ride anymore, Steph, maybe you could just show him to me one of these days.”

“Bandito doesn’t like strangers,” the little girl said.

Nick shot his daughter another look in the rearview mirror as he parked the truck. “That’s enough, Steph. Deputy McNeal is trying to be friendly.”

“Well, she keeps asking dumb questions.”

He shut down the engine and opened his door, terminating a conversation Erin wished she’d never started. She got out of the truck, and watched as Nick unloaded the wheelchair. He opened the rear passenger door, scooped the little girl into his arms and set her in the chair.

“I don’t mind waiting out here,” Erin said quickly, when he started for the house.

Nick paused and frowned at her. “You may as well come in. Mrs. Thornsberry will want to meet you.”

“Mrs. Thornsberry?”

“Stephanie’s nanny.”

“Oh.” Feeling awkward, Erin fell into step beside him as he wheeled his daughter toward the front door. Being a cop in Logan Falls was definitely going to be different than being a cop in Chicago.

The farmhouse was set on several acres. A big maple tree shaded the side yard. Beyond, a small barn with Dutch doors and an adjacent circular pen stood as if in testimony that Bandito had once led a very busy life. The fact that Stephanie no longer rode her horse bothered Erin. Childhood was precious and she didn’t want to see this little girl miss out on any of it.

The front door swung open. “Nick? Stephanie? For goodness sakes, what are you doing home this time of day?” A short, round woman with graying hair and bifocals greeted them with a maternal smile. “Do we have a guest?”

“This is Deputy McNeal.” Nick looked at Erin. “This is Mrs. Thornsberry.”

Relief trembled through Erin that Stephanie and Nick had a strong woman in their lives. Mrs. Thornsberry wasn’t a day under seventy, but Erin could tell the instant they made eye contact that the woman was anything but frail. Mrs. Thornsberry might be only five feet tall, but behind that gentle facade and favorite-aunt voice lay the compassion and wisdom of a grandmother, and the iron will of a five-star general.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Erin said sincerely.

Mrs. Thornsberry’s gaze was unwavering. “Welcome to Logan Falls.” Her eyes settled on Stephanie, and she frowned. “Why aren’t you in school, young lady?”

The little girl concentrated on her sneakers.

Nick squeezed his daughter’s shoulder. “She showed up at the station. Said she wanted to ride with me today.”

“Cutting class again, more like it.” Though the nanny’s voice was firm, Erin didn’t miss the thinly concealed sympathy in it. Mrs. Thornsberry swung the door wide and walked back into the house. “Grab Steph’s book bag, will you?” she said over her shoulder to Erin.

Erin lifted the book bag from Stephanie’s lap.

Nick shot her a small, covert smile. “I think you passed inspection.”

“I take it that’s good?” Erin said.

“Took Hector a few tries.”

Without waiting for a response, he pushed the wheelchair over the custom-made threshold. Erin followed with the book bag.

The first thing she noticed was the aroma of home-cooked food. Frank Sinatra’s silky voice filled the air. The furniture was older, but of fine quality. A comfortable-looking sofa and matching easy chair sat in a grouping across from a console TV. In the dining room beyond, a sewing machine and bundles of fabric covered the length of the dinner table.

“You caught me mending,” Mrs. Thornsberry said. “Stephanie, I expect you have homework.” Without missing a beat she turned to Nick and looked at him over her bifocals. “Shall I call the principal this time, or do you want to?”

He grimaced. “I took care of it.”

“Are you going to take her back to school?” the nanny asked.

“She wants to stay home today,” he said.

“She’s missed an awful lot this year.”

“I’ll see about getting her assignments, Em.”

Nodding, Mrs. Thornsberry turned to Erin. “Would you like coffee?”

“We can’t stay,” Nick interjected.

“Oh, come now, Chief. Don’t put me off. I just made a fresh pot of that hazelnut stuff.”

“I don’t have any homework,” Stephanie complained.

Mrs. Thornsberry clucked her tongue. “Then why don’t you go into your room and write me a nice letter explaining why you left school without permission again, honey?”

Stephanie rolled her eyes.

“I’ll bring you some milk and cookies in a bit,” the nanny finished. “Do you take cream, Deputy McNeal?”

The woman switched topics so effortlessly, it took Erin a moment to realize she was speaking to her. “Call me Erin,” she said. “Cream would be fine. Thank you.”

Stephanie turned her wheelchair and started down the hall. Something warm jumped in Erin’s chest when Nick followed, stooping to kiss his daughter’s cheek. “Do as Mrs. T. asks, Steph,” he said softly. “I’ll be home in time for dinner.”

The little girl looked at him from beneath long lashes. “Will you teach me how to play chess tonight?”

“You already know how to play chess.” He touched her cheek with his knuckles. “You beat the pants off me last time.”

She grinned. “I’ll let you win.”

“Deal.” Nick held out his hand, and she gave him a high five.

“’Kay.” The little girl wheeled toward her room.

Erin couldn’t help but feel she’d intruded on a private moment, but she hadn’t been able to look away. The grimfaced police chief who’d berated her just half an hour earlier seemed incongruous with the father who dealt so gently with this child.

She was still staring when he turned toward her. The warmth in her chest spread when his gaze met hers. For an instant, she thought she’d never seen a man look so sad.

“Hell of a way for you to spend your first morning on the job,” he said.

“It’s okay,” she replied, realizing the situation was probably just as uncomfortable for him.

“I should tell you up front that most of my deputies have picked Stephanie up at one time or another.” He grimaced. “She’s been cutting school. Most times, I’m around. But if I’m not, I expect whoever’s on duty to drive her home.”

“I’ll be happy to drive her home when you’re not around.”

“Steph’s a good kid. She’s just going through a tough time right now.”

“How old is she?”

“She’ll be nine on Saturday.”

Erin didn’t have any idea what kind of birthday gift a nine-year-old girl would want, but knew she wanted to get her something. Anything to bring some joy—no matter how minute—into that little girl’s life.

“How long has she been cutting school?” she asked.

“About a year.”

Remembering he didn’t wear a ring, she said, “Divorce is tough on kids, but they’re amazingly resilient.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “I’m a widower.”

The shadow in his eyes came and went so quickly, Erin wasn’t sure she’d seen it at all. Appalled by her blunder, she cringed. “I’m sorry. I just assumed—”

“It’s a common assumption. Don’t sweat it.”

Considering Nick was a widower, Stephanie’s behavior took on a whole new light. A pang went through Erin when she thought of her own mother, and how lonely a young girl could be growing up without one.

“Here’s your coffee.”

Erin looked up, relieved to see Mrs. Thornsberry coming from the kitchen with a tray. The coffee smelled like heaven.

“Thank you,” she said, accepting her cup.

“Did you invite Erin to Stephanie’s party on Saturday, Chief?” the nanny asked.

Nick shot the older woman a warning look over the rim of his cup. “No.”

Judging from his expression, Erin deduced he wasn’t necessarily glad the nanny had brought up the subject. Erin couldn’t blame him, after the way she’d reacted to his daughter’s wheelchair. Besides, she didn’t know any of them well enough to expect to get invited to a party. Vowing not to take it personally, she moved to let him off the hook. “I’ll probably be tied up unpacking—”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Thornsberry said. “It will be a good opportunity for you to get to know Stephanie and Nick. Hector will be here, too. We’d like you to come—”

“She’s going to be on duty, Em,” Nick interjected.

Mrs. Thornsberry barely spared him a glance. “Well, maybe you can stop in for a piece of cake after your shift.”

Nick’s cell phone chirped. Murmuring a quick apology, he set his cup on the dining room table, tugged the phone from his pocket and answered with a curt utterance of his name.

“When?” he asked sharply.

His tone caught Erin’s attention, and she set her own cup on the table.

“I’ll be right there.” Shoving the phone back into his pocket, he turned to Erin. “We’ve got an emergency call.”

Chapter 3

Nick sprinted to the truck and jerked open the door. Emergency calls didn’t come often, but when they did, he took them very seriously. Sliding behind the wheel, he snatched up the radio mike. “What do you have, dispatch?”

Vaguely, he was aware of Erin settling into the passenger seat beside him, strands of hair streaming out of her bun. Hell of a thing for him to be thinking about when he should have his mind on the voice coming over the mike.

“Code three at the Brass Rail Saloon,” the dispatcher’s voice said. “Robbery in progress.”

“That’s the second time in two weeks. Who called it in?”

“Passerby saw a white male in a blue shirt kick in the front door.”

“Well, that’s real subtle.” He started the Suburban and slammed it into gear. Dust and gravel spewed into the air as he sped down the driveway. “Put out a call to the sheriff’s office,” he barked into the mike. “Tell Hector to put on his vest and get over there, too. No one goes inside. I’m on my way.” Once on the highway, he flipped on his emergency lights, no siren, and floored the accelerator.

“Juvenile delinquents?” Erin asked. “Domestic disputes?”

He looked over to see her strapping on her seat belt. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide and alert. She looked excited. He wasn’t sure that was a good sign. “Same place got hit last week,” he said. “Patrick doesn’t make his bank drops as often as he should. He lost over two thousand dollars. The perp carried a cannon.”

“Are we going to go in?” she asked.

“I’m going to assess the situation.”

“They could be gone by the time—”

“I’ll go in if I think it’s warranted.”

“I’ll cover you.”

“I want you to stay in the truck.” He whipped the vehicle around a corner at breakneck speed. “I want this low-key. No one gets hurt.”

“You might need me to back you—”

“This isn’t Chicago, McNeal.”

“Last I heard perps with guns weren’t limited to Chicago.”

He glanced away from his driving and glared at her. He could almost feel the excitement coming off her. Uneasiness swirled in his gut. “If you’ve got something to prove, I suggest you do it elsewhere.”

“I’m sure this will come as a shock, but I know what I’m doing.”

“Why don’t you prove it by following my orders?”

Nick ran the traffic light at Main Street. He’d wondered when her ego would enter the picture. He wondered what he was going to do about it. Damn, he didn’t need this headache.

The Brass Rail Saloon was at the end of the block. He pulled into the side lot of the adjacent building, out of sight. Dust billowed as the truck came to a halt. “Stay put, McNeal,” he snapped. Pulling his revolver from his holster, he shoved open the door and hit the ground running.

The initial burst of adrenaline had kicked through Erin’s veins the instant she heard the call come over the police radio. Now, as she watched Nick sprint across the parking lot toward the rear of the bar, she struggled to keep her frustration in check.

If you’ve got something to prove, I suggest you do it elsewhere.

That he’d ordered her to stay in the truck stung. She told herself he’d misjudged her. Just because she wasn’t afraid to jump into a fray didn’t mean she was overzealous. She merely liked police work. That heady rush that came with danger. The euphoria that followed an arrest that had been successful because of skill and police know-how. Nick didn’t know her well enough to make blanket assumptions. She didn’t have anything to prove—not to herself, certainly not to Nick Ryan.

Frustration choked her as she watched him disappear around the rear of the building. “Oh, this is just peachy,” she muttered.

In her peripheral vision, she saw a car turn into the front lot. Not a sheriff’s department vehicle, but an old Ford with wide tires and a loud engine. Erin held her breath as the vehicle stopped directly in front of the bar. The driver got out and looked around. He was the size of a bull and just as mean looking. An alarm jangled in her head when she spotted the butt of a pistol sticking out of the waistband of his jeans.

She told herself it was tension that had her hands shaking. But she knew intimately the many faces of fear. The heady rush of blood. The jitter of nerves. The coppery taste at the back of her throat.

It took her all of two seconds to realize she wasn’t going to sit in the truck when there was an armed suspect in plain sight. Slipping her gun from her holster, she unlatched the door and stepped out of the vehicle. Adrenaline hummed through her muscles as she jogged to the building and pressed herself against the brick exterior. Except for the old Ford, the lot was empty. Nick was nowhere in sight.

Sticking close to the brick, she eased along the side of the building. The gun felt heavy in her hand. Sweat slicked her palm. Her heart beat out of control in her chest. She felt the flashback coming on and fought it, but the images rushed at her, playing in her mind’s eye like a bad video. Danny lying bound and helpless. The blast of a gunshot. The smell of gunpowder and fear. Pain so sharp it took her breath.

Panting rapidly, sweating beneath her uniform, she shook off the memory, steeling herself against the deluge of emotions that followed. Not now. Not when Nick was relying on her. She couldn’t let him down. Not like she had Danny.

Movement at the front of the tavern drew her attention. A second man had emerged from the front door carrying a brown paper bag. Nick’s words rang in the back of her mind. She wondered if his orders included letting two armed suspects get away. On the other hand, two armed men against a single cop wasn’t something she felt comfortable with—especially knowing what had happened the last time she’d faced those odds. She didn’t have backup. She was still a probationary officer. She hadn’t even been issued cuffs yet. But there was no way she could stand back and let them walk away with a bagful of money and the knowledge that they’d outsmarted two small-town cops. Erin figured she didn’t have a choice but to stop them.

Heart pounding, she sidled toward the front of the building and waited. When the men started for the car, she stepped into view. “Police!” she shouted. “Drop your weapons!”

The driver spun, glaring at her with rodent-like eyes. He snarled a profanity, making no move to relinquish his gun.

“Drop it!” she shouted. “Now!”

He shot a look at his partner and muttered something, but Erin couldn’t hear him over the thunder of blood in her ears.

“I didn’t do nothin’,” he spat.

“Drop the gun!”

He tossed the weapon on the gravel. “You’re makin’ a mistake.”

“Get your hands where I can see them,” she snapped.

Lips peeled back in a snarl, he raised his hands.

“Get on the ground! Facedown! Now!”

Muttering an oath, the man got down on his knees, then eased himself facedown on the gravel. Erin edged closer and kicked his gun away.

She turned to the second man. “You, too. On the ground.”

He sneered at her. “What you gonna do if I decide I’d rather take my chances with you, lady cop?”

“Make you regret it,” she said.

Never taking his eyes from her, he lowered himself to the ground and lay flat.

Relief vibrated through her. Lowering her weapon, she stepped back. Where in the world was Nick? The sheriff’s deputies? Where was Hector? Without backup, there wasn’t much she could do to subdue these men if one of them decided to test her. Cursing under her breath, she glanced over her shoulder toward the building where the Suburban was parked.

An instant later a hard body slammed into her with the force of a Mack truck. Erin’s breath left her lungs in a rush. Dread and surprise punched her with sickening force when she realized her mistake. Oh, God, the second man. He’d moved so quickly she hadn’t even heard him get up.

The impact of his body sent her reeling. Her legs tangled with his and she sprawled on her back, her head cracking against the ground, hard enough to make her see stars. A dozen scenarios raced through her mind, the worst being that he would get control of her weapon. She couldn’t let that happen. If Nick showed up now… No, she couldn’t bear the thought of another cop getting hurt because of her.

Feeling his weight come down on top of her, Erin lashed out with her boots. She smelled sweat. Bad breath. Her right heel connected with his shin. He cursed and grabbed for her gun. She gripped her pistol tightly, tried to wedge it between them, but he was stronger, and no matter how much training she’d had she couldn’t keep him from overpowering her. Refusing to acquiesce, she wrenched free and rolled. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the other man scramble to his feet. Her attacker made it to his knees, but Erin was quicker. She dropped into a shooter’s stance. “Halt! Police officer! I’ll shoot!”

Both men froze. The second man raised his hands. “I’m cool.”

The driver glared at Erin. She was shaken, but by the looks of him, so was he. For several seconds they just stood there, breathing hard, staring at each other.

“Get on the ground!” Nick’s deadly calm voice snapped through the air like a gunshot.

Relief poured through Erin with such force that for a moment she didn’t trust her legs. Blinking the sweat from her eyes, she looked over her shoulder and saw Nick standing less than ten feet away, his weapon leveled on the man who’d attacked her. Hector Price and two deputies from the sheriff’s department flanked him.

“We’ll take it from here, McNeal,” Nick growled.

Trembling violently with the aftereffects of high adrenaline, Erin turned away and holstered her revolver. She heard the sound of handcuffs clicking into place. In the distance, someone recited the Miranda rights. Nausea roiled in her gut. Well, that hadn’t ever happened before. Afraid she was going to be sick, she started for Nick’s truck. It was silly, but she didn’t want him to see her like this. Not when she was raw and shaking and still scared half out of her wits.

“McNeal.”

Her nerves jumped at the anger in his voice. What in the world did he have to be mad about? She’d just bagged two armed suspects for him, and probably saved his neck to boot.

“In a minute, Chief.” She’d intended for her voice to come out stronger, but it shook like plucked guitar wire.

“Now, McNeal.”

Sighing, she stopped but didn’t turn around. Just a few more seconds and she’d be steadier. She drew a deep breath, willing her hands to stop shaking. Behind her, she heard Nick approach. Her nerves wound tighter. Lord, why couldn’t he give her a moment to pull herself together?

Slowly, she turned, realizing how it must feel to face a firing squad. “I can see from the look on your face you’re not going to thank me,” she said.

His eyes raked her like sharp instruments as he drew nearer. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

He stopped less than a foot away—so close she could feel the heat of his anger mingling with the heady aroma of male sweat and aftershave. By the looks of him, she was in for a major butt-chewing.

“Good,” he snapped. “Because you’ve got two minutes to explain to me what the hell you were trying to pull.”

Nick wasn’t sure if he wanted to throttle her on the spot or embrace her for bringing down two suspects twice her size single-handedly—even if she had done it by the skin of her teeth. He wasn’t sure of a whole hell of a lot at the moment because his own adrenaline had yet to ebb. The only thing he knew for certain was that she looked shaken and vulnerable and tough all at once, and he wasn’t sure which facet ticked him off the most. To top things off she looked way too good in that blue uniform with her flushed cheeks and red-brown hair tumbling over her shoulders like strands of tangled silk.

“I told you to stay in the truck, not to take down two armed suspects like some kind of female Rambo,” he said.

“I wasn’t going to let two thugs get away in the name of decorum. I’m sorry if that ticks you off, Chief, but I don’t operate that way.”

“You’re a probationary officer, McNeal. You haven’t even filled out your forms and already you’re jumping on suspects.”

“I backed you up.”

“You disobeyed a direct order.”

“I used my best judgment,” she retorted. “Where in the hell were you?”

“The guy in the rear kept me a little too busy to baby-sit you.”

Anger flared in her eyes. “I’m a trained police officer.”

“You’re a loose cannon.”

Her wince was almost imperceptible, but Nick saw it and knew he’d hit a nerve. His temper wouldn’t let him back off. “I won’t have you taking risks and endangering yourself and everyone else because you have something to prove.”

“Maybe you’d rather Steph lost her other parent in there!”

The words struck him dead center. Nick felt himself recoil. Emotionally. Physically. He tried to squelch the reaction. He didn’t want her to know she’d struck a geyser of guilt than ran a mile deep in his heart. He didn’t want her to know he felt the depth of that guilt every time he looked at his daughter and saw that wheelchair.

“Don’t push me, McNeal,” he warned. “You’ll lose.”

She blinked, as if her own words had shocked her. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for—”

“Frank warned me about that killer instinct of yours.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Sure you did. Don’t lessen the impact by trying to take it back now. Go for the jugular. That’s your style, isn’t it?”

“You don’t have a clue what my style is.”

He tried to curb the anger building in his chest, but it had already gotten away from him. He knew he was overreacting, but this woman had a way of pushing all the wrong buttons. “You like stepping a little too close to the edge, don’t you, McNeal?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You got a death wish or something?” he asked.

“That’s a ridiculous question.”

“Maybe you’re trying to make up for something you did or didn’t do in that warehouse six months ago.”

Her entire body jolted. “Go to hell.”

Before he realized he was going to touch her, Nick took her arm and guided her to the truck, away from the curious eyes of his deputies and the crowd that had gathered in front of the bar. “You weren’t straight with me.”

“I never lied to you.”

“Don’t spew semantics at me. Your head being screwed up over that shooting was bad enough. But your little penchant for taking risks is a disaster waiting to happen.”

“You’re overreacting—”

“I always overreact when someone lies to me. It ticks me off!”

“I reacted like a cop, Nick. I did what I thought was right.”

“Did you even bother to think that we didn’t have backup? That you didn’t have cuffs? That the suspect could have had another weapon in his freaking sock? That a civilian could have been shot in that scuffle?”

“Of course I did! I considered all those things.”

Nick stopped when they reached the truck. “When I tell you to do something, you’d better do it. And I mean down to the letter. You got that?”

“I disarmed two dangerous suspects. I backed you up.”

“You walked into a dangerous situation half-cocked. If we’re going to work together, I’ve got to be able to trust you, McNeal. As it is now, I don’t. I sure as hell don’t trust your judgment.”

“My judgment bagged two suspects—”

“You’re not ready to return to the field!” Nick’s hands shook with rage. He was unreasonably angry. He saw it clearly, but couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to analyze the reaction she’d unleashed inside him. He didn’t want to name its source. But it hit close to home, and he felt it like a bad piece of meat stuck in his gullet, rotting him from the inside out.

He stared at her, the only sounds coming from their labored breathing and the traffic on Commerce Street. The realization of what she was struck him like a blow. Erin was a risk taker. An adrenaline junkie. After the way she’d put herself on the line just now, he wouldn’t be far off the mark if he called her reckless. Nick couldn’t deal with recklessness. Not after Rita. Not after the havoc her death had wreaked on his life and the life of his little girl.

Releasing Erin abruptly, he stepped back, stunned by the depth of his rage. “I want a full report on my desk, then I want you to clean out your locker.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a smart woman. You figure it out.”

Incredulity filled her gaze. “You can’t fire me.”

“I just did.”

She stared at him, her breasts rising and falling beneath her uniform as she sucked in oxygen.

“If you want to get yourself killed, do it on someone else’s time, because I won’t have any part in it. I don’t care whose niece you are.” Without giving her time to respond, he turned on his heel and stalked away.

Erin was still shaking when she opened the door to her apartment and let herself in. She told herself she wasn’t upset. That Nick’s harsh words hadn’t shaken her. That she didn’t need this job. She sure didn’t need Nick Ryan.

She couldn’t believe he’d fired her!

He’d overreacted, she assured herself. He couldn’t handle the reality of a woman in a dangerous job. Just like Assistant District Attorney Warren Prentice all those years ago—a man Erin had given her heart to, only to have him hand it back to her in shreds because he couldn’t accept her being a cop. The parallel left a rank taste in her mouth.

Nick had no right to come down on her so hard just because she’d taken a calculated risk. But deep down inside Erin wondered if there was a kernel of truth behind his accusations. If the underlying guilt she’d been fighting for months had compelled her to act recklessly.

I won’t have you taking risks and endangering yourself and everyone else because you have something to prove.

His words rang uncomfortably in her ears as she stepped into the foyer and shut the door behind her. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the jamb and told herself he was wrong. She didn’t have anything to prove. She didn’t have anything to feel guilty about. Damn Nick Ryan and his Freudian cop psychology, anyway.

Shoving away from the door, she walked into the living room, trying not to notice the empty moving boxes, or the aches that had crept into her bones since her scuffle with the suspect an hour ago. He hadn’t looked that big, but he’d hit her solidly. Not hard enough to cause serious injury, but hard enough to hurt, and she was feeling every single bruise.

Packing could wait, she decided. A handful of aspirin and a hot bath couldn’t. If she didn’t soak now, by morning she’d be too stiff to move. And she definitely needed to be able to move, since she’d be lugging boxes to her car and driving back to Chicago.

Gingerly, she unbuckled her holster and dropped it on the coffee table, then toed off her boots. Lowering herself onto the sofa, she eased off her uniform shirt and checked the scrape that ran from her elbow to the top of her shoulder. The abrasion was shallow, but deep enough to ooze blood and burn like the dickens.

“Just what you need, McNeal,” she muttered. “Another scar.” Ignoring the pain, she unclasped her bra and slipped it off, draping it over the arm of the sofa. She should have let Nick take the hit. Maybe he would appreciate her a little more if he knew that tussle had cost her a couple of layers of skin.

Pulling off her belt, she rose and headed toward the bathroom. She turned on the tap, tossed an herbal cube under the spout and stepped out of her uniform trousers. The aroma of lavender filled the air. She breathed in deeply and felt herself begin to relax. Adjusting the water temperature, she stepped into the tub and sank down to her chin. The abrasions protested, the cut on her knee came to life, but her muscles purred. Sighing, she closed her eyes. After surviving the proverbial day from hell, she knew it didn’t get any better than this.

She’d just begun to drift when the doorbell blasted. Erin opened her eyes and blew out a sigh. Who would be at her door when she didn’t know a soul in the entire town aside from Nick and Hector?

The doorbell rang again.

“Just a minute!” Climbing out of the tub, she toweled off quickly, shrugged into her robe and padded barefoot to the front door. She looked through the peephole and felt her heart nose-dive into her stomach. Nick stood on the other side, still in uniform, looking as grim as when she’d left him.

An odd sense of uncertainty jolted her. Turning away, she pressed her hand to her stomach to keep it from jumping. She glanced down at her robe. It was modest enough, but not something she wanted to be seen in by her boss—well, ex-boss in this case—especially since he’d probably stopped by to give her an exit interview she wouldn’t soon forget.

“McNeal, I know you’re in there,” he said through the door. “We need to talk.”

Determined to get through this with as much dignity as possible, she put her hand on the knob. She didn’t give a hoot if the almighty Nick Ryan saw her in her robe. If he had a problem with that, to hell with him.

She took two deep breaths and yanked open the door.

Erin McNeal wrapped in a terry cloth robe and smelling like freshly cut flowers was the last thing Nick expected. He stood frozen, shocked speechless by her transformation from cop to woman. All the while his brain floundered to form a coherent thought that didn’t have to do with soft skin or curves he knew better than to notice. He may as well have been splitting atoms for all the success he had.

She’d pinned her hair on top of her head, and dark, wet wisps clung to the creamy flesh of her neck. His eyes wanted to roam lower, but he quickly stopped the urge. He preferred not to know this woman had the kind of cleavage that could drive a man slowly insane. He held her gaze, vaguely aware of the color rising in her cheeks, feeling that same heat burn the back of his neck. He refused to think about what the sight of all those curves was doing to the rest of his body.

“I didn’t mean to get you out of the tub,” he said.

Her throat quivered when she swallowed. “I thought about not answering the door, but figured we ought to get this over with.”

“If this is a bad time, I can come back.”

She cocked her head. “If the robe bothers you, Chief, I can throw on my jeans. I think the outcome of this meeting will be the same either way.”

Nick didn’t want to think about her in jeans. Not when she was standing before him with water glistening on her flesh and his body humming with interest. After three years, why did it have to be this woman to remind him that he was still a man, with a man’s needs?

“I’ll make this short, then,” he said.

“I’d appreciate that. Do you want to come in?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Look, if you came here to finish firing me, the least you can do is come in.”

“I didn’t come here to fire you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I thought you were under the impression that I was a loose cannon and a threat to the inhabitants of Logan Falls and mankind in general.”

Nick couldn’t help smiling. He dropped his gaze, only to find himself staring at her toes. Unfortunately, they were every bit as sexy as the rest of her.

He raised his eyes to hers. “You weren’t the only one who overreacted today.”

“Is that your idea of an apology?”

“Save it, McNeal. I may have overreacted, but you were out of line. I won’t tolerate it.” Hearing movement behind him, Nick turned to see Mrs. Newman, the town gossip, pause outside the adjacent apartment with a bag of groceries in her arms. She gazed at him for a moment, then peered into Erin’s apartment with unconcealed curiosity. Terrific, he thought, this ought to get the tongues wagging.

Erin noticed and moved aside. “Do you want to come in?”

“I can’t stay.” He stepped into her apartment, realizing belatedly it would have been smarter for him to have handled the situation over the phone.

Turning away, Erin walked into the living room. Nick followed, struggling not to feel awkward—failing miserably—and trying in vain not to notice the curve of her backside beneath that robe.

The apartment was small, with high windows and gauzy curtains that ushered in ribbons of yellow sunlight. The furniture was outdated, but functional. Nothing frilly for Erin McNeal. No photographs or mementos. It didn’t surprise him she wasn’t neat. She’d barely unpacked, and already there was a hint of feminine clutter. A towel tossed haphazardly over a box. Her boots lay next to the sofa, where she’d kicked them off. He spotted her holster on the coffee table. Then his gaze stopped on the scrap of lace draped over the sofa arm. Her bra, Nick realized. The same one he’d noticed through her blouse the first time he’d seen her. No, he thought, coming here hadn’t been a good idea at all.

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