Cops And...Lovers? (9 page)

"An impatient driver. Road rage." She shrugged. "Maybe he was drunk."

"He? The driver was male?"

"I think so. I only saw a silhouette, but it didn't look female."

"You mentioned a passenger earlier. Are you sure?"

She nodded. "I'm sure."

"We don't get much road rage here in
Logan
Falls
." Nick grimaced. "I talked to several witnesses at the scene. Every one of them said it seemed deliberate. Do you agree?"

"Maybe. I don't know. It happened pretty fast."

 
"Is there any reason why someone might want to hurt you?"

The question made the hairs at her nape stand on end. "What are you getting at?"

Leaning back in the chair, he gazed steadily at her. "You were a cop for nine years. Cops make enemies. Some criminals have long memories."

Erin
knew the possibility was there—she'd busted plenty of thugs over the years, and made plenty of enemies back in
Chicago
. She couldn't rule out the possibility, but she didn't believe it, either. "The thought of some thug bent on revenge following me all the way to Logan Falls just to run me down at a school crosswalk—and miss—seems unlikely, Nick."

"Probably. Still, it's something we have to consider. From now on I want you to be aware of what's going on around you at all times—"

 
"I'm always aware of my surroundings," she interrupted. "I'm a cop, remember?"

"You're not invincible. You know better than to not take this seriously."

"I'll take it seriously. But I still think you're overreacting."

"Just covering all my bases."

"Contrary to what you might think of me, I know how to take care of myself."

"That's why you've got a knot the size of
Texas
on your head."

Irritated that he was undermining her efforts to convince him that she could handle herself,
Erin
rose abruptly. A curse escaped her when the throbbing pain in her head sent her back down. "Ouch. This is annoying."

Nick was by her side instantly. His hand hovered over her shoulder, but he didn't touch her. "I should have told the doc to keep you," he growled, dropping his hands to his sides.

"Just a headache," she said. "As long as I don't start speaking in tongues or tell you I've been picked up by space aliens, I should be okay. Think you could fish another aspirin out of that bottle?"

Frowning, he picked up the bottle, tapped an aspirin into his palm and passed it to her. "If the headache isn't gone in twenty minutes, I'm taking you back to the hospital."

"Like that's going to happen."
Erin
took the aspirin and drank half the water. In her peripheral vision she saw Nick head toward the hall. Relieved, she set the water on the coffee table, leaned against the sofa back and closed her eyes.

"Okay, McNeal, I want you on your back."

She opened one eye to see him lugging her pillow, and comforter from her bedroom. "You're kidding, right?"

He looked down at the comforter in his arms. "Do I look like I'm kidding?" He set the pillow against the sofa arm. "Lie down."

"But—"

"That's an order."

Rolling her eyes to hide her discomfiture, she eased the robe from her shoulders. "Do you do this for all your deputies, Chief?"

"Only the ones who take on a ton of steel moving at forty miles an hour."

Easing the robe out from under her, she leaned back into the pillow, realizing just how badly she needed to lie down. "You know, Chief, you wouldn't make a bad nurse."

"Don't push your luck." Taking her robe, he draped the comforter over her. "You were damn lucky today. This could have turned out—" Nick froze, his eyes narrowing on her exposed right shoulder.

Erin
realized her mistake an instant too late.

The scar.

Oh, God. He'd seen the scar.

Chapter 5

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T
he sight of the scar froze him in place. It started on the outside edge of her shoulder and ran in a jagged line toward her collarbone. Not the work of a surgeon, but the violent action of a bullet and an emergency room doctor's frantic efforts to stop serious bleeding, he imagined.

Nick saw her stiffen, realizing belatedly he'd been staring. She jerked the comforter up to her chin, gripping the edge tightly. What was the matter with him? She was obviously self-conscious about the scar. He was only making things worse by sticking around and prolonging this. But he couldn't take back what he'd seen. As a fellow cop—and her superior—he damn well couldn't refrain from asking her about it.

He raised his gaze to hers, seeing far too clearly what she was feeling. "That's not the first time I've seen a scar from a bullet would, McNeal."

"It's the first time you've seen mine." She looked away, no longer the tough-talking cop with a war story, but a woman faced with a disfiguring scar. "It's ugly."

The contrast between woman and cop struck him. As he watched the emotions scroll across her features, a fierce protectiveness rose up inside him. He couldn't let her statement stand, he realized. Even if the scar was bad, he wanted her to know it didn't detract from her in any way. Not as a cop. Certainly not as a woman. "It's nothing to be ashamed of," he said gently.

"How do you know?" she snapped.

The ice in her voice surprised him. Nick pulled in a breath, realizing for the first time the depth of her emotional wounds—and how little he knew about that night.

"You want to tell me what you mean by that?" he asked. A dry smile curved her mouth. "Are you asking as my superior who needs to gauge my frame of mind, or as a friend, Nick?"

"How about a little of both?"

Sighing, she pulled one of the throw pillows against her and frowned at him. "I got hit the same night Danny Perrine was shot. Bullets do a hell of a number on flesh. End of story."

"I already know that, but why the guilt? Why won't you talk to me?"

She shot him a dark look. "I don't want to get into this. Not now."

"We work together. I need to be able to trust you. I deserve an explanation."

She looked down at her hands, stilled them by smoothing the pillowcase. "I froze up, Nick. I screwed up and got hit. I let Danny Perrine take a hit. How do you expect me to feel?"

"Frank said it wasn't your fault."

"According to Internal Affairs. But they weren't there."

"You feel differently?"

"If I'd reacted differently, Danny wouldn't be stuck in a wheelchair with a bullet in his spine. I'd still have my career. And I wouldn't be here in
Logan
Falls
trying to get back everything I've lost. Does that answer your question?"

"It doesn't tell me why you feel responsible."

"I made a mistake. It's as stupid and simple as that."

"So you're trying to make up for your so-called mistake by putting yourself on the line? By taking unnecessary risks? We both know that's not going to change what happened."

"I'm dealing with this the only way I know how."

"What are you trying to prove, McNeal?"

Her eyes heated. "I don't have anything to prove."

"I think you do. Only it's not to me or Frank or Internal Affairs. You've got something to prove to yourself."

"You don't know me as well as you think you do."

"You're getting defensive," he pointed out.

"Damn right I am."

"Look, I know what it's like to feel responsible for something, even when you're not."

"You know, Nick, I've had just about all the cop psychoanalysis I can take." Jerking her robe off the back of the sofa,
Erin
rose abruptly and headed toward the kitchen, pulling it over her shoulders as she went.

Nick knew better than to go after her. She looked shaky at best. He didn't want to take a chance of her falling apart on him. But he'd reached the point where he needed answers about what had happened that night. "You can't let the guilt eat at you. You can't keep blaming yourself. You're going to end up getting hurt."

"What happened today wasn't my fault."

"I'm not talking about today."

At the kitchen entry,
Erin
spun to face him. "Wouldn't you be a little disturbed if you were responsible for putting your partner in a wheelchair? For ending a man's career? Wouldn't you feel a little guilty if he hated you so much he couldn't look you in the eye? That his wife couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice when you called to check on him? That the only reason you continue to put yourself through it is because you feel so guilty you can't stand it? His kids look at me like I'm the devil incarnate, Nick. How would you feel?"

He crossed the space between them. "Maybe I'd feel guilty. But I don't think I'd be blaming myself when I'd been cleared by a bunch of veteran cops who know the ropes."

"I walked into a dangerous situation that night with one goal in mind—to make that bust no matter what the cost. I didn't consider the possibility that someone might get hurt. I didn't think about Danny. Or his wife. Or his two kids."

"A cop can't be effective if he dwells on—"

"I froze up! I didn't react until both of us were down."

"Why did you hesitate, McNeal?"

She blinked at him as if the question had stunned her. "The shooter … he was just a kid…"

Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. "You're not the only cop who's ever hesitated for that reason," he said.

"Look, Nick, I know you're trying to help. But you're not. I don't need your amateur-shrink bull. I'm handling this."

He snorted. "I can tell."

Her nostrils flared. "Spare me the sarcasm. This is hard enough without you—"

"All I'm trying to tell you is that you don't have to deal with this alone."

"I'm the one who got my partner shot. Who else should deal with it but me?"

"Danny Perrine wasn't the only one who got shot that night, McNeal. You took a bullet, too. You risked your life and you've got the scar to prove it. Have you ever stopped to think that maybe
both
of you are alive today because of you?"

"That sounds really good,
Chief
. It even makes me sound heroic. But we both know that's not how it really happened, don't we?"

Nick raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. "You know, McNeal, if we were anywhere but
Logan
Falls, I'd yank you off the street so fast you'd get whip-lash."

A short laugh broke from her throat. "Careful, my confidence is soaring."

"You're not helping matters."

"Leave it alone, Nick. I don't want to discuss this with you. I don't want to—"

"Deal with it? Level with me? Be truthful with yourself?"

"How about all of the above?"

"You'd rather wallow in guilt? Funny, but I didn't peg you as the wallowing type."

"That's not fair. None of this has been easy to take."

"All, there you go again, talking about fair. Haven't you learned by now that fair doesn't enter the picture when it comes to real life?"

"I'm not going to have this conversation with you."

She turned to walk into the kitchen, but Nick stopped her by grasping her biceps and turning her toward him. Couldn't she see he was trying to help her?

"You're a good cop," he said. "You're gutsy and brave, with a bright future. But you've got to give yourself time to heal. You've got to accept the reality that sometimes bad things happen that we can't control." The statement made him grimace when he thought of his own life, and the harsh reality of the last three years. But he knew now wasn't the time to address his own demons. Not when it was so much easier to address hers.

When she turned to him, Nick noticed the tears shimmering in her eyes. He stared at her, stricken, torn between the need to comfort and the stark, sudden need for distance.

"Don't cry on me now, McNeal."

"I'm not crying." She tried to turn away to keep him from seeing her tears, but he held her fast.

"You're part of my team," he said. "Your safety is my responsibility. I'm not the enemy here. Do you understand?"

"I can't talk about this right now." She swiped at her tears with the back of her hand. "Let go of me so I can humiliate myself in peace."

He knew better than to let her tears get to him. But to see the strong woman before him reduced to a trembling bundle of raw emotions tore his judgment to shreds. He didn't like thinking of the physical pain the bullet had caused her or the mental anguish she'd lived with because of it. He sure didn't want to think about the way he was reacting to her. Not physically. Certainly not emotionally.

Damning the consequences, he reached for her. "Come here."

She resisted for an instant,
then
took a tentative step toward him. "Nick—"

"Shh." Her body came against his like a soft, liquid jolt of electricity. Pleasure wound slowly through him. The smell of clean hair and womanly flesh penetrated his resistance. Softness and heat tore down his defenses. Awareness spiraled through him when her arms went around his neck.

Nick closed his eyes against sensations and feelings he had absolutely no desire to examine. Not with Erin McNeal. A woman who could destroy every wall, every line of defense he'd built in the last three years. But the warmth of her body heated his blood. The softness of her breasts against his chest tormented him in ways he'd forgotten existed.

She murmured something against his shoulder, but Nick didn't comprehend the words. All he could think of was that he wanted her closer, wanted to feel her against him, caution be damned.

Helpless to keep himself from it, he tightened his arms around her. Awareness and pleasure melded into need. His hand went to the back of her head. He stroked her hair. It felt like silk beneath his fingertips, and he marveled at the texture. Tilting his head, he pressed his cheek against her hair and took in her scent. Sweet. Mysterious. Titillating.

Arousal flared hot and deep in his groin. Need ate away at his resistance until it was little more than an annoyance he crushed with a single blow. All he could think of was that he wanted her body closer to his. His mouth against hers. Her flesh beneath his hands.

She sighed, and her body went fluid in his arms. His lips brushed against her temple. She shifted closer. Sensation crashed over him. Powerful. Shocking. He rode the wave, absorbing her essence, trying in vain to keep from falling into a crevasse he might not ever be able to climb out of.

* * *

Erin
told herself it was just a hug. A comforting embrace given to her by a fellow cop who understood what she was going through. But she knew that wasn't the truth. And she wasn't brave enough to admit just how good it felt to be cocooned in his arms. Or how solid and arousing his body felt against hers. It had been so long since anyone had held her. Since a man had held her. Since she'd let anyone get close enough.

His hands skimmed down her back, and a shiver swept the length of her. She felt his lips against her temple. The warmth of his breath on her cheek. Her body tingled where he touched her. Warm. Reassuring. More erotic than a kiss. An alarm clanged somewhere in the back of her mind, but she silenced it. This embrace didn't mean anything to either of them, she assured herself. They were cops, bound by understanding and what might one day become friendship. It wouldn't hurt for him to hold her. It wouldn't hurt for her to partake in this one, tiny mistake.

He shifted closer. For the first time she noticed his quickened breath. The fact that his hands had grown restless, his body hard against hers.
Erin
knew she should pull away and stop this before things got out of hand. She knew better than to give in to something as foolish as the need to be held, or, heaven forbid, the desire to feel his mouth against hers. Not this man. Not now. But it seemed as if Nick had cast some kind of spell over her. She couldn't move. Couldn't bring
herself
to deprive her body of his, even if it was the smart thing to do.

She closed her eyes, fighting the sexual tug, but her body betrayed her, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She felt his hands at her sides, moving upward, brushing the outer curves of her breasts. Another shiver trembled through her. Then he was cupping her face, his dark eyes seeking hers. She knew what would happen next, and she dreaded it even as anticipation rampaged through her.

His mouth met hers with devastating gentleness that sent an explosion of desire through her body. A pang settled low in her belly, and she felt herself become aroused. The sheer power of her reaction stunned her, sent a spark of panic to a brain that didn't want to believe she'd met a man who could kiss her with such utter perfection that she forgot who she was. Surely not this small-town cop who, as a man, could never deal with her career.