Cops And...Lovers? (16 page)

Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'm glad you're all right, McNeal."

She smiled up at him. "Thanks for saving my neck."

"Well, you've got a really nice neck." He tried to smile at her, but failed. "I'm sorry for the things I said to you back at the house. I'm sorry for the way I touched you."

"Nick,
it's
okay—"

"No, it's not. I had no right."

"I'm a big girl. I knew what I was doing."

"You were upset when you left my house. I did that to you. I don't know what I would have done if you'd been…" Before he could finish, a choking wave of emotion hit him. He straightened, but suddenly he couldn't speak. His throat locked up. His insides turned to jelly. The shakes hit him with the violence of an earthquake. As the first shivers went through his body, he knew just how deep his feelings for this maddening, recalcitrant woman had become.

"Nick?"

He stared at her, aware of the softness of her flesh beneath his fingertips. The slight tremble of her slim body beneath the blanket. She'd come so close to death… His control hovered just beyond his reach. A jab of panic made him pull his hand away from her. His tremors deepened. His stomach clenched. He didn't want her to see him like this.

Without answering, he rose and walked toward the Suburban. His chest was so tight he could barely breathe. His legs felt wobbly. On reaching the truck, he put both hands against the hood and leaned forward. He felt nauseous, as if someone had kicked him in the gut.

"Nick."

He didn't answer. Didn't turn around to look at her. Didn't even have the strength to tell her to stay away. He just stood there breathing hard, sweating, fighting the panic and whatever else gripped him so tightly that he couldn't move without falling into a heap at her feet.

"Hey," she said gently, "are you okay?"

He jumped when she came up behind him and put her hand on his shoulder. He wanted to tell her to get back under the blanket. To lie down because she could be in shock and not even realize it. That she could have a spinal injury or a head injury and have yet to feel the pain.

Instead, he leaned against the truck, shaking, unable to face her because he didn't want her to see the truth his expression held. "Stay away," he said in a low voice.

"What's wrong?"

"For crying out loud, McNeal, you shouldn't be up and walking around."

"I need to know if you're all right," she whispered.

"I'm fine."

"You're shaking—"

"Forget it."

The wail of a siren in the distance broke the tension that had risen between them. The sound sent a flutter of relief through Nick. He told himself it was because he wanted her to get checked out as soon as possible. But he knew part of the reason he didn't want to be alone with her was because he didn't want her to prod the wound that had just been reopened.

Knowing he couldn't avoid the inevitable, clamping his jaws to keep his expression neutral, he slowly turned to her. His knees went weak at the sight of her tears. They shook him to his foundation, sent the last of his resistance out the window. With an oath, he crossed the distance between them. He didn't remember reaching for her. He didn't remember enveloping her in his arms. All he knew was that the feel of her against him was so right it brought tears to his own eyes, and made him want to protect her from the world, even if she didn't want it that way.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, pressing his face against her hair and breathing in her scent. "You're safe. You're with me. Everything's going to be fine."

"What about you?"

"I'm fine." He swallowed, fighting for control, hating it that the accident had scraped him raw and left him bleeding.

"You don't look fine to me."

"One catastrophe at a time, McNeal, all right?" Pulling back slightly, he looked into her eyes, trying not to tumble into their green depths. "You weren't crying or anything after you left my place, were you?"

"Nick, this wasn't your fault," she said firmly.

He wasn't sure he believed her, but he let it slide. He didn't want to take on any guilt. He had enough emotions to deal with just knowing how differently things could have turned out. "What happened?" he asked after a moment.

Her eyes were luminous and incredibly large in the pale frame of her face. When she opened her mouth to speak, her lips trembled. "I think it was a professional hit."

* * *

Nick paced the emergency room hall, high-grade anxiety pumping through him with each beat of his heart.

I think it was a professional hit.

Erin
's words rang like a death knell in his ears. He wished he was surprised, but he wasn't. Not after the incident at the school. A hundred unanswered questions tumbled through his mind. Simultaneously, the need to protect her rose inside him in a violent tide that threatened his viselike grip on control.

Who wanted Erin McNeal dead?

"Chief Ryan?"

Nick spun at the on-call doctor's voice. "How is she?" The doctor came through the double doors of the emergency room and stopped next to Nick. "She's very lucky. A few bruises and cuts. CAT scan looks good. X rays are normal. We're waiting for blood tests, but I think she's good to go home. You can talk to her now."

A spiral of relief tunneled through him. "Thanks, Doc." Turning, Nick shoved through the emergency room doors. He scanned the room, his gaze drawn to the woman lying on the gurney in the corner. Something warm loosened in his chest when her gaze met his. Then her mouth curved in a tentative smile, and despite his worry and the questions buzzing around inside his head, he couldn't keep from smiling back.

Never taking his gaze from hers, he approached the gurney. "Has anyone ever called you a trouble magnet, McNeal?"

Her smile widened to a grin. "What do you think?"

"If I wasn't so glad you're all right, I'd probably chew you out just for the hell of it."

"You actually smiled a little when you saw me. I think that's a good sign." Surprising him, she raised her hand and pressed it to his cheek. "I didn't realize you worried so much."

Nick winced at the contact, knowing she was referring to his emotional reaction back at the accident scene, but he didn't step back. Every pleasure center in his body focused on that small, warm contact.

"You have a really nice smile, Chief. You should try it more often."

Low-level shock rippled through him, mingling with the pleasure of her touch, and went straight to a place he knew better than to acknowledge now. Only then did he notice her slightly dilated pupils and realized the doctor
had
probably given her something for pain. Just what he needed: a sexy, vulnerable deputy he was attracted to beyond reason in need of protection. Terrific. "You're high as a kite," he grumbled.

"I may be … medicated, but I can plainly see that you have a nice smile." Sighing, she relaxed back into the pillow. "And you smell really, really good."

Not knowing what to say to that, feeling the back of his neck heat—and another part of his anatomy follow suit—he grasped her hand and lowered it to the gurney. "We need to talk," he said. "Think you can answer some questions?"

Her gaze skittered away. "All right."

Compassion stirred in his chest when he realized she wasn't quite ready to relive the incident. He wished he didn't have to put her through it, but he couldn't let it go. He figured neither of them had a choice in the matter.

"I need to know what happened," he said. "I also need a description of the car so I can notify the highway patrol."

"Sure." He watched her force her cop's mask into place. "Black
Lincoln
. Four-door. Maybe a 2000 model.
Illinois
plates. There's a big dent on the right front quarter panel."

"Dent?" His interest piqued. "The car hit your cruiser?"

She nodded. "The
bumper,
and the rear quarter panel."

"I'll see if I can get someone out here from the state lab to lift some paint. That might help us nail down the make and model." He grimaced. "What about the driver?"

"I only saw the passenger."

"Can you give me a description?"

"Caucasian male with dark hair. Maybe forty years old. I didn't get a good look. I mean, he had this shotgun aimed right at my head…" Her voice trembled with the last word.

Nick looked away, giving her a moment to regroup. He didn't like the way this was shaping up. Who would be trying to hurt this woman? Someone from her past? An acquaintance? A crazy? Or was there something more ominous in the works?

He looked down at her, felt another stir of compassion. She wasn't crying. He knew she wouldn't cry now. Not Erin McNeal the cop. But even that didn't diminish the vulnerability he saw. She was pale. Shaking. But she never let on that she was scared. Not for one second, and his respect for her—which was already sky-high—kicked up another notch.

"You're doing fine,
Erin
."

"Hey, it was just a little wreck. Of course I'm fine." She said the words with a little too much enthusiasm.

Nick sighed, not bothering to point out the "little wreck," as she'd put it, could have cost her
her
life.

"The doc isn't going to keep me here, is he, Nick?"

"You got something against hospitals, McNeal?"

"Only when I'm in them. Do you think you could take me home now?" she asked. "If I get poked one more time I'm afraid I'm going to have to draw my weapon and start shooting doctors."

He forced a smile at her attempted humor, wondering if the repercussions of what had happened had penetrated the fog of shock and medication. "I'll take you home," he said. "We can talk there."

* * *

Even through the haze of medication, every muscle in
Erin
's body ached with a vengeance by the time they reached her apartment.

Nick opened the door,
then
motioned toward the sofa. "Sit down," he said. "I'll get you a blanket,
then
I'm going to make some coffee."

Without protest, she limped to the sofa and eased onto a cushion. Hugging a throw pillow to her chest, she pulled her legs under her, and tried not to think about how close she'd come to getting seriously hurt—or worse.

The incident had done more than shake her physically. Her confidence had taken another direct hit. She didn't like feeling so … helpless. She certainly didn't like feeling threatened. The instant she'd seen that shotgun pointed in her direction,
Erin
had been bombarded with a hefty dose of both.

The clatter of dishes in the kitchen drew her attention to Nick, and she sighed. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she was glad he was there. He represented solidity in a wild, unpredictable sea of too much emotion and not enough fact—elements
Erin
could do without in her present state.

From her perch on the sofa, she watched him stride from the kitchen to her bedroom.
Erin
tried not to notice the controlled grace with which he moved, or the underlying restlessness that surrounded him like a dark aura. He seemed thoughtful tonight. Edgy. Unsettled. She wondered if any of those things had to do with the way he'd reacted at the accident scene. Nick wasn't the kind of man to let something like a car wreck shake him. She wanted to think he'd been shaken up because he'd been worried about her, but the more logical side of her knew that wasn't the case. He'd been thinking of Rita, she realized.
Erin
knew first-hand the face of grief, and saw clearly the mark it had left on this man's heart.

He returned a moment later with the comforter from her bed and draped it over her. "Is your head clear enough for you to answer some questions?" he asked. "The coffee is going to be a few minutes."

She nodded, knowing it was silly to think she could delay talking about what had happened. She was a cop. She was going to have to face the fact that someone had tried to kill her. Then she was going to have to do something about it.

"I need to know everything." He dropped into the love seat across from her and looked at her expectantly.
"
Details
. Descriptions. Possible motives."

Erin
told him about the black Lincoln, the passenger with the shotgun, and how her cruiser had been run off the road. Nick listened intently, making an occasional notation in his notepad, his dark eyes watchful and razor sharp.

When she finished, he went to the kitchen for their coffee, then took his place across from her again. "That's not the kind of crime we normally see here in
Logan
Falls
."

"I know."

"That's happened twice since you've been in town. First, the dark sedan tries to run you down at the school crossing, and now this. Both of them had
Illinois
plates. What do you make of it?"