Cops and ... Lovers?

  "From all appearances, Damon was running heroin," Frank said. "He'd been using since high school. Vic was of the old school. Like most of his Mafia cronies, he didn't approve of drugs—particularly heroin. He probably didn't even know Damon was running his own little show. I suspect Erin shot Damon in the warehouse that night, injuring him or possibly even killing him. Vic DiCarlo found out about it and covered for his son. He didn't want his son's reputation within the Mafia family tarnished, so he picked him up and took him to a doctor. If his son died that night, he may have gone to Italy simply to bury him. We were going to pick up McNeal as soon as we knew the whole story."

  "You're too late," Nick said tonelessly. "We've had two incidents here already—"

  "If DiCarlo, wanted her dead, she'd already be buried." A wave of fear washed over Nick, mingling with the anger, burgeoning into something volatile and dangerous. He looked down, found his free hand clenched into a fist so tight his knuckles hurt. "I want McNeal protected."

  "I can have a U.S. Marshal down there first thing in the morning. We'll transport her to a safe house out of state—"

  "Make it two marshals, and they'd damn well better be here before morning." Fear stabbed through the anger like an ice pick through slush when he realized Erin wasn't the only one who was vulnerable. His entire family was at risk. Stephanie. Mrs. Thornsberry. "I want my family protected, too."

  "DiCarlo isn't after you or your family, Nick."

  "Unlike you, Frank, I'm not willing to take that chance. Just do it. Two marshals for Erin, and two for my family." Without waiting for a reply, Nick slammed down the phone.

  He couldn't believe it had come to this—the sludge from Chicago's underworld leaching all the way down to Logan Falls. Why the hell hadn't Erin confided in him?

  The urge to go to her was overwhelming. He had to know she was safe. He had to keep her that way until the marshals arrived. But the need to protect Erin was tempered with the terrifying knowledge that he hadn't been able to keep Rita safe. He hadn't been able to keep Stephanie safe.

  Nick stood abruptly, aware that his heart was beating out of control. How was he going to protect her and his family against a Mafia kingpin who had his own private army at his beck and call? Striding to the door, he swung it open and stepped in to the outer office.

  Hector looked up from his desk, his brows drawing together. "What's wrong, Chief?"

  "I want you to get the cruiser and follow me to my house." Crossing the room, Nick unlocked the gun cabinet and removed the department shotgun, which hadn't been touched since last year, when he'd cleaned it up for the Boy Scout tour. "Take this along, with extra ammunition for your sidearm. Wear your vest."

  "My vest?" The other man jumped to his feet, his eyes as big as saucers. "Holy cow, Chief, what's going on?"

  "Precautionary measures. I just spoke with Chicago PD. Vic DiCarlo might be paying McNeal a visit for something that happened back in Chicago a few months back."

  "Vic DiCarlo?" Hector's mouth dropped open. "The Vic DiCarlo?"

  The name sent an icy finger of dread scraping up Nick's spine. "We're going to drive over to my house, then you're going to escort Steph and Mrs. Thornsberry to that physical rehab center in Indianapolis."

  "Indianapolis? You mean, like, right now?"

  "I mean like five minutes ago," Nick said sharply. "No one's looking for them, Hector. This is only precautionary. But I'd feel better if they weren't here in Logan Falls."

  "Yessir! I'm on it, Chief."

  "You'll be secure at the rehab center. Em has the address. Two U.S. Marshals will meet you there in a few hours. I'm going to stay here and make sure McNeal gets to a safe house."

  Looking excited and uncertain at once, Hector strode to the coat tree and grabbed his hat. "I'll take good care of them, Chief. I'll guard them with my life."

  Nick stood in the center of the room feeling gut-punched, praying that wouldn't be necessary.

  * * *

  Erin landed a punishing blow to the punching bag, the force of it vibrating up her arm all the way to her shoulder. She'd long since worked up a sweat. Her temper was beginning to calm, but her muscles felt like overcooked noodles. The bruises she'd received in the car accident weren't helping matters, but she couldn't stop now. Boxing, she'd learned, was the secret of the universe when it came to relieving stress.

  Of course, it didn't surprise her that Nick Ryan had shot that theory to pieces.

  She hadn't seen or spoken to him since the scene at her apartment the day before. Just as well, she told herself for the dozenth time. He'd had no right to put her on administrative leave. Other than to avoid her, he hadn't had a solid reason for pulling her off the street. He sure didn't have a reason for posting one of his deputies outside her apartment like some kind of bodyguard.

  But she knew it was the bit about him avoiding her that bothered her most. It hurt, she realized. Not only because he'd pushed her away just when they'd formed a sort of tentative friendship, but more importantly because of all the other emotions swirling around in that foolish heart of hers. She cared for him—a lot more than was wise or prudent or all those other virtues she'd never gotten the hang of. She cared for him a lot more than a woman like her should, knowing what she did about men like Nick.

  The thought made her want to laugh—or cry. She'd fallen headlong for a man who couldn't handle her being a cop. A too strong, too proud, overprotective man who would never tolerate her love of law enforcement. Who would never understand her. Who would always try to control her under the guise of keeping her safe.

  A man just like Warren, who'd yanked her young heart out of her chest and torn it into little pieces right before her eyes. Six years ago, she'd stood there like a fool, feeling every rip, and finding herself willing to give up everything just so he would love her. No matter how much it hurt, she wouldn't make the same mistake with Nick.

  A harsh laugh escaped her as she stilled the bag and centered up for her next blow. Why did everything always have to get so complicated, anyway?

  Dancing to the left, she jabbed with her right arm and connected solidly with the bag. Thwack! The sound of her glove against vinyl echoed through the bedroom, giving her a small, greedy dose of satisfaction. So what if he didn't want her? Erin could handle that. The man was still in love with a memory, for God's sake. They were both better off without the complications a relationship would bring. She didn't need him or his uncompromising attitude.

  Thwack!

  Just because he was the only man who'd ever kissed her senseless didn't mean her feelings for him went any deeper than hormones.

  Thwack! Thwack!

  Just because her heart felt as if it were being ripped from her chest every time she thought of spending the rest of her life without him didn't mean she was in love with him, did it?

  Love? Good Lord, who said anything about love?

  "You ought to keep your door locked, McNeal. There seems to be a few shady characters running around Logan Falls lately."

  Erin spun at the sound of Nick's voice. Her legs went weak as his presence registered. The blood drained from her head at the sight of him. She'd seen plenty of cops in her time, but she'd never seen a man look as good in a blue uniform as Nick. Of course, he didn't look happy to see her. Like that came as a surprise. He was never happy to see her—unless he was going to fire her or otherwise do his best to make her miserable.

  She stared at him, aware of her pulse jumping, her heart climbing into her esophagus. His eyes raked her like cut onyx. His mouth was set into a grim line. She wondered how long he'd been standing there, watching her.

  Intent on playing it cool, she turned away and threw another jab at the bag. Thwack! "What are you doing here?"

  "We need to talk."

  Thwack! "About what?"

  "About Vic DiCarlo."

  Everything inside her froze into a solid ball of ice. Reaching out, she stilled the bag with her gloves, then turned to Nick. For the first time, she saw the anger s
moldering like hot coals in his eyes.

  "Frank filled me in on your little secret," he said in a low, dangerous voice.

  She didn't know what to say. "I know how this might look to you, but—"

  "For crying out loud, don't play dumb, McNeal. It's insulting, and you don't do it very well." A humorless smile twisted his mouth. "You lied to me. You figured out DiCarlo wanted you dead the day the sedan hit you at the crosswalk, only you didn't see fit to discuss it with me, did you?"

  "I didn't lie to you—"

  "You shot DiCarlo's only son in the warehouse that night, McNeal. Did you think he was just going to let that slide?"

  Erin felt the words like a punch. "I didn't know for certain who I shot in that warehouse."

  "I don't believe you," he said. "I took a chance on you, and you lied to me. I took you on against my better judgment, and you made a fool of me." He laughed bitterly. "I didn't need much help, did I?"

  His self-deprecating tone stirred her temper. "Back off, Nick."

  "You suspected it was DiCarlo. You should have told me."

  "Frank asked me to keep it under my hat until we had proof."

  "Frank's an idiot for not having you in a safe house."

  "You're overreacting," she said, but there was no conviction in her voice.

  "The DNA came back, Erin. It's a match to Damon DiCarlo."

  Suddenly, she felt sick to her stomach. "I'm sorry—"

  "You might get off on adrenaline and the occasional game of risk, but I can do without it." He started toward her, his mouth set in a grim line. "You not only endangered yourself this time, but you endangered my town … and my family."

  Erin had never seen him so angry. His jaws were clenched tight, his hands fisted at his sides. The sight of him, combined with the shocking knowledge that DiCarlo was behind the two attempts on her life, sent a wave of fear slicing through her.

  "I wouldn't—"

  "You brought my child into this." Nick reached her, eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring. "You put her in danger." He shoved the punching bag hard with the last word. The bag swung, catching Erin on the shoulder, hard enough to knock her off balance. Temper, rising, she lashed out. Her glove glanced off Nick's jaw, sending him back a step.

  Thwack!

  Regret knotted her stomach the instant she hit him. In all the nine years she'd been a cop, she'd never struck anyone in anger. Not even when they'd deserved it. Yet here she was, taking her anger and fear and frustration out on a man who clearly didn't deserve it.

  Anger flashed like black diamonds in his eyes.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—" Erin barely saw the blur of his uniform as he rushed her.

  In a classic wrestling move, he took her down on the mat. She landed flat on her back. Surprise rippled through her that she'd landed so gently. Anger followed when it dawned on her how easily he'd overpowered her. Those feelings turned quickly to something much more intense the instant he came down on top of her.

  He straddled her, pinning her arms at her sides. "Don't ever hit me again," he growled.

  Erin couldn't catch her breath. Too many emotions and sensations pummeled her all at the same time. He was too close. She was too weak to fight her feelings for him much longer. They were both too involved to do anything except make the situation infinitely worse.

  "Let go of me," she said breathlessly.

  "Not until you explain to me what the hell is going on."

  "I can explain standing up."

  "Like you did a moment ago, when you punched me?" His left jaw was red.

  She stared at him, guilt tugging at her conscience. "I'm sorry."

  "I've been beating my brains out for days trying to figure out who wants you dead, McNeal. All the while, you're holding out on me."

  "What did you expect me to say, Nick? That I need a job, but by the way, there's an outside chance a well-known Mafia don is trying to kill me? I'm sure that would have gone over well."

  Nick cursed.

  "Frank thought I'd be safe in Logan Falls," she said.

  "That was incredibly irresponsible of both of you!"

  "I didn't intend to endanger your family." The repercussions of her own words settled over her like a dark cloud. "Oh, Nick… You don't think Stephanie… I wouldn't—"

  "You didn't even consider the possibility, did you, McNeal?"

  Erin felt the words like the blade of a knife slicing her clean through. "I wouldn't endanger her. Where is she?"

  "I sent her out of town with Hector. She's safe."

  Relief untwisted one of the dozen or so knots in Erin's gut. "I'm not going to let DiCarlo get away with any of this. I'm going to stop him."

  Nick glared down at her, breathing hard, his face suffused with anger. "How are you going to do that? Wait until he comes knocking, then go after him with guns blazing, grenades exploding? Take him out with a little hand-to-hand? Or maybe you're going to put that black belt of yours to use and break his neck."

  The burst of anger came so powerfully, so quickly, that for a moment Erin saw red. She bucked beneath him, trying to topple him, but he was too heavy, and her struggles were futile. "I'll take him out however I see fit."

  Nick leaned closer. "I'm not going to let you do it."

  "Why do you care?" she retorted.

  "Call me a damn fool, but I don't want to see you hurt."

  "You don't care about me," she snapped.

  "That's where you're wrong," he growled. "It goes against everything I know about you, but I care. A lot more than I should, considering you have the common sense of a terrier pup who just had its bone stolen by a pit bull. I care a hell of a lot more than I want to. More than you want me to, in fact. But, dammit, I do. So don't think I'm going to let you walk into a dangerous situation alone, because it's not going to happen."

  * * *

  Nick couldn't believe he'd said those killing words. Not to Erin. But the moment he'd walked into her apartment and seen her in sweatpants and T-shirt, punching that bag, all bets were off. He hadn't even bothered to pretend he was still in control. Why should he? He hadn't been in control since the day she'd walked into his office and waylaid him with that big-city cop attitude and those pretty green eyes.

  Now, as he stared down at her, his temper tangled with emotions he didn't want to deal with, and physical sensations more powerful than anything he'd ever known. Even knowing she was wrong for him—knowing fully she had no intention of changing her ways—he still wanted her. Wanted her so desperately he felt the need all the way to his marrow.

  "You don't have the guts to care for me," she said.

  She'd tried to make the words sound cavalier, but Nick knew his admission had surprised her. Hell, he'd surprised himself. This wasn't supposed to happen. They both knew it. So why hadn't he just kept his mouth shut?

  "You're not making it easy," he growled. "I ought to walk away right now and let DiCarlo have you."

  Erin snorted. "Like I need you to protect me."

  "Oh, yeah, I forgot. You're the Erin McNeal. You can take on DiCarlo all by yourself. Just because most of his victims end up fitting in a coffee can after he's finished with them doesn't mean that would happen to you. Not Erin McNeal, female cop extraordinaire."

  "Go to hell."

  She tried to get up, but he kept her pinned. He wanted to shake her, anything to make her understand the danger she faced when it came to DiCarlo. "He wants you dead, McNeal. You shot his son. Maybe even killed him. What do you think he's going to do if he gets his hands on you?"

  "He's not going to get his hands on me."

  She'd spoken the words with conviction, but Nick didn't miss the shiver that rippled the length of her. He felt a swell of relief that she was finally beginning to understand the gravity of her situation.

  "I'm taking you to a motel." Gritting his teeth against the ache that had taken up permanent residence in his groin, he hoisted himself off her and stood.

  Propping herself on an elbow, she glared up at him. "I'
ll agree to go with you on one condition."

  "Like you have a choice." He extended his hand, trying not to notice the way that T-shirt hugged her curves. "I'm not bargaining with you, McNeal."

  "I'm not going to sit around and wait for DiCarlo to make his move."

  If she hadn't been dead serious, he might have laughed. As it was, the determination in her voice put a brick of dread in the pit of his stomach. "You've got five minutes to pack a bag," he said. "If you're not ready to leave by then, I'll handcuff you and force you to come with me."

  "You wouldn't dare."

  "You know I will."

  She reached for his hand, and he pulled her easily to her feet. "I want DiCarlo," she said.

  "Evidently, the feelings are mutual."

  "This is the perfect opportunity—"

  "Pack, McNeal."

  "Dammit, Nick, I owe it to Danny."

  "Loyalty is an admirable trait, but it won't do you any good if you're dead." He looked at his watch. "You have four and a half minutes to pack a bag."

  "If DiCarlo is so intent on finding me, why hasn't he made a move until now? It's been six months since the shooting."

  "Frank said he's been in Sicily. As far as he knows, he was there burying his son."

  "If, indeed, DiCarlo is behind this, his attempts to get at me were halfhearted at best. That's not his style."

  "Maybe he wants you alive. He's not above a personal visit when it comes to revenge, especially when he gets to be the grim reaper."

  Muttering an unladylike oath, Erin turned away and stalked to the opposite side of the room. Nick watched, steeling himself against the fierce need to protect her, and another need that demanded distance and objectivity.

  "All right," she snapped. "I'll go with you. But only until we can come up with a plan. I'm not going to sit it out."

  He considered telling her she could discuss that with the two U.S. Marshals who would be meeting her in a few hours to take her to a safe house, but decided she'd be easier to handle if she didn't know she was about to be pulled from the race.

  "Okay, McNeal. You've made your point. Pack. You've got two minutes left."