"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Once the doc stops sticking me with that blasted needle I'll be just fine," she grumbled.
Nick looked at the doctor. "I take it she's going to be okay?"
"She's mildly concussed," the doctor said, his eyes never leaving the small head wound he was stitching. "A few abrasions and contusions. A deep bruise on her hip that's going to be sore for a few days. This is the only wound that needed closing."
"Good thing she's got a hard head." Nick glanced down at her. "You should have known the car would win if you got into a game of chicken."
"I must have missed that day at the academy."
"You going to keep her overnight?" he asked the doctor.
The other man shook his head. "Not necessary. Her pupils are fine, CAT scan is normal. Wake her every two hours. Make sure she's lucid. Make sure she knows her name and the date."
Alarm fluttered in the back of Nick's brain. He looked down at Erin. "You got someone to look after you, McNeal?"
"No, but I can get someone to call—"
"Out of the question," the doctor interrupted. "Someone stays with her or I'll keep her here."
"I'm not staying here all night," she snapped.
Nick felt a moment of panic. If it were any of his other deputies lying on that gurney, he would volunteer for the job. But because it was Erin—a woman who elicited all the wrong responses from him—he found himself hesitating. He did not want to be in this position.
"I'm not staying," she repeated.
"I'll admit you," the doctor warned.
If the situation hadn't been so dire, Nick might have laughed. As it was, he figured he'd be lucky to get through this without doing something he was going to regret.
"I'll keep an eye on her," he said after a moment.
She shot him a startled look. "I don't think—"
"I've got to finish your afternoon shift, anyway," he argued, cutting in. "It's no big deal for me to stop by your apartment every couple of hours."
The doctor tied off the last stitch and shoved the stainless steel tray aside. "Okay, Deputy McNeal, let's sit you up and see how you do." The doctor placed his hand against her back and helped her to a sitting position. "Any dizziness?"
"No. My hip hurts."
"You can ice it when you get home. Headache?"
"No." Then she looked at Nick and frowned. "You're not going to give me a headache over this, are you, Chief?"
The doctor shot an amused look at Nick. "She's all yours, Chief Ryan. No restrictions other than for her to take the afternoon off. She can take over-the-counter medication for pain. Call me if she experiences blurred vision or confusion."
"Thanks, Doc," she muttered.
Nick watched him walk away, then turned his attention back to Erin. "You know, McNeal, I didn't think even you could get into trouble working the school crosswalk."
"Sorry to disappoint you, but the guy in the sedan didn't give me much choice." She sat up straighter.
Nick squelched the urge to reach out to her when she winced. "I guess not."
She glared at him. "This wasn't my fault."
"I didn't say it was."
"You were thinking it."
"Why don't you stop trying to figure out what I'm thinking and concentrate on uncrossing your eyes, so we can get out of here?"
"Careful, or you're going to say something nice and throw me into a tailspin." She touched the bandage on her temple. "Did you catch the guy?"
"No." He frowned, hating the pale cast to her lips and the shadows beneath her eyes. "A couple of witnesses saw the car. A dark sedan with Illinois plates. That's all I've got. Do you feel up to answering a few questions?"
"Of course I do." Grimacing, she swung her legs over the side of the gurney. "Ouch."
Nick reached for her when she swayed, his fingers closing around her biceps. "I can't believe you lied to the doc about being dizzy."
"I'm not dizzy."
"If I hadn't been standing here you would have taken a dive right off that gurney."
"Would not."
"Damn, you're stubborn." Keenly aware of the soft flesh beneath his fingers, and the clean scent of her hair wreaking havoc on his concentration, he stepped back. "Ah, McNeal, what am I going to do with you?"
"Just don't yell at me. I do have a headache, and if you start yelling it's only going to get worse."
Nick didn't want to look into her eyes. He didn't want to see the vulnerability; he didn't like the way it made him feel. But he knew eye contact was inevitable. Once their gazes met, he couldn't look away. "Gladys Delaney wanted me to thank you for saving her daughter's life."
"The little girl in the pink sweater," Erin murmured.
"You got her out of the way just in time. Half the town saw you do it."
Erin looked away, made a show of scraping a speck of dirt from her trousers. "I'm glad she's all right."
Nick wondered why she found it difficult to accept praise. Some sixth sense told him now wasn't the time to pursue it, but he would eventually. "Get dressed, and I'll take you home."
She glanced down at her hospital gown, looking flustered for a moment. "Uh … my shirt is behind you, on the chair."
Turning, he spotted the shirt, lifted it from the chair and found himself staring at her bra. Terrific. Carefully lifting the bit of lace, he handed the shirt and bra to her. "Here you go."
"Thanks. Turn around a second, will you?"
Nick faced the curtain, every sense honed on the rustle of clothing behind him. "I need to ask you about the dark sedan that hit you," he said.
"It was blue or gray. American make. Chrome grille. Tinted windows. Bumper was hard as hell. It's got an indentation of my hip on it. You can turn around."
Nick turned and felt his pulse spike at the sight of her in uniform with all that hair tumbling over her shoulders. His brain stalled for an instant, but he managed to hang on to his concentration by a thread. "Did you see the driver?"
"The sun was glaring off the windshield. I didn't see faces, but I think there were two people in the car." Gingerly, she put her feet on the floor and stood.
"Two people?" At first Nick had thought they were dealing with a drunk driver, but something niggled at him. The car had Illinois plates, for one thing. The time of day didn't sit right, either. "What's your take on it?"
Erin straightened, then leaned heavily against the gurney. "Oh, boy…"
Nick moved before he even realized he was going to. His left arm went around her waist. "Don't pass out on me, McNeal," he growled.
"I'm not going to pass out."
His next words died on his lips the instant he registered the feel of her in his arms. Curves and softness and the mysterious essence of woman wrapped around his brain and squeezed until he couldn't form a single coherent thought. The bustle of the emergency room faded until all he was aware of was Erin. The warmth of her body against his. The clean scent of her hair. The weight of her breast against his forearm. He fought the slow spiral of pleasure winding through his body. But he knew it was a losing battle.
"You're just what?" he said, easing her to arm's length. "Weak? Dizzy? Hardheaded?"
"Just a little nauseous. Watch your shoes."
"Terrific," he grumbled. "I've a mind to call the doctor in here and tell him to keep you."
"He said to expect nausea," she pointed out. "I just got up too fast. Give me a break, Chief, will you?"
Nick's heart was still beating too fast, and an odd mix of sexual awareness and self-recrimination sat in his gut like a hot stone. He'd been without sex too long, he told himself. That's all there was to it. He was going to have to do something about it before long. Stephanie's third-grade teacher, Lindsey Burns, was nice enough. Pretty, too, with blond hair and smiling blue eyes. So why hadn't he called her back after their one and only date?
"Think you can walk out of here without passing out on me?" he asked.
Erin shot him a cocky smile. "Try to keep me here
."
Nick almost smiled, but he didn't give in to the urge. He didn't want to get too close to this woman. She had trouble written all over her in big red letters. He'd had his fill of trouble. "Let's go," he said, and tried not to think about what he was setting himself up for.
* * *
Erin slipped on the sleeveless nightgown and reached for her robe, trying in vain not to jar her aching head. So much for heroism, she thought grimly. If she wasn't in so much pain, she might be embarrassed, having Nick baby-sit her like this. As it was, her head hurt too much to care about anything except downing a handful of aspirin and falling into a soft bed in a dark room.
Pausing at her bedroom door, she took a deep, calming breath, then swung it open. Nick stood in the foyer, looking like a nervous date, his expression relaying the fact that he'd rather be anywhere else than in her apartment. His eyes flicked down the front of her, and Erin felt an uncomfortable tug of self-consciousness.
"You don't have to do this," she said, pulling the lapels of her robe more tightly together.
"I told the doc I would. You know as well as I do you don't ignore a concussion, McNeal."
She wanted to let him off the hook and get him out of there—he was obviously as uncomfortable with the situation as she was. But Erin figured his sense of responsibility—and his need to protect—was too strong for him to leave her alone.
"How's the head?" Shoving his hands into his pockets, he approached her.
"Feels kind of like the drum set my brother got for Christmas when we were kids. He was a Led Zeppelin fan." She walked to the sofa, trying not to notice the moving boxes or the clutter, telling herself she wasn't embarrassed that her apartment was a mess. It had been a mess the last time Nick was there. She told herself it didn't matter. She was a cop. Nick was a cop. All cops had messy apartments, didn't they?
"You're limping," he said.
"That's because I'm too proud to crawl."
One side of his mouth biked into a half smile. "Where's your aspirin?"
She risked a look at him, and almost wished she hadn't. His penetrating stare invariably unnerved her. What was it about those dark eyes of his that left her feeling stripped bare? Like he could look right through her and see all the things she spent so much time and energy trying to conceal.
"There's a bottle in the bathroom medicine cabinet," she replied.
He started toward the bathroom.
Erin breathed a sigh of relief at his departure—even if it was only for a minute. She felt unsettled. Jittery. She tried to blame it on the fact that she was still shaken up from the incident at the school, but she knew that wasn't the only reason. She didn't want to admit the possibility that Nick was the source of her uneasiness. If she acknowledged the problem, it would become real, and she would have to deal with it.
Being attracted to her boss was a mistake she had no intention of making. Especially when he was the kind of man who couldn't handle the idea of a woman with a dangerous career—like police work.
Warren Prentice had taught her all she ever needed to know about the overprotective-male syndrome. After the way Nick had reacted to her taking down those two suspects, it appeared he had a terminal case. She refused to give up her career for the likes of a man or the fallacy of happily ever after. Erin McNeal simply knew better.
"Here you go."
She jumped at the sound of Nick's voice and turned to find him standing behind her with two aspirin in one hand, a glass of water in the other. She drew a breath, caught the scent of his aftershave and felt an instant of vertigo she knew had nothing to do with the bump on her head. Good heavens, standing next to this man was like riding a tidal wave.
Shaking off the sensation, she reached for the aspirin and tossed them back. His fingers brushed hers when she took the glass of water. "Thanks."
"Why don't you sit down?"
"Actually, I was thinking of taking a nap as soon as you take off."
Amusement played in his eyes. "Trying to get rid of me?"
"Letting you off the hook, actually."
One side of his mouth curved. "I appreciate that. But to be perfectly honest with you, I'd like to ask you a few more questions before I make my big escape. If you're feeling up to it, that is."
Something in the way he said it caught her cop's attention, reminding her that a serious crime had been committed, and she was right in the center of it. Common ground at last. No longer feeling quite as awkward, she sank down on the sofa. "Shoot."
Nick took the chair across from her. "Felony assault with a motor vehicle isn't the kind of crime typical to Logan Falls." Leaning forward, he put his elbows on his knees and gave her a canny look. "What's your take on this?"
"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." br />
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
« ^ »
The 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.