Cops and ... Lovers? Page 2

  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 waked 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 Fails 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.