Linda Castillo - Cops and…Lovers?

Erin hadn't even known Nick Ryan had a family. He didn't wear a ring; she'd assumed he was unmarried. That his child was handicapped struck a chord within her. Pain broke open in her chest-a slow ache that burgeoned until it enveloped her entire body. And her heart silently wept when she remembered another wheelchair, and a man she'd sentenced to the kind of hell she could only imagine in her worst nightmares.

"McNeal."

She started at the sound of Nick's voice, and forced her gaze to his.

Standing at the end of the hall, he shot her a look cold enough to freeze acid. "In my office."

Pressing her hand against her stomach, she walked past him and into his office. Oh, Lord, she hadn't intended to react to the wheelchair. She couldn't imagine what he must think of her.

Nick entered behind her and closed the door. When he turned to her, his eyes were the color of a force five tornado that was headed straight in her direction.

"If the wheelchair bothers you I suggest you go back to Chicago and forget you ever set foot in Logan Falls," he snapped.

"It doesn't-"

"You look like you just saw a ghost. I can't have you falling apart every time you see my daughter, for crying out loud."

Erin stared at him, heart pounding wildly, while the words built in her chest like a sickness. "I'm sorry. I was… distracted-"

"You were about to come apart at the seams," he interrupted.

"I was… thinking-"

"Thinking?"

"I was thinking about… Danny," she said, knowing it would be professional suicide to tell him about the flashbacks or the nightmares.

"What does he have to do with this?"

When she trusted her voice not to betray her, she raised her chin and met Nick's gaze. "He's in a wheelchair. I'm the one who put him there."

Because he had an eight-year-old daughter, Nick didn't usually curse, but today he made an exception. Of all the explanations Erin could have offered, the bit about her ex-partner knocked him speechless as effectively as a set of brass knuckles.

He was accustomed to negative reactions to his daughter's wheelchair. Some people stared. Others ignored her. Some people just smiled too much because they were uncomfortable with the prospect of a child who couldn't walk. No matter how innocent, those reactions invariably upset Stephanie-and set his own temper ablaze. He would never forget the day she'd come home from school crying so hard she couldn't speak. His heart had broken into a thousand pieces when she'd told him the kids had made fun of her. He couldn't count the number of times he'd wished it was him in that wheelchair instead of her.

He wasn't sure why, but he'd expected Erin to be different. She was a decorated cop. She'd seen a lot over the years. He'd hoped she'd be somehow above it. Then she'd hit him with that bit about her partner, and he'd realized her reaction didn't have anything to do with a lack of character, but with her own private hell.

Damn, he didn't want to have to deal with this.

"It was wrong of me not to tell you I'm still… dealing with what happened to Danny," she said.

"Frank didn't bother," he said dryly. "Why should you?"

"Frank doesn't hold me responsible. It's not an issue for him."

"He didn't clean up your file, did he?"

"He wouldn't do that."

"Internal Affairs cleared you?"

She looked at him as if she were about to walk the plank-and he was the one holding the gun at her back. "Yes."

Nick didn't like the way this was playing out. It was clear this woman had been exonerated by the department. The problem was she hadn't yet exonerated herself.

"The police department isn't the place for personal baggage," he said. "Even in Logan Falls."

"I'm working through it."

Even from three feet away he could see she was shaking. What in the world had happened to this woman? What had Frank gotten him into? Whatever the case, Nick wasn't happy about the situation. He sure didn't like the way he was reacting to her. At the moment, he wished he'd never heard of her. Wished he'd never hired her, for God's sake.

But another part of him knew that wasn't completely true. She might be an attractive woman who was affecting him in all the wrong ways. She might have let her partner down in a crisis. But she was still a cop. A cop who'd been cut down in the line of duty and needed a chance to get back on her feet.

Frowning, Nick crossed to his desk, but he didn't sit. His temper was still lit, but he knew it would be wrong of him to take it out on Erin. He didn't know all the details of what she'd gone through. Frank had told him the shooting wasn't directly her fault-she'd followed procedure for the most part. But her momentary hesitation had cost her-and her partner-dearly. The ensuing Internal Affairs investigation irrevocably damaged her career. She'd lost her confidence. In the end, she'd resigned voluntarily, to keep herself from getting fired.

"I hope this doesn't affect your decision about hiring me," she said.

He turned and looked at her, taking in the rigid shoulders. The high chin. The gaze that was level and a little too intense. His chest tightened uncomfortably when he realized it was taking most of her nerve just to maintain eye contact. Whatever happened in that warehouse had taken a heavy toll on her. She blamed herself, he realized. Nick knew firsthand how easy it was to accept blame when the real culprit wasn't able to.

"This isn't going to work out if you can't handle being around the wheelchair," he said.

"I can handle it."

"You sure about that?"

"It just… caught me off guard. I didn't mean to upset her."

"I don't think she noticed. But she's sensitive about her handicap. I don't want it to happen again."

"It won't." Guilt shimmered in the depths of Erin 's eyes. "I overreacted. I'm sorry."

Once again, Nick couldn't take his eyes off her. She gazed steadily at him, her green eyes dark against her pale complexion. Relief flashed through him when he realized she wasn't a crier. Female tears were the one thing he'd never handled well. Thank God he didn't have to deal with that heaped on top of those bottomless, troubled eyes and soft mouth.

"We don't have time to discuss this right now," he said. "But you owe me a more detailed explanation."

A breath shuddered out of her. "I know."

He glanced toward the door, beyond which Stephanie waited. He'd always been protective of his daughter. Especially since the car accident three years ago that had taken her mother from her and injured her spine. As of late, it seemed his protective instinct had grown into something even Nick couldn't control.

"I need to take her home," he said. "You can ride along. Then we'll start our shift, and we can talk."

"Look, Nick, I'm a good cop-"

"This has nothing to do with whether or not you're a good cop. The question is whether or not you're ready to return to the field."

"I'm ready," she snapped.

He contemplated her, trying not to notice the way the sunlight brought out the red in her hair and made it shine like Oriental silk. Damn her for complicating things by being a woman. Damn him for noticing.

"I hope you're right," he said, and headed toward the door.

Erin watched Nick scoop his daughter out of the wheelchair and settle her onto the back seat of the Suburban, where he strapped her in place. He didn't speak, didn't even look at Erin as he folded the wheelchair and stowed it in the rear. Crossing in front of the truck, he slid behind the wheel and started the engine.

Erin got in beside him, hating that she'd reacted to the wheelchair so intensely. She'd thought the flashbacks were over. But the moment she saw Stephanie's wheelchair, the night of the shooting had rushed back like a deluge of rancid floodwater. The man on the catwalk. The blue steel of a gun. The split-second hesitation that would haunt her the rest of her life.