Читать книгу Cops And...Lovers? - Linda Castillo - Страница 9

Erin McNeal pulled her car up to the parking meter outside the Logan Falls, Indiana, police department and stared at the two-story brick building, a sense of dread gathering in her chest like a thunderstorm.

“You can do this,” she said aloud, ordering her fingers to release their death grip on the steering wheel. But the words did little to ease the rapid-fire beat of her heart or the suffocating clenching in her chest.

The realization that she was nervous sent a bitter laugh to her lips. She’d dealt with some of the toughest criminals on the street during her nine-year career with the Chicago Police Department. Yet here she was, reduced to a mass of frayed nerves over a job interview with the police chief of a town half the size of the beat she’d once walked.

But that was all over now, she reminded herself darkly. She was no longer a member of the Chicago Police Force. She was no longer the only woman who’d gone from beat cop to tactical officer to narcotics detective in the span of nine years.

The fact of the matter was that Erin was out of a job. The deputy position with the Logan Falls PD was the best prospect in sight, especially for a cop with a bum shoulder, a tarnished reputation and a duffel bag full of personal baggage. Small town or not, she’d damn well better make a good impression.

Her nerves snapped like lit dynamite fuses as she got out of the car and approached the august portals of the police station. Her purse slung over her good shoulder, she clutched her résumé in one hand, raised her chin and took two deep breaths. The ritual should have calmed her, but it didn’t. The laugh hovered in her throat again, but she didn’t give in to it. Six months ago, bursting through the door of a deserted warehouse with an armed suspect holed up inside hadn’t scared her this much. Of course, back then she’d had that addiction to adrenaline and the knowledge that she was damn good at what she did to back her. Now, with her confidence shattered and her career down the proverbial drain, she figured she’d be lucky to get through this with her dignity intact.

Vowing not to let the past interfere now, Erin put on her cop’s suit of armor and headed toward the door, praying the man on the other side wasn’t particularly discerning.

Police Chief Nick Ryan brooded over the résumé. On paper, the career of ex-detective Erin McNeal left no room for disappointment. Two department commendations. The Blue Star Award. The Award of Valor. She’d come recommended by Commander Frank Rossi of the Chicago PD—a man Nick had called a friend since his academy days. A man to whom Nick owed a favor.

Erin was a good cop, Frank had assured him. Streetwise. Tough. A little too confident. A little too cocky. Well, up until the night she’d botched a sting operation—and her partner paid the price. Frank had been forced to take her off the street. She had ended up resigning in disgrace.

Hell of a note that the situation had ended up in Nick’s lap. He needed a damaged cop working for him about as much as he needed a tornado ripping through his town. Why didn’t Frank just ask him to jump off the bridge down at Logan Creek?

Nick had been looking for a deputy for nearly a month. Tarnished reputation or not, Erin McNeal fit the bill. The fact that she was Frank’s niece pretty much sealed the deal. Damn Frank for calling in the chips now.

Nick stared at her résumé, troubled and more than a little annoyed by the situation. He knew better than to get involved in this woman’s plight. He didn’t care about Erin McNeal or her problems. He didn’t care that she’d once been a good cop. McNeal had committed the ultimate cop’s sin: she’d frozen up at a crucial moment. In Nick’s book, a cop who couldn’t back up her partner didn’t deserve to be a cop.

But Nick owed Frank. Frank had been there for him after Rita. He’d been Nick’s best man when he’d married her. Twelve years later, Frank had been a pallbearer at her funeral.

Blowing out a sigh, Nick leaned back in his chair and raked his fingers through his hair. He didn’t want to deal with this. He didn’t want to take a chance on a damaged cop, even if Logan Falls was a small town where the crime consisted of petty theft and the occasional domestic dispute. But he’d promised Frank he’d keep an eye on her. Keep her out of trouble. Give her a chance to get back on her feet. Nick figured he’d probably live to regret it. But then, he was good at living with regrets. What was one more heaped atop a pile that was already sky-high?

“Heck of a résumé.” Hector Price, Nick’s only other full-time deputy, whistled. “Best one we’ve seen, Chief. This guy has credentials out the bazoomba. Six years on patrol. Two on the tactical team. A year in narcotics.”

“McNeal is a woman,” Nick said irritably.

Hector looked dumbstruck. “Shoot, Chief, she’s good. A black belt in karate. Holy cow, her marksmanship is better than yours. She’s good.” Catching Nick’s dark look, Hector added, “I mean, for a woman.”

Good by a man’s standards, too, Nick thought sourly. Too good, in fact. He wondered what she had to prove, who she needed to prove it to. He wondered if all those skills had anything to do with guilt.

He’d known her partner, Danny Perrine, from his days in Chicago. He’d heard the rumors about the shooting. The night Erin McNeal forgot about her marksmanship, her black belt in karate and everything else she’d learned at the academy. Danny had paid a steep price because of her.

“As long as she doesn’t mind putting those fancy credentials to use down at the school crosswalk,” Nick said.

“We’ve never had a woman cop in Logan Falls, Chief. That ought to be interesting.”

Nick could do without the interesting part. He could damn well do without the headache. He hadn’t even met the woman and already disliked her on principle alone. He knew it wasn’t fair, but he didn’t care about that, either. Of course he didn’t have to like her to appease Frank—just put up with her until she figured out small-town police work wasn’t to her liking.

The bell on the front door jingled. Nick looked up. Something went soft in his chest when he saw the woman standing at the door looking as if she’d just walked into a lion’s den—and wanted to personally kick him out no matter how big his fangs. Her expression was an odd combination of raw nerves and don’t-mess-with-me tough. McNeal wasn’t due for another two hours. Besides, he would know a cop on sight. This woman wasn’t a cop, but a piece-of-fluff civilian. He wondered what she was selling, and if this was her first day on the job.

She wore a nicely cut pantsuit that sacrificed curves for style. Even with low heels, she was tall, just a few inches short of his six-foot-two frame. Nick could tell by the way she moved that she was athletic. He groaned inwardly when he imagined her lugging in a trunkful of office supplies and offering him the deal of a lifetime.

Not bothering to rise, he made eye contact. “Can I help you with something?”

“I’m here to see Nick Ryan.”

She had the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. Cat eyes, he thought, large and cautious and full of female mystery, all framed by lashes as dark and lush as mink. High cheekbones and a full mouth were set into a face that was a little too pale, a little too serious. Freckles dusted her small nose. Her reddish-brown hair was tucked into an unruly bun at her nape. She looked like she’d driven for a long distance with the windows down.

“You probably missed the No Soliciting sign posted on the door,” he offered, hoping to save both of them some time.

“I’m not selling anything,” she said. “I have an appointment.”

Nick stared at her, taking in the folder in her hand, the determination in her cool green eyes, and felt a sinking sensation in his gut. He didn’t embarrass easily, but the back of his neck heated. Suddenly, he found himself wanting to throttle Frank Rossi.

“You’re Erin McNeal,” he said.

She nodded. “I’m a little early.”

“You’re a lot early.” He glanced at his watch. “Two hours to be exact.”

“The drive didn’t take as long as I thought it would.” She strode forward, eyes level on his, hand extended.

Rising, he rounded his desk. “I’m Nick Ryan.”

She wasn’t what he’d expected the ex-detective to look like. He’d expected hard eyes that were tired from too many years of seeing too much. This woman was anything but hard. She was young and slender and way too…soft to be a cop.

“Frank said to tell you hello,” she said.

Frowning, Nick extended his hand, wondering if Frank was back in Chicago having a good laugh. But the moment her fingers closed around his, Nick’s concentration wavered. The force of her grip surprised him. It was a little too quick. A little too firm. He hadn’t expected to feel calluses on her palm. A weight lifter, too. How on earth could he have mistaken her for a solicitor? Soft or not, this woman had “cop” written all over her.

“I brought my résumé,” she said.

“Frank faxed me a copy.”

Belatedly, he remembered he was still grasping her hand, and released it. Even though she wasn’t standing particularly close, he caught a whiff of her scent, some exotic spice tempered with the essence of clean hair and female. How could a woman with calluses on her palms and a cop’s eyes smell so good?

Realizing he was staring, Nick gave himself a mental shake and looked at Hector, who had yet to close his mouth—or take his eyes off her. “This is Deputy Price.”

Erin extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure, Deputy.”

“Ma’am.” Hector jumped to his feet, wiped his palms on his uniform slacks and stuck out his hand.

Nick was still struggling with the fact that Detective Erin McNeal wasn’t the hardened, cynical cop he’d expected, but a woman who smelled like heaven and looked like she’d just stepped off the set of some high-drama police TV show.

She wasn’t beautiful in the classic sense. Her hair was too red to be brown, too brown to be truly red and struggling valiantly to break free of that bun. Her mouth was a tad full and too wide for his taste. He’d never cared for freckles, either. But she was attractive in an earthy, girl-next-door sort of way—the kind of girl who’d played with slingshots instead of dolls.

She studied Nick. “Frank tells me you two are old friends.”

He frowned, not liking the way she’d used the word old. Just because he felt a lot older than his thirty-eight years didn’t mean it was fact. “We go back a few years,” he said.

All too aware that his deputy wasn’t the only one having a difficult time keeping his eyes off her, Nick cleared his throat. “Frank and I partnered up for a couple of years in Chicago.”

“He speaks well of you,” she said.

“Only when he needs a favor.”

Her gaze sharpened, and he knew she was wondering if he’d just slighted her. Perceptive, too, he thought, and felt a glimmer of hope that she wouldn’t take this job, after all.

“I’m really early,” she said. “If you’re in the middle of something, I don’t mind waiting.”

Great, he’d been staring again. He was acting like a pimply-faced teenager who’d just come face-to-face with his favorite centerfold. Erin McNeal was a cop—and a bad one at that. He’d worked with plenty of female cops back in Chicago. This one shouldn’t be any different.

Noticing that Hector’s eyes still hadn’t settled back in their sockets, Nick motioned toward his office. “We can talk in here, Ms. McNeal.”

She started for the door with long, confident strides. He followed, refusing to let his eyes peruse what he instinctively knew was a nice derriere. He didn’t want to know that she was built just the way he liked. He’d just as soon not like anything at all about this woman.

Once in his office, he slid behind his desk, then watched her take the chair opposite him. Her jacket gaped slightly when she crossed her legs, and he caught a glimpse of lace and the swell of her breasts beneath her blouse. Determined to keep his mind on the interview, he forced his gaze to the file in front of him. “Your credentials are impressive,” he said. “Frank gave you a favorable recommendation.”

“Frank was a good commander.”

“It’s probably no handicap that he’s also your uncle.” Nick looked down at the file, wondering if she realized Frank had told him about the shooting. “You scored high on your detective’s exam. You transferred out of tactical to become a detective after only two years. Says here ‘because you like to think.’ Your solve rate is high. Your marksmanship is outstanding.” He raised his eyes to hers. “Those are some pretty remarkable achievements considering there are over thirteen thousand sworn officers on the force.”

Her gaze never left his. “I like being a cop.”

Despite his resistance to her, the answer scored a point with him. Nick had a pretty good idea how many hurdles this woman had had to leap to reach detective status. He knew plenty of men who couldn’t match half her skills. He knew plenty of others who would do their utmost to hold her back just because she was the wrong sex. Yet she’d prevailed. Nick admired tenacity almost as much as he admired guts. He wondered if she was gutsy enough to bring up the subject neither of them wanted to discuss.

“We don’t get much action here in Logan Falls,” he said. “A few juvenile delinquents. Domestic disputes. The Brass Rail Saloon got robbed last Friday, but that sort of thing is pretty unusual. Think you can handle that kind of excitement?”

“If I can handle the South Side of Chicago, I’m sure I can handle anything that happens in Logan Falls.”

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 walked 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 Falls 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.”