The initial burst of adrenaline had kicked through Erin 's veins the instant she heard the call come over the police radio. Now, as she watched Nick sprint across the parking lot toward the rear of the bar, she struggled to keep her frustration in check.

If you've got something to prove, I suggest you do it elsewhere.

That he'd ordered her to stay in the truck stung. She told herself he'd misjudged her. Just because she wasn't afraid to jump into a fray didn't mean she was overzealous. She merely liked police work. That heady rush that came with danger. The euphoria that followed an arrest that had been successful because of skill and police know-how. Nick didn't know her well enough to make blanket assumptions. She didn't have anything to prove-not to herself, certainly not to Nick Ryan.

Frustration choked her as she watched him disappear around the rear of the building. "Oh, this is just peachy," she muttered.

In her peripheral vision, she saw a car turn into the front lot. Not a sheriff's department vehicle, but an old Ford with wide tires and a loud engine. Erin held her breath as the vehicle stopped directly in front of the bar. The driver got out and looked around. He was the size of a bull and just as mean looking. An alarm jangled in her head when she spotted the butt of a pistol sticking out of the waistband of his jeans.

She told herself it was tension that had her hands shaking. But she knew intimately the many faces of fear. The heady rush of blood. The jitter of nerves. The coppery taste at the back of her throat.

It took her all of two seconds to realize she wasn't going to sit in the truck when there was an armed suspect in plain sight. Slipping her gun from her holster, she unlatched the door and stepped out of the vehicle. Adrenaline hummed through her muscles as she jogged to the building and pressed herself against the brick exterior. Except for the old Ford, the lot was empty. Nick was nowhere in sight.

Sticking close to the brick, she eased along the side of the building. The gun felt heavy in her hand. Sweat slicked her palm. Her heart beat out of control in her chest. She felt the flashback coming on and fought it, but the images rushed at her, playing in her mind's eye like a bad video. Danny lying hound and helpless. The blast of a gunshot. The smell of gunpowder and fear. Pain so sharp it took her breath.

Panting rapidly, sweating beneath her uniform, she shook off the memory, steeling herself against the deluge of emotions that followed. Not now. Not when Nick was relying on her. She couldn't let him down. Not like she had Danny.

Movement at the front of the tavern drew her attention. A second man had emerged from the front door carrying a brown paper bag. Nick's words rang in the back of her mind. She wondered if his orders included letting two armed suspects get away. On the other hand, two armed men against a single cop wasn't something she felt comfortable with-especially knowing what had happened the last time she'd faced those odds. She didn't have backup. She was still a probationary officer. She hadn't even been issued cuffs yet. But there was no way she could stand back and let them walk away with a bagful of money and the knowledge that they'd outsmarted two small-town cops. Erin figured she didn't have a choice but to stop them.

Heart pounding, she sidled toward the front of the building and waited. When the men started for the car, she stepped into view. "Police!" she shouted. "Drop your weapons!"

The driver spun, glaring at her with rodent-like eyes. He snarled a profanity, making no move to relinquish his gun.

"Drop it!" she shouted. "Now!"

He shot a look at his partner and muttered something, but Erin couldn't hear him over the thunder of blood in her ears.

"I didn't do nothin'," he spat.

"Drop the gun!"

He tossed the weapon on the gravel. "You're makin' a mistake."

"Get your hands where I can see them," she snapped.

Lips peeled back in a snarl, he raised his hands.

"Get on the ground! Facedown! Now!"

Muttering an oath, the man got down on his knees, then eased himself facedown on the gravel. Erin edged closer and kicked his gun away.

She turned to the second man. "You, too. On the ground."

He sneered at her. "What you gonna do if I decide I'd rather take my chances with you, lady cop?"

"Make you regret it," she said.

Never taking his eyes from her, he lowered himself to the ground and lay flat.

Relief vibrated through her. Lowering her weapon, she stepped back. Where in the world was Nick? The sheriff’s deputies? Where was Hector? Without backup, there wasn't much she could do to subdue these men if one of them decided to test her. Cursing under her breath, she glanced over her shoulder toward the building where the Suburban was parked.

An instant later a hard body slammed into her with the force of a Mack truck. Erin 's breath left her lungs in a rush. Dread and surprise punched her with sickening force when she realized her mistake. Oh, God, the second man. He'd moved so quickly she hadn't even heard him get up.

The impact of his body sent her reeling. Her legs tangled with his and she sprawled on her back, her head cracking against the ground, hard enough to make her see stars. A dozen scenarios raced through her mind, the worst being that he would get control of her weapon. She couldn't let that happen. If Nick showed up now… No, she couldn't bear the thought of another cop getting hurt because of her.

Feeling his weight come down on top of her, Erin lashed out with her boots. She smelled sweat. Bad breath. Her right heel connected with his shin. He cursed and grabbed for her gun. She gripped her pistol tightly, tried to wedge it between them, but he was stronger, and no matter how much training she'd had she couldn't keep him from overpowering her. Refusing to acquiesce, she wrenched free and rolled. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the other man scramble to his feet. Her attacker made it to his knees, but Erin was quicker. She dropped into a shooter's stance. "Halt! Police officer! I'll shoot!"

Both men froze. The second man raised his hands. "I'm cool."

The driver glared at Erin. She was shaken, but by the looks of him, so was he. For several seconds they just stood there, breathing hard, staring at each other.

"Get on the ground!" Nick's deadly calm voice snapped through the air like a gunshot.

Relief poured through Erin with such force that for a moment she didn't trust her legs. Blinking the sweat from her eyes, she looked over her shoulder and saw Nick standing less than ten feet away, his weapon leveled on the man who'd attacked her. Hector Price and two deputies from the sheriff's department flanked him.

"We'll take it from here, McNeal," Nick growled.

Trembling violently with the aftereffects of high adrenaline, Erin turned away and holstered her revolver. She heard the sound of handcuffs clicking into place. In the distance, someone recited the Miranda rights. Nausea roiled in her gut. Well, that hadn't ever happened before. Afraid she was going to be sick, she started for Nick's truck. It was silly, but she didn't want him to see her like this. Not when she was raw and shaking and still scared half out of her wits.

"McNeal."

Her nerves jumped at the anger in his voice. What in the world did he have to be mad about? She'd just bagged two armed suspects for him, and probably saved his neck to boot.

"In a minute, Chief." She'd intended for her voice to come out stronger, but it shook like plucked guitar wire.

"Now, McNeal."

Sighing, she stopped but didn't turn around. Just a few more seconds and she'd be steadier. She drew a deep breath, willing her hands to stop shaking. Behind her, she heard Nick approach. Her nerves wound tighter. Lord, why couldn't he give her a moment to pull herself together?