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 do-not-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.