Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him.

He gazed levelly at her. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have said those things." His jaw flexed. "I shouldn't have touched you."

No man had ever gazed at her the way Nick Ryan did. She wondered how he could look intense and coldly distant at the same time. Erin couldn't keep her eyes from making a quick sweep of him, taking in the rise and fall of his wide chest. The rigid set of his shoulders. The fact that he was still blatantly aroused.

"I have to go," she whispered in a strangled voice.

Never taking her eyes from his, she backed toward the front door. He watched her with predatory intensity, his expression inscrutable.

"Stay away from Stephanie," he said in a quietly dangerous voice. "She likes you, Erin, but she's vulnerable. I don't want her hurt."

"I'd never hurt her," she said.

"I know you wouldn't. Not purposefully. But she's fragile, and I don't want her heartbroken when you decide to go back to Chicago."

Erin steeled herself against the words. She told herself they didn't hurt. That she didn't care. She was a cop; relationships weren't her thing. Still, she felt his words like the jab of a bayonet right through her solar plexus. Dignity forgotten, she turned and fled the barn without looking back.

Erin promised herself she wasn't going to cry. Not again, for goodness sake. It seemed crying was getting to be a habit since she'd moved to Logan Falls and taken up residence on Nick Ryan's hit list. The problem, she decided as she got into her cruiser and slammed the door, was that she'd started breaking her own rules. The ones she'd been living with and doing just fine by since the day Warren had broken her heart and proved to her that most men didn't have the self-assurance to handle a relationship with a woman in a dangerous profession.

Only she knew Nick Ryan wasn't like most men.

As she pulled out of the driveway, she made the mistake of looking in her rearview mirror and catching a glimpse of Stephanie sitting on the front porch, waving her back. The little girl looked so forlorn sitting there with her horse-show trophy in her lap that Erin 's throat locked up. A hundred yards away, Nick stood at the barn door, his arms crossed at his chest, watching her pull away.

Erin 's heart ached for both of them. Stephanie because she wanted so desperately to lead a more active, normal life, and Nick because he couldn't bear the thought of his child taking any kind of risk. A heartbreaking situation. The only question that remained was which one of them would end up losing the most, and how much it would cost them.

Stay away from Stephanie.

Nick's words rang in Erin 's ears, and another wave of pain sliced under her ribcage. For the first time, she realized just how involved her heart had become. The thought elicited an uncharacteristic jab of panic. When was she ever going to learn that police work and relationships didn't mix? Not relationships with men. Certainly not with their children.

It was obvious Nick didn't want to get any closer to her. Well, at least not emotionally. A physical relationship with a man unable to risk his heart for fear of losing it was something she wanted no part of, no matter how attracted she was to him. Not that she wanted his heart in the first place, she reminded herself firmly.

Stephanie, on the other hand, had already snagged Erin 's heart. Not a good thing, considering Nick had all but forbidden her to see her. She knew if her feelings for the little girl got any deeper, she herself was going to get hurt. Best not to get involved. Nick didn't want her in either of their lives. He wasn't ready to care for anyone. Stephanie certainly didn't need any more hurt in her life. Maybe Nick was right. Maybe Erin should just go back to Chicago and forget both of them.

And cows had wings.

Not ready to return to the station and risk running into Hector with a kiss-bruised mouth and red-rimmed eyes, Erin turned onto County Line Road and headed away from town. Shrouded with trees from the greenbelt that ran along Logan Creek, the route was virtually deserted. With a little luck, she'd have a few minutes to pull herself together.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't see the black Lincoln behind her until it was nearly on top of her. Not opposed to handing out a speeding ticket, she eased up on the gas pedal and reached for her emergency strobes switch.

"Okay, speed racer-"

Her words were cut off abruptly as the Lincoln 's bumper slammed into the rear of her cruiser. The impact jolted her. Erin gripped the wheel, surprise burning in her gut. She turned her head to get a look at the driver, but like the sedan that had hit her at the school crossing, the windows were darkly tinted. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she checked for a license number to call in, but there was no plate.

Recalling lessons from driving courses she'd taken over the years, she put her foot on the brake. Probably a drunk, she told herself, checking her speedometer and slowing. Never taking her eyes from the car, she reached for her radio mike to call Hector for backup.

Another more forceful jolt knocked the mike from her hand. She looked up in time to see the Lincoln veer to the left and try to pull alongside her. She leaned forward and snagged the mike off the floor. Instinct had her pressing down on the cruiser's accelerator.

"This is McNeal. I've got a code one. County Line Road just west of the Logan Creek bridge."

The Lincoln was nearly alongside her now. She looked over. Her stomach did a slow, sickening somersault when she spotted a shotgun muzzle sticking out the open passenger-side window.

"Code eight! Hector, this is Erin! He's got a damn shotgun! He's trying-"

Her windshield exploded. Glass pelted her. Erin didn't have time to scream. She jerked the wheel to the left, hoping to bump the Lincoln and send it off the road. In the side mirror, she caught a glimpse of the hood. Engine whining, the Lincoln drew up fast on her left. She looked down at the speedometer. Only fifty miles an hour. It seemed like they were going a hundred.

A second shotgun blast rang out. Erin ducked instinctively. Her hand went to her revolver, jerked it from her holster. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she saw that the Lincoln had fallen back.

The cruiser hit a bump and lurched wildly. Realizing she'd veered onto the shoulder, she stomped on the brakes, but it was too late. The Logan Creek bridge loomed before her. The car pitched. Erin saw tall grass. A green kaleidoscope of trees rushed toward her. Oh, God, the car was going to roll. Bracing against the seat back, she screamed, praying the men in the Lincoln didn't decide to brave the ravine and finish the job they'd started.