Nick should have realized Stephanie would be angry with him. He couldn't expect her to understand why he'd sent Erin away, that he was only interested in protecting his little girl, and saving them both from another run through hell.

The truth be told, Nick wasn't even sure if he understood all the intricacies behind his inability to deal with Erin. The one thing he knew for certain was that his instincts were telling him she was a threat to Stephanie. Maybe even to himself. He wasn't sure which scared him more.

Nick hadn't wanted to acknowledge the similarity between Rita and Erin. But the truth was indisputable; the parallels were now clear. Rita had been a risk taker. Spontaneous. Careless. Daring. Once upon a time he'd loved her for it. But she'd dared fate one too many times. The pain he'd endured after her death had soured his taste for risk, especially when it came to matters of the heart. In the last three years he'd paid the price for loving her a thousand times over.

Was he headed in the same direction with Erin by caring for her? What about Stephanie? She had lost her mother, her ability to walk-and the precious happiness known only by children. Had he put his little girl's heart at risk by allowing her to get close to another risk taker?

He wanted that happiness back for his child. Wanted it back for her so badly he felt it with every cell of his body. As much as he was attracted to Erin -as much as he'd begun to care for her-she was exactly what they didn't need. A relationship with the gutsy lady cop from Chicago would be nothing short of disaster. He couldn't let himself get any closer. God in heaven, he couldn't let his heart get involved.

Nick nearly laughed at the absurdity of the situation. No, he assured himself, he wouldn't fall for Erin McNeal. Yes, he was… attracted to her. What red-blooded American male wouldn't be? She was sexy as hell. But the bottom line was that he refused to put himself or his daughter through any more heartbreak no matter how much he liked the way Erin kissed.

He could handle his urges. Given some time, he'd find a nice woman he could care for, and eventually bring her home to Stephanie. A woman who knew how to cook and didn't spend her time wrestling suspects and playing with guns. Nick could keep his distance from Erin, he told himself. He possessed the control. He certainly possessed the will.

In his dreams, maybe.

He stood on the front porch and stared at the driveway where her cruiser had disappeared just ten minutes earlier. Guilt tugged at him for the way he'd treated her. What had be been thinking, putting his hands on her like that? That wasn't his style. She hadn't deserved to be humiliated. She hadn't deserved to be pawed at like some kind of sex object. She was no more ready for that kind of relationship than he was. What in the world had prompted him to act so out of character?

Lust, he figured. The hell of it was he hadn't cared at the time. He'd wanted her, had used his own anger as an excuse to cross an indelible line. He'd been so out of control, he hadn't been able to walk back to the house for a while, not without Mrs. Thornsberry noticing the state Erin had left him in.

Nick had too much respect for Erin, and women in general, to treat her with such blatant disregard. In the back of his mind, he'd known what he was trying to accomplish. He'd intended to drive her away permanently with his crude advances. Only his plan had blown up in his face the moment he'd felt the warmth of her flesh beneath his fingertips. When she'd looked at him with those bottomless green eyes, his plan had collapsed beneath the weight of his own desperate need to touch her. He'd ended up losing control and forgetting everything the moment he'd taken that first, sweet taste of her mouth.

"Nick?"

He turned, arching a brow at Mrs. Thornsberry's tone. "What is it, Em?"

The nanny pushed open the screen door and shoved his cell phone at him. "It's Hector. Erin 's been in an accident."

A plume of dust clouded the air as Nick raced the Suburban down the driveway. He reached for the radio mike. "Hector, did she give her location?"

" County Line Road is all I heard, Chief. Called in a code one, then an eight. It sounded urgent. Said there was a shotgun-"

Nick cursed at the last word, vaguely aware that he'd flipped on the emergency lights and floored the accelerator. "Where on County Line Road?"

"Logan Creek bridge. You want me to meet you out there?"

The mention of the Logan Creek bridge gave Nick pause, but only for a moment. "Get an ambulance-"

"Parke County Rescue is en route."

"I'll see you in a few minutes." Nick racked the mike. An odd sense of déjà vu engulfed him as he turned onto County Line Road. It had been nearly three years since his wife's accident, but he remembered every agonizing detail with a clarity that made his heart race. Shaken by the force of the emotions surging through him, he gripped the steering wheel and willed his pulse to slow. He wouldn't think of Rita now. He wouldn't think of that terrible day. Or the black months that followed.

He wasn't involved with Erin McNeal, didn't care about her. If she'd gotten herself hurt-or worse-he wouldn't feel it all the way to his soul, the way he had when Rita had died. McNeal was his deputy, nothing more. A troubled cop who'd needed a chance to get back on her feet after a tragic shooting. He'd lent a hand. He liked the way she looked, and had behaved badly. But that was where it ended. He refused to analyze his feelings for her any more deeply than that.

He wouldn't tempt fate by caring for a woman who didn't hesitate to put herself on the line. Nor would he risk his daughter's young heart. No matter how attracted he was to Erin, he wouldn't get involved with her. He wouldn't let her hurt him. He wouldn't let her touch him emotionally. He was immune, dammit. Had been since the night Rita had quietly died in his arms. Never again would he lay his heart out on the chopping block so that fate could slash it at will.

His heart thrummed like a jackhammer when he spotted skid marks near the bridge. Fear gripped him with clawlike fingers as he brought the Suburban to a screeching halt. Throwing open the door, he hit the ground running.

"McNeal!"

The car wasn't anywhere in sight, but the pungent smell of burning rubber filled the air. He stopped at the bridge, dizzy with fear, sick with remembrance. His gaze followed the skid marks to the edge of the asphalt, where they tore into the shoulder. The car had barely missed the steel girders, cutting a path through the weeds, then plummeting down the embankment.

He stumbled to the edge of the road. His heart rolled when he spotted the overturned cruiser a few feet from the muddy creek bank. A second later he was moving, scrambling down the steep incline. " Erin!" He heard her name as if the voice had come from someone else.

His pulse raged as he sprinted toward the vehicle. "McNeal! Answer me, dammit!"

Dropping to his knees outside the driver's side door, Nick leaned forward, peered inside, and his heart simply stopped. Em's lifeless form hung suspended, held in place by her safety belt. Her face was deathly pale, her eyes open and staring. Nick's first thought was that she was dead.

"McNeal!" Panic knifed through him. Without thinking, he reached for her. Her flesh was cold to the touch. She didn't stir. " Erin! Honey, can you hear me?"

Her answer came in the form of an elongated groan. She blinked at Nick. "Oh, Nick. I think I screwed up."

The sound of her voice nearly undid him. His emotions rose dangerously to the surface. Relief. Thankfulness. A hundred others he didn't want to name. For a moment he couldn't speak, could do nothing but sit back and thank God she was alive.