"Why are you crying?" he asked, pressing his face against her hair and breathing in her scent. "You're safe. You're with me. Everything's going to be fine."

"What about you?"

"I'm fine." He swallowed, fighting for control, hating it that the accident had scraped him raw and left him bleeding.

"You don't look fine to me."

"One catastrophe at a time, McNeal, all right?" Pulling back slightly, he looked into her eyes, trying not to tumble into their green depths. "You weren't crying or anything after you left my place, were you?"

"Nick, this wasn't your fault," she said firmly.

He wasn't sure he believed her, but he let it slide. He didn't want to take on any guilt. He had enough emotions to deal with just knowing how differently things could have turned out. "What happened?" he asked after a moment.

Her eyes were luminous and incredibly large in the pale frame of her face. When she opened her mouth to speak, her lips trembled. "I think it was a professional hit."

Nick paced the emergency room hall, high-grade anxiety pumping through him with each beat of his heart.

I think it was a professional hit.

Erin 's words rang like a death knell in his ears. He wished he was surprised, but he wasn't. Not after the incident at the school. A hundred unanswered questions tumbled through his mind. Simultaneously, the need to protect her rose inside him in a violent tide that threatened his viselike grip on control.

Who wanted Erin McNeal dead?

"Chief Ryan?"

Nick spun at the on-call doctor's voice. "How is she?" The doctor came through the double doors of the emergency room and stopped next to Nick. "She's very lucky. A few bruises and cuts. CAT scan looks good. X rays are normal. We're waiting for blood tests, but I think she's good to go home. You can talk to her now."

A spiral of relief tunneled through him. "Thanks, Doc." Turning, Nick shoved through the emergency room doors. He scanned the room, his gaze drawn to the woman lying on the gurney in the corner. Something warm loosened in his chest when her gaze met his. Then her mouth curved in a tentative smile, and despite his worry and the questions buzzing around inside his head, he couldn't keep from smiling back.

Never taking his gaze from hers, he approached the gurney. "Has anyone ever called you a trouble magnet, McNeal?"

Her smile widened to a grin. "What do you think?"

"If I wasn't so glad you're all right, I'd probably chew you out just for the hell of it."

"You actually smiled a little when you saw me. I think that's a good sign." Surprising him, she raised her hand and pressed it to his cheek. "I didn't realize you worried so much."

Nick winced at the contact, knowing she was referring to his emotional reaction back at the accident scene, but he didn't step back. Every pleasure center in his body focused on that small, warm contact.

"You have a really nice smile, Chief. You should try it more often."

Low-level shock rippled through him, mingling with the pleasure of her touch, and went straight to a place he knew better than to acknowledge now. Only then did he notice her slightly dilated pupils and realized the doctor had probably given her something for pain. Just what he needed: a sexy, vulnerable deputy he was attracted to beyond reason in need of protection. Terrific. "You're high as a kite," he grumbled.

"I may be… medicated, but I can plainly see that you have a nice smile." Sighing, she relaxed back into the pillow. "And you smell really, really good."

Not knowing what to say to that, feeling the back of his neck heat-and another part of his anatomy follow suit-he grasped her hand and lowered it to the gurney. "We need to talk," he said. "Think you can answer some questions?"

Her gaze skittered away. "All right."

Compassion stirred in his chest when he realized she wasn't quite ready to relive the incident. He wished he didn't have to put her through it, but he couldn't let it go. He figured neither of them had a choice in the matter.

"I need to know what happened," he said. "I also need a description of the car so I can notify the highway patrol."

"Sure." He watched her force her cop's mask into place. "Black Lincoln. Four-door. Maybe a 2000 model. Illinois plates. There's a big dent on the right front quarter panel."

"Dent?" His interest piqued. "The car hit your cruiser?"

She nodded. "The bumper, and the rear quarter panel."

"I'll see if I can get someone out here from the state lab to lift some paint. That might help us nail down the make and model." He grimaced. "What about the driver?"

"I only saw the passenger."

"Can you give me a description?"

"Caucasian male with dark hair. Maybe forty years old. I didn't get a good look. I mean, he had this shotgun aimed right at my head…" Her voice trembled with the last word.

Nick looked away, giving her a moment to regroup. He didn't like the way this was shaping up. Who would be trying to hurt this woman? Someone from her past? An acquaintance? A crazy? Or was there something more ominous in the works?

He looked down at her, felt another stir of compassion. She wasn't crying. He knew she wouldn't cry now. Not Erin McNeal the cop. But even that didn't diminish the vulnerability he saw. She was pale. Shaking. But she never let on that she was scared. Not for one second, and his respect for her-which was already sky-high-kicked up another notch.

"You're doing fine, Erin."

"Hey, it was just a little wreck. Of course I'm fine." She said the words with a little too much enthusiasm.

Nick sighed, not bothering to point out the "little wreck," as she'd put it, could have cost her her life.

"The doc isn't going to keep me here, is he, Nick?"

"You got something against hospitals, McNeal?"

"Only when I'm in them. Do you think you could take me home now?" she asked. "If I get poked one more time I'm afraid I'm going to have to draw my weapon and start shooting doctors."

He forced a smile at her attempted humor, wondering if the repercussions of what had happened had penetrated the fog of shock and medication. "I'll take you home," he said. "We can talk there."

Even through the haze of medication, every muscle in Erin 's body ached with a vengeance by the time they reached her apartment.

Nick opened the door, then motioned toward the sofa. "Sit down," he said. "I'll get you a blanket, then I'm going to make some coffee."

Without protest, she limped to the sofa and eased onto a cushion. Hugging a throw pillow to her chest, she pulled her legs under her, and tried not to think about how close she'd come to getting seriously hurt-or worse.

The incident had done more than shake her physically. Her confidence had taken another direct hit. She didn't like feeling so… helpless. She certainly didn't like feeling threatened. The instant she'd seen that shotgun pointed in her direction, Erin had been bombarded with a hefty dose of both.

The clatter of dishes in the kitchen drew her attention to Nick, and she sighed. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she was glad he was there. He represented solidity in a wild, unpredictable sea of too much emotion and not enough fact-elements Erin could do without in her present state.

From her perch on the sofa, she watched him stride from the kitchen to her bedroom. Erin tried not to notice the controlled grace with which he moved, or the underlying restlessness that surrounded him like a dark aura. He seemed thoughtful tonight. Edgy. Unsettled. She wondered if any of those things had to do with the way he'd reacted at the accident scene. Nick wasn't the kind of man to let something like a car wreck shake him. She wanted to think he'd been shaken up because he'd been worried about her, but the more logical side of her knew that wasn't the case. He'd been thinking of Rita, she realized. Erin knew first-hand the face of grief, and saw clearly the mark it had left on this man's heart.