Cops and ... Lovers?

by Linda Castillo

  Five minutes later, she pulled into the driveway and parked next to Nick's Suburban. Though it was early evening, she'd expected to see kids playing on the swing set or shooting baskets in the hoop by the garage. But the yard was deserted. Bandito grazed contentedly near the fence, swatting flies with a tail that was a little too long, a little too tangled. There were no laughing children. No games of hide-and-seek. No adults lounging in lawn chairs. Beside Nick's Suburban and Mrs. Thornsberry's old Buick, the only other car there was Hector's.

  Lifting the package, she got out of the cruiser and made her way to the front door. She told herself she wasn't nervous about seeing Nick. She wasn't here to see him, though the fact that she would was inevitable. Still, the thought of facing him after the kiss they'd shared made her palms sweat.

  She told herself it was silly to get nervous over a friendly embrace that had gotten out of hand. This was a kid's birthday party, for goodness sake. Erin was on her dinner hour and only had about forty-five minutes before she had to get back to her shift. Enough time, she mused, to give Stephanie her gift and grab that piece of cake Mrs. Thornsberry had promised. And maybe even show Nick she wasn't avoiding him—since that kiss obviously hadn't meant a thing to either of them.

  Wiping her damp palms on her uniform slacks, Erin rang the bell. Her heart stopped dead in her chest when the man in question opened the door. She'd never seen Nick out of uniform, and the sight of him made her feel light-headed. It didn't surprise her that he looked even better in faded jeans. The black Polo shirt he wore made his eyes look darker. She wondered if he was one of those people whose eyes changed with their moods.

  For several long seconds she stood silently, praying he didn't see the color she felt rising in her cheeks. "Hi," she said, hefting the package. "I wanted to bring this by."

  "McNeal," he acknowledged finally, eyeing the package. "How's the head?"

  "Still pretty hard."

  He didn't smile, but Erin saw the flash of amusement in his dark eyes. "Good thing, I guess, all things considered."

  The silence built for a moment. He made no move to invite her inside. Feeling awkward, she looked down at her boots.

  "You were scheduled to work tonight," he said.

  She'd tried to convince herself his decision to schedule her for work didn't have anything to do with the fact that he didn't want to see her. Of course, she wasn't at all concerned about that. Just because Hector's car was in the driveway didn't mean she should be invited to the party, too, did it?

  "I'm on my dinner hour," she said quickly. "I've only got a few minutes." Not knowing what else to say or do, she shoved the package at him. "I wanted to make sure Stephanie got this."

  He took the box. "Uh … thanks. I'll make sure she gets it."

  "Great."

  Erin told herself she wasn't disappointed that he wasn't going to invite her inside. That she hadn't wanted to see Stephanie's eyes light up. Or see Nick smile. She'd only known them a little over a week. It wasn't like she was a friend he would invite to his daughter's birthday party. Still, the sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach was acute.

  "Oh, Erin!"

  She jumped at the sound of Mrs. Thornsberry's voice, and watched the woman approach. "I'm so glad you came. I had to fight off Hector to save you a piece of cake. I hope you like German chocolate."

  Nick frowned. "She's on duty, Em."

  "For heaven's sake, there aren't any rules against police officers indulging in birthday cake while on duty." Mrs. Thornsberry smiled sweetly at Erin. "There's a big piece with your name on it in the kitchen."

  Erin returned the smile, torn between not wanting to irritate Nick and appeasing the nanny. She'd wanted to give Stephanie the gift herself, but he seemed adamantly opposed to her staying. "Thanks, Mrs. Thornsberry, but—"

  "Nick, where are your manners?" the older woman scolded. "Aren't you going to invite her in?"

  Nick shot the woman a dark look.

  "For goodness sakes, she's got time for a piece of cake." Giving him an annoyed glance over her shoulder, Mrs. Thornsberry headed for the living room.

  Erin's discomfort grew. Nick obviously wasn't happy to see her. It was clear he didn't want her there. Glancing back at her cruiser, she took a step back. "I've got to get back—"

  "It's all right." He opened the door wider and stepped aside. "Come on in."

  "I didn't mean to intrude."

  His gaze locked with hers. Erin felt stripped bare by the power behind it. She'd never had a difficult time with eye contact, but Nick's gaze was so intense she couldn't hold it.

  "I figured we probably couldn't avoid each other much longer," he said in a low voice.

  She looked anywhere but into those dark, dangerous eyes of his. "I wasn't—"

  "Avoidance probably isn't a good strategy, anyway, considering we work together."

  Heat suffused her cheeks. Something warm and jumpy fluttered in her chest when images of the kiss came to her unbidden. The feel of his mouth against hers. The way he'd wrapped her in his arms. The hardness of his body as he pulled her close.

  She wanted to say something flippant, maybe just to prove to him that blasted kiss hadn't affected her in the least, but the power of speech seemed to have left her. She stepped past him, and every nerve ending in her body went on alert when the tangy essence of his aftershave curled around her brain. The memory of the kiss sharpened, expanded, until it filled her with a longing she wanted desperately to deny.

  Nick motioned toward the hall. "I appreciate you bringing a gift. It wasn't necessary, but I'm sure Steph will like it."

  Feeling breathless and off-kilter, Erin started down the hall, wishing she'd heeded her own common sense and brought the gift by when Nick wasn't home.

  They reached the living room a moment later. Hector nodded a greeting from his place on the sofa. Mrs. Thornsberry looked on from the kitchen doorway. Steph sat in her wheelchair in the center of the room, surrounded by crumpled wrapping paper and assorted gifts.

  "Hi, Steph," Erin said. "Happy birthday."

  "Thanks."

  Her heart melted when the little girl smiled. Such a pretty smile. Too bad she didn't do it more often.

  "Dad got me a new easel for sketching," she said. "Want to see my new pad?"

  "Sure." Erin took the pad from her, feeling inept, since she didn't know a thing about sketching, and opened it to feel the texture of the paper. "Very nice. What do you sketch?"

  "Sometimes I sketch Bandito. Sometimes my mom, but m not very good at faces, so I mostly just make stuff up. I'm pretty good at evening gowns and dresses, too."

  "Ah, a budding clothes designer," Erin said.

  Pride jumped into the little girl's eyes, and her grin widened. "My dad says I'm going to give Liz Claiborne a run for her money."

  "I don't doubt it." Erin handed her the sketch pad. "Maybe you could show me your drawings sometime."

  "'Kay."

  Mrs. Thornsberry took Erin's gift from Nick and set it on Stephanie's lap. The little girl picked up the box and shook it. "Sure is big."

  Leaning against the wall with his arms folded, Nick smiled at his daughter, the first genuine smile Erin had seen since she'd walked in.

  "Have at it, honeybunch." His gaze met Erin's, the smile he'd given his daughter still flirting with his mouth.

  He had one of the nicest smiles she'd ever seen. Too bad he didn't use it more often. Disconcerted that she'd noticed something she shouldn't have, she looked away.

  Stephanie stripped the paper from the box. Erin watched, anticipation building in her chest. The little girl's hands stilled. The crackle of wrapping paper stopped abruptly. Dead silence fell over the room. Stephanie stared at the bright orange basketball, blinking as if someone had just played a cruel joke on her.

  "It's a basketball," she said dully.

  Erin's stomach went into a slow roll. Praying her carefully chosen gift didn't turn into a negative experience for the girl, she stepped forward. "I saw the hoop
above the garage door outside and thought you might like to start playing again."

  The little girl stared at Erin, her blue eyes wide with the kind of hurt Erin knew too well. She'd seen that look before; she'd felt it in her own heart a hundred times in the last several months. She knew intimately the harsh realities of shock and pain and betrayal. Her heart cramped in her chest when those bottomless blue eyes filled with tears.

  "I can't play basketball anymore," Stephanie said in a small voice. "My legs…"

  "Oh, honey, you can," Erin said gently. "You can take lessons if you want to. Disabled people play basketball and win marathons and do all sorts of fun things."

  "I want to, but I can't." Stephanie looked at her father. "Why did she get this for me? I can't play anymore."

  Erin's breath jammed in her throat. The pain struck with such force that she couldn't breathe. All she could do was press her hand to her breast and pray the little girl would understand. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt this child who had already been hurt so brutally.

  "Oh, my," Mrs. Thornsberry said. "Steph, honey, I'm sure Erin didn't mean—"

  "I can't play!" the girl cried. "I don't want it."

  "But you can play, Steph," Erin said. "Honey, I'll teach you—"

  "That's enough." Nick's voice cracked through the air like cold steel being snapped in half.

  The words jerked Erin's gaze to his. His jaws were clamped tight, his hands clenched at his sides. He glared at her, his eyes as hard and infinitely cold as glacial ice.

  She stared, vaguely aware that the room had become as quiet as a tomb. Hector gaped at her as if she'd just pulled out her pistol and shot the chandelier off the ceiling. Mrs. Thornsberry made a show of gathering gift wrap off the floor.

  Erin looked at Stephanie. "I'm sorry," she said helplessly.

  Spinning the wheelchair, uttering a single, heart-wrenching cry, Stephanie fled from the room.

  Mrs. Thornsberry and Nick started after her simultaneously, but the older woman stopped him. "Let me handle this one, Nick."

  He halted, uncertainty etched into his features as he watched her disappear down the hall.

  Erin felt physically ill. She hadn't even considered the possibility that the basketball would upset Stephanie. How could she have been so insensitive? Why had she expected that little girl to understand something no one had ever bothered to explain?

  Erin's gaze swept to Nick's. She nearly winced at the anger she saw burning there. "I didn't mean to upset her," she said. "I didn't think—"

  "That's your problem, McNeal," he snapped. "You don't think before you act."

  Erin stepped back, hurt that she'd been so terribly misunderstood, angered that her judgment had been called into question once again by a man whose opinion was becoming increasingly important to her.

  Erin didn't lose control of her emotions easily or break down in front of people at the drop of a hat. She'd learned the futility of tears at a very young age. But as she stood there taking in Nick's angry expression, thinking of how badly she'd hurt that little girl, tears threatened her dignity.

  "I've got to get back to work." Turning abruptly, she started for the door.

  "Wait a minute."

  Erin didn't stop. She didn't trust her emotions not to betray her, and he was the last man on earth she wanted to break down in front of.

  Letting herself out through the front door, she sucked in a breath of cool night air, thankful to be out of the house. When she reached the grass, she broke into a run.

  The front door slammed behind her. Nick, she thought, and quickened her pace. When was she ever going to learn not to push the envelope in everything she did?

  Blinded by the tears building behind her eyes, she stopped at her cruiser and fumbled for her keys.

  "I'd like a word with you, McNeal."

  She looked over her shoulder to see him crossing the lawn. Terrific. Here she was about to lose it, and he wanted a word with her. She had to hand it to him—the guy had great timing.

  "I've got to get back to work," she said.

  "It'll wait."

  For an instant she was tempted to ignore him, and get in the car and drive away. Of course, she didn't. Erin had never been one to run away from her problems. So why did she feel the quiver of the fight-or-flight instinct every time Nick got near her?

  She didn't turn to face him when he came up behind her and stopped. "You want to tell me what that was all about?" he demanded.

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  "Why don't you turn around and look at me?"

  Unduly humiliated, she swiped at the tears with her sleeve. "I said I was sorry, Nick. What else do you want?"

  "I'm just trying to understand you. I don't have a clue why you bought Steph that ball. Why don't you help me out?"

  Slowly, Erin turned. Raising her chin, she met his gaze. "I gave her that basketball because I want her to know she's strong and capable and doesn't have to stop living just because she's in a wheelchair."

  "She can barely stand, McNeal. How on earth is she supposed to play basketball?"

  "It's called wheelchair basketball, Nick. Don't tell me you've never heard of it."

  "She's not ready for that."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because I'm her father," he said. "I know what she's been through. I know what she can handle."

  "She's ready, Nick. She'll eventually do it whether you're ready to accept it or not. She can do a lot of things you don't seem to be ready to accept. Once she realizes it, you'd better learn to deal with it, because she's not going to stop." The words came out in a rush. Harsh. Damning. So true her chest ached with the need to prove to him she was right.

  His eyes narrowed. "You don't know what you're talking about."

  "I spent two months coaching disabled children. Wheelchair basketball. Therapeutic horseback riding. Marathon racing. The kids love it. They love it! I've seen their faces light up. Their confidence bounce back. Their outlook on life improve dramatically." Shaken by her own words and the emotion barreling through her, Erin broke off. She'd said too much, she knew, but once the words had started flowing, she hadn't been able to stop.

  Nick stared at her. "Stephanie is still adjusting. She's … fragile. Not only physically, but emotionally. I won't risk her getting hurt again."

  "At what cost to her?"

  His face darkened. "You're crossing a line you don't want to cross, McNeal."

  "I'm good at crossing lines, Chief. That's what I do best. For future reference, you should keep that in mind."

  "You're reckless not only with your physical safety but with that smart mouth of yours."

  "You asked, Chief. I'm telling you what I think. You're smothering that child—"

  "She needs to be protected."

  "She needs to live her life to the fullest extent, risks be damned."

  "Recklessness is what put her in that chair to begin with!" Nick moved toward her, his jaw set. "I won't let it happen again, so back off!"

  His words and the anger behind them stopped her cold. Erin stood there trembling, breathing hard, wondering what Pandora's box of pain she'd opened inside him.

  As if realizing he was clinging to control by little more than a thread, Nick turned away abruptly. Walking to the front of the car, he put his hands on the hood and lowered his head.

  For several long minutes the only sound came from the chirping of crickets. Erin leaned against the car door, shaken, aware that her heart was beating too fast. She wanted to tell him about the weeks she'd spent doing volunteer work at the Quest Foundation, an agency that specialized in helping disabled children adjust. But he was so angry she wasn't sure it would make any difference.

  Shoving away from the car, he straightened. Erin heard him sigh, then he approached her. "I'm sorry," he said.

  "It's all right. This is none of my business—"

  "I lost my temper. It's not the first time, and it's definitely not all right." He bit out an oath, then gave her a
canny look. "Stephanie is everything to me, McNeal. Everything. I love her more than life. She's been through hell in the last three years. I don't want her hurt again. I'll do whatever it takes to keep that from happening."

  His eyes were the color of midnight, and so tortured Erin wanted to reach out and touch him, just to let him know he wasn't alone, even if she knew he wouldn't believe it.

  "I know you only want what's best for her," she said.

  "That includes keeping her safe."

  "Nick, I didn't mean to overstep. I'm just…"

  "Impulsive?" One side of his mouth hiked into a half smile.

  "It's not the first time I've been accused of that." Erin let out the breath she'd been holding, relieved that he'd purposefully quelled the tension between them. "How did she end up in the wheelchair?"

  Nick waited so long before answering that for a moment Erin thought he wouldn't answer at all. When he did, his voice was so low she had to lean forward to hear him.

  "A car accident three years ago. My wife was killed. Stephanie received a spinal injury. She spent two weeks in intensive care."

  He looked out across the lawn, into the darkness. Even in profile, Erin saw the tight clench of his jaw and the raw emotion in the depths of his eyes. Her heart went out to him as she watched him struggle for words.

  "Two weeks later, I had to look into those innocent eyes of hers and tell her she might not ever walk again. That was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do." His laugh held no humor. "All she was worried about was whether or not she'd be able to take care of Bandito. That from a little girl who lived for basketball and horse shows, and who'd just lost her mother. Her courage humbles me."

  "I'm sorry, Nick. I know that must have been tough." The words didn't seem adequate.

  "Yeah, McNeal, me, too. She's a terrific kid."

  "I know." Erin longed to reach out to him. To touch that strong jaw. Run her fingers over his shoulders until they were no longer rigid. To relax the clenching of his fists by taking his hands in hers. But she didn't do any of those things because she knew that wasn't what he needed.