Page 57 of Lay Down the Law

CHAPTER 10

Nick was no stranger to guilt, or the hell it could bring down on someone’s life. He considered himself an expert on the subject. After all, he’d lived with his own twisted version for three long years. He knew firsthand the way guilt battered the mind and ravaged the spirit, much the same way cancer invaded, then ate away at the body.

That Erin McNeal suffered the same debilitating affliction over an event that hadn’t been under her control disturbed him deeply. That he’d been so hard on her early on—and dead set against hiring her for a job she was clearly qualified for—sent a different kind of guilt tumbling through the wall he’d sworn he wouldn’t let anyone penetrate.

“Did you try to ID the suspect you shot?” he asked.

“The hospital check didn’t pan out—none of the area emergency rooms had reported a gunshot wound. The lab typed the blood. DNA tests were run, but there wasn’t a match in the national database.”

He nodded, realizing the Chicago PD had reached a dead end at that point. He and Erin had, too. If there was a connection between the warehouse shooting and the incident out at the Logan Creek bridge today, they weren’t going to find it anytime soon.

Damn, he hated dead ends.

“You know what happened to Danny wasn’t your fault, don’t you?” he asked.

A smile whispered across her features, as soft and fleeting as a summer breeze. “So I’ve been told.”

“But you don’t believe it.”

Her gaze faltered, and she looked down at her hands, stilled them. “The last time I went to see Danny, he wouldn’t talk to me. He wouldn’t even look me in the eye.”

Nick wanted to go to her, but he resisted the urge. Touching her was dangerous business under the best of circumstances. To touch her now would surely lead to disaster. He wanted to comfort her, but at the moment he wasn’t sure he’d have the strength to pull away. Not when her intoxicating scent filled the small space around them, and he could still vividly remember the feel of her in his arms. The softness of her flesh. The taste of her mouth. He knew better than to pour gasoline on red-hot embers.

“Danny didn’t expect you to take a bullet for him,” he growled. “No cop expects that.”

“He expected me to back him up. Let’s face it, Nick, for a cop, I committed the ultimate sin.”

“And you’re going to make damn sure you pay for it, aren’t you, McNeal? You punish yourself with guilt. You take crazy risks. Have you ever bothered to think of the people you’ll hurt if something happens to you?”

Her mouth tightened. “Don’t try your tough-love routine on me, okay, Chief?”

“You did your best. That’s all any cop can do.”

“Tell Danny that. Tell his wife. Better yet, tell his kids that when they ask their dad to play ball with them and Danny has to tell them he’ll never get up out of that chair—”

“Stop it,” he said harshly.

Across from him, Erin stared at him, her hands gripping the pillow. “He hates me,” she choked out.

“He hates what happened to him,” Nick said. “That doesn’t mean he hates you. That doesn’t mean he blames you.”

“Frank pulled me—”

“Frank pulled you off the street to keep you safe. He knew you needed some time to recover. He didn’t pull you because you were a bad cop.”

He watched her emotional dam fracture with all the restraint he’d come to expect from Erin. Tears welled and overflowed, but she didn’t utter a sound. She blinked rapidly. Her throat quivered with a forced swallow. Why couldn’t she just let it out and be done with it? Why did she always have to be so tough?

Compassion tightened his own throat at her show of strength. But that sense of compassion was spiked with the dreaded awareness that at some point he’d come to care for her. The knowledge swirled in his head like a stray bullet, cutting him, penetrating a part of him he’d sworn to never again lay open to a woman. How could he let that happen now? How could he let himself care for Erin McNeal? A woman who would do nothing but put him through the wringer with her impulsive behavior and recklessness. A woman who’d already touched his daughter’s heart.

A woman who’d gotten dangerously close to his own.

The realization stunned him. Terrified him. Threatened every emotional wall he’d so diligently built around himself.

A sudden need for space sent him to his feet. Without looking at her, he strode to the other side of the room. He needed distance. Dammit, why did it have to be this woman who could topple his defenses without even trying, and make him want her so badly he shook with the need to touch her? Why did it have to be Erin McNeal who was everything that would ultimately destroy him if he got any closer?

Raking a hand through his hair, he stared unseeing into the kitchen, not sure what to do next. He knew if he turned around and looked into her eyes, he would go to her. He would wrap his arms around her trembling shoulders and simply hold her until the tremors stopped. Only he wouldn’t stop with just holding her this time. He wouldn’t stop with just a kiss. He wanted all of her, and he wasn’t sure how much longer his control would last.

Nick figured he was getting pretty good at playing with fire.