Page 67 of Lay Down the Law

“Call me a damn fool, but I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“You don’t care about me,” she snapped.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he growled. “It goes against everything I know about you, but I care. A lot more than I should, considering you have the common sense of a terrier pup who just had its bone stolen by a pit bull. I care a hell of a lot more than I want to. More than you want me to, in fact. But, dammit, I do. So don’t think I’m going to let you walk into a dangerous situation alone, because it’s not going to happen.”

* * *

Nick couldn’t believe he’d said those killing words. Not to Erin. But the moment he’d walked into her apartment and seen her in sweatpants and T-shirt, punching that bag, all bets were off. He hadn’t even bothered to pretend he was still in control. Why should he? He hadn’t been in control since the day she’d walked into his office and way-laid him with that big-city cop attitude and those pretty green eyes.

Now, as he stared down at her, his temper tangled with emotions he didn’t want to deal with, and physical sensations more powerful than anything he’d ever known. Even knowing she was wrong for him—knowing fully she had no intention of changing her ways—he still wanted her. Wanted her so desperately he felt the need all the way to his marrow.

“You don’t have the guts to care for me,” she said.

She’d tried to make the words sound cavalier, but Nick knew his admission had surprised her. Hell, he’d surprised himself. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They both knew it. So why hadn’t he just kept his mouth shut?

“You’re not making it easy,” he growled. “I ought to walk away right now and let DiCarlo have you.”

Erin snorted. “Like I need you to protect me.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot. You’re the Erin McNeal. You can take on DiCarlo all by yourself. Just because most of his victims end up fitting in a coffee can after he’s finished with them doesn’t mean that would happen to you. Not Erin McNeal, female cop extraordinaire.”

“Go to hell.”

She tried to get up, but he kept her pinned. He wanted to shake her, anything to make her understand the danger she faced when it came to DiCarlo. “He wants you dead, McNeal. You shot his son. Maybe even killed him. What do you think he’s going to do if he gets his hands on you?”

“He’s not going to get his hands on me.”

She’d spoken the words with conviction, but Nick didn’t miss the shiver that rippled the length of her. He felt a swell of relief that she was finally beginning to understand the gravity of her situation.

“I’m taking you to a motel.” Gritting his teeth against the ache that had taken up permanent residence in his groin, he hoisted himself off her and stood.

Propping herself on an elbow, she glared up at him. “I’ll agree to go with you on one condition.”

“Like you have a choice.” He extended his hand, trying not to notice the way that T-shirt hugged her curves. “I’m not bargaining with you, McNeal.”

“I’m not going to sit around and wait for DiCarlo to make his move.”

If she hadn’t been dead serious, he might have laughed. As it was, the determination in her voice put a brick of dread in the pit of his stomach. “You’ve got five minutes to pack a bag,” he said. “If you’re not ready to leave by then, I’ll handcuff you and force you to come with me.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You know I will.”

She reached for his hand, and he pulled her easily to her feet. “I want DiCarlo,” she said.

“Evidently, the feelings are mutual.”

“This is the perfect opportunity—”

“Pack, McNeal.”

“Dammit, Nick, I owe it to Danny.”

“Loyalty is an admirable trait, but it won’t do you any good if you’re dead.” He looked at his watch. “You have four and a half minutes to pack a bag.”

“If DiCarlo is so intent on finding me, why hasn’t he made a move until now? It’s been six months since the shooting.”

“Frank said he’s been in Sicily. As far as he knows, he was there burying his son.”

“If, indeed, DiCarlo is behind this, his attempts to get at me were halfhearted at best. That’s not his style.”

“Maybe he wants you alive. He’s not above a personal visit when it comes to revenge, especially when he gets to be the grim reaper.”

Muttering an unladylike oath, Erin turned away and stalked to the opposite side of the room. Nick watched, steeling himself against the fierce need to protect her, and another need that demanded distance and objectivity.

“All right,” she snapped. “I’ll go with you. But only until we can come up with a plan. I’m not going to sit it out.”

He considered telling her she could discuss that with the two U.S. Marshals who would be meeting her in a few hours to take her to a safe house, but decided she’d be easier to handle if she didn’t know she was about to be pulled from the race.

“Okay, McNeal. You’ve made your point. Pack. You’ve got two minutes left.”

As Nick watched her stalk toward her bedroom, he realized all he had to do now was figure out a way to keep his hands off her for the next few hours.