Cops And...Lovers?. Linda Castillo
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“I used my best judgment,” she retorted. “Where in the hell were you?”
“The guy in the rear kept me a little too busy to baby-sit you.”
Anger flared in her eyes. “I’m a trained police officer.”
“You’re a loose cannon.”
Her wince was almost imperceptible, but Nick saw it and knew he’d hit a nerve. His temper wouldn’t let him back off. “I won’t have you taking risks and endangering yourself and everyone else because you have something to prove.”
“Maybe you’d rather Steph lost her other parent in there!”
The words struck him dead center. Nick felt himself recoil. Emotionally. Physically. He tried to squelch the reaction. He didn’t want her to know she’d struck a geyser of guilt than ran a mile deep in his heart. He didn’t want her to know he felt the depth of that guilt every time he looked at his daughter and saw that wheelchair.
“Don’t push me, McNeal,” he warned. “You’ll lose.”
She blinked, as if her own words had shocked her. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for—”
“Frank warned me about that killer instinct of yours.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Sure you did. Don’t lessen the impact by trying to take it back now. Go for the jugular. That’s your style, isn’t it?”
“You don’t have a clue what my style is.”
He tried to curb the anger building in his chest, but it had already gotten away from him. He knew he was overreacting, but this woman had a way of pushing all the wrong buttons. “You like stepping a little too close to the edge, don’t you, McNeal?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You got a death wish or something?” he asked.
“That’s a ridiculous question.”
“Maybe you’re trying to make up for something you did or didn’t do in that warehouse six months ago.”
Her entire body jolted. “Go to hell.”
Before he realized he was going to touch her, Nick took her arm and guided her to the truck, away from the curious eyes of his deputies and the crowd that had gathered in front of the bar. “You weren’t straight with me.”
“I never lied to you.”
“Don’t spew semantics at me. Your head being screwed up over that shooting was bad enough. But your little penchant for taking risks is a disaster waiting to happen.”
“You’re overreacting—”
“I always overreact when someone lies to me. It ticks me off!”
“I reacted like a cop, Nick. I did what I thought was right.”
“Did you even bother to think that we didn’t have backup? That you didn’t have cuffs? That the suspect could have had another weapon in his freaking sock? That a civilian could have been shot in that scuffle?”
“Of course I did! I considered all those things.”
Nick stopped when they reached the truck. “When I tell you to do something, you’d better do it. And I mean down to the letter. You got that?”
“I disarmed two dangerous suspects. I backed you up.”
“You walked into a dangerous situation half-cocked. If we’re going to work together, I’ve got to be able to trust you, McNeal. As it is now, I don’t. I sure as hell don’t trust your judgment.”
“My judgment bagged two suspects—”
“You’re not ready to return to the field!” Nick’s hands shook with rage. He was unreasonably angry. He saw it clearly, but couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to analyze the reaction she’d unleashed inside him. He didn’t want to name its source. But it hit close to home, and he felt it like a bad piece of meat stuck in his gullet, rotting him from the inside out.
He stared at her, the only sounds coming from their labored breathing and the traffic on Commerce Street. The realization of what she was struck him like a blow. Erin was a risk taker. An adrenaline junkie. After the way she’d put herself on the line just now, he wouldn’t be far off the mark if he called her reckless. Nick couldn’t deal with recklessness. Not after Rita. Not after the havoc her death had wreaked on his life and the life of his little girl.
Releasing Erin abruptly, he stepped back, stunned by the depth of his rage. “I want a full report on my desk, then I want you to clean out your locker.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re a smart woman. You figure it out.”
Incredulity filled her gaze. “You can’t fire me.”
“I just did.”
She stared at him, her breasts rising and falling beneath her uniform as she sucked in oxygen.
“If you want to get yourself killed, do it on someone else’s time, because I won’t have any part in it. I don’t care whose niece you are.” Without giving her time to respond, he turned on his heel and stalked away.
Erin was still shaking when she opened the door to her apartment and let herself in. She told herself she wasn’t upset. That Nick’s harsh words hadn’t shaken her. That she didn’t need this job. She sure didn’t need Nick Ryan.
She couldn’t believe he’d fired her!
He’d overreacted, she assured herself. He couldn’t handle the reality of a woman in a dangerous job. Just like Assistant District Attorney Warren Prentice all those years ago—a man Erin had given her heart to, only to have him hand it back to her in shreds because he couldn’t accept her being a cop. The parallel left a rank taste in her mouth.
Nick had no right to come down on her so hard just because she’d taken a calculated risk. But deep down inside Erin wondered if there was a kernel of truth behind his accusations. If the underlying guilt she’d been fighting for months had compelled her to act recklessly.
I won’t have you taking risks and endangering yourself and everyone else because you have something to prove.
His words rang uncomfortably in her ears as she stepped into the foyer and shut the door behind her. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the jamb and told herself he was wrong. She didn’t have anything to prove. She didn’t have anything to feel guilty about. Damn Nick Ryan and his Freudian cop psychology, anyway.
Shoving away from the door, she walked into the living room, trying not to notice the empty moving boxes, or the aches that had crept into her bones since her scuffle with the suspect an hour ago. He hadn’t looked that big, but he’d hit her solidly. Not hard enough to cause serious injury, but hard enough to hurt, and she was feeling every single bruise.
Packing could wait, she decided. A handful of aspirin and a hot bath couldn’t. If she didn’t soak now, by morning she’d be too stiff to move. And she definitely needed to be able to move, since she’d be lugging boxes to her car and driving back to Chicago.
Gingerly, she unbuckled her holster and dropped it on the coffee table, then toed off her boots. Lowering herself onto the sofa, she eased off her uniform shirt and checked the scrape that ran from her elbow to the top of her shoulder. The abrasion was shallow, but deep enough to ooze blood and burn like the dickens.
“Just what you need, McNeal,” she muttered. “Another scar.” Ignoring the pain, she unclasped her bra and slipped it off, draping it over the arm of the sofa. She should have let Nick take the hit. Maybe he would appreciate her a little more if he knew that tussle had cost her a couple of layers of skin.
Pulling off