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uncomfortably when he realized it was taking most of her nerve just to maintain eye contact. Whatever happened in that warehouse had taken a heavy toll on her. She blamed herself, he realized. Nick knew firsthand how easy it was to accept blame when the real culprit wasn't able to.
    "This isn't going to work out if you can't handle being around the wheelchair," he said.
    "I can handle it."
    "You sure about that?"
    "It just … caught me off guard. I didn't mean to upset her."
    "I don't think she noticed. But she's sensitive about her handicap. I don't want it to happen again."
    "It won't." Guilt shimmered in the depths of Erin 's eyes. "I overreacted. I'm sorry."
    Once again, Nick couldn't take his eyes off her. She gazed steadily at him, her green eyes dark against her pale complexion. Relief flashed through him when he realized she wasn't a crier. Female tears were the one thing he'd never handled well. Thank God he didn't have to deal with that heaped on top of those bottomless, troubled eyes and soft mouth.
    "We don't have time to discuss this right now," he said. "But you owe me a more detailed explanation."
    A breath shuddered out of her. "I know."
    He glanced toward the door, beyond which Stephanie waited. He'd always been protective of his daughter. Especially since the car accident three years ago that had taken her mother from her and injured her spine. As of late, it seemed his protective instinct had grown into something even Nick couldn't control.
    "I need to take her home," he said. "You can ride along. Then we'll start our shift, and we can talk."
    "Look, Nick, I'm a good cop—"
    "This has nothing to do with whether or not you're a good cop. The question is whether or not you're ready to return to the field."
    "I'm ready," she snapped.
    He contemplated her, trying not to notice the way the sunlight brought out the red in her hair and made it shine like Oriental silk. Damn her for complicating things by being a woman. Damn him for noticing.
    "I hope you're right," he said, and headed toward the door.
    * * *
    Erin watched Nick scoop his daughter out of the wheelchair and settle her onto the back seat of the Suburban, where he strapped her in place. He didn't speak, didn't even look at Erin as he folded the wheelchair and stowed it in the rear. Crossing in front of the truck, he slid behind the wheel and started the engine.
    Erin got in beside him, hating that she'd reacted to the wheelchair so intensely. She'd thought the flashbacks were over. But the moment she saw Stephanie's wheelchair, the night of the shooting had rushed back like a deluge of rancid floodwater. The man on the catwalk. The blue steel of a gun. The split-second hesitation that would haunt her the rest of her life.
    Shoving the memory aside, she leaned back in her seat and gazed out the window, determined not to let the incident shake her. So she'd overreacted. If Erin had learned anything in the last several months, it was that she couldn't change what was already done. Another mistake heaped on top of a dozen others wasn't going to make a difference now.
    Two slow, deep breaths and her nerves began to calm. For the first time since she'd climbed into the truck, she noticed the scenery outside her window as they drove toward Nick's house. She'd never lived in a small town before, but had fallen in love with
Logan
Falls
the moment she'd arrived. Surrounded by endless fields of corn and wheat, neat white farmhouses and pastures dotted with cattle,
Logan
Falls
was a typical Midwestern town. Cobblestone streets and brick storefronts distinguished the downtown area. A silver-roofed bell tower graced the top of the courthouse. Across the street, a fountain punctuated the center of the business traffic loop. Beyond, a redbrick school surrounded by maples and stately oak trees separated the downtown area from a well-kept residential neighborhood.
    They rode in silence to a more rural area, the only sound coming from the occasional crackle of Nick's