"You can ice it when you get home. Headache?"
"No." Then she looked at Nick and frowned. "You're not going to give me a headache over this, are you, Chief?"
The doctor shot an amused look at Nick. "She's all yours, Chief Ryan. No restrictions other than for her to take the afternoon off. She can take over-the-counter medication for pain. Call me if she experiences blurred vision or confusion."
"Thanks, Doc," she muttered.
Nick watched him walk away, then turned his attention back to Erin. "You know, McNeal, I didn't think even you could get into trouble working the school crosswalk."
"Sorry to disappoint you, but the guy in the sedan didn't give me much choice." She sat up straighter.
Nick squelched the urge to reach out to her when she winced. "I guess not."
She glared at him. "This wasn't my fault."
"I didn't say it was."
"You were thinking it."
"Why don't you stop trying to figure out what I'm thinking and concentrate on uncrossing your eyes, so we can get out of here?"
"Careful, or you're going to say something nice and throw me into a tailspin." She touched the bandage on her temple. "Did you catch the guy?"
"No." He frowned, hating the pale cast to her lips and the shadows beneath her eyes. "A couple of witnesses saw the car. A dark sedan with Illinois plates. That's all I've got. Do you feel up to answering a few questions?"
"Of course I do." Grimacing, she swung her legs over the side of the gurney. "Ouch."
Nick reached for her when she swayed, his fingers closing around her biceps. "I can't believe you lied to the doc about being dizzy."
"I'm not dizzy."
"If I hadn't been standing here you would have taken a dive right off that gurney."
"Would not."
"Damn, you're stubborn." Keenly aware of the soft flesh beneath his fingers, and the clean scent of her hair wreaking havoc on his concentration, he stepped back. "Ah, McNeal, what am I going to do with you?"
"Just don't yell at me. I do have a headache, and if you start yelling it's only going to get worse."
Nick didn't want to look into her eyes. He didn't want to see the vulnerability; he didn't like the way it made him feel. But he knew eye contact was inevitable. Once their gazes met, he couldn't look away. "Gladys Delaney wanted me to thank you for saving her daughter's life."
"The little girl in the pink sweater," Erin murmured.
"You got her out of the way just in time. Half the town saw you do it."
Erin looked away, made a show of scraping a speck of dirt from her trousers. "I'm glad she's all right."
Nick wondered why she found it difficult to accept praise. Some sixth sense told him now wasn't the time to pursue it, but he would eventually. "Get dressed, and I'll take you home."
She glanced down at her hospital gown, looking flustered for a moment. "Uh… my shirt is behind you, on the chair."
Turning, he spotted the shirt, lifted it from the chair and found himself staring at her bra. Terrific. Carefully lifting the bit of lace, he handed the shirt and bra to her. "Here you go."
"Thanks. Turn around a second, will you?"
Nick faced the curtain, every sense honed on the rustle of clothing behind him. "I need to ask you about the dark sedan that hit you," he said.
"It was blue or gray. American make. Chrome grille. Tinted windows. Bumper was hard as hell. It's got an indentation of my hip on it. You can turn around."
Nick turned and felt his pulse spike at the sight of her in uniform with all that hair tumbling over her shoulders. His brain stalled for an instant, but he managed to hang on to his concentration by a thread. "Did you see the driver?"
"The sun was glaring off the windshield. I didn't see faces, but I think there were two people in the car." Gingerly, she put her feet on the floor and stood.
"Two people?" At first Nick had thought they were dealing with a drunk driver, but something niggled at him. The car had Illinois plates, for one thing. The time of day didn't sit right, either. "What's your take on it?"
Erin straightened, then leaned heavily against the gurney. "Oh, boy…"
Nick moved before he even realized he was going to. His left arm went around her waist. "Don't pass out on me, McNeal," he growled.
"I'm not going to pass out."
His next words died on his lips the instant he registered the feel of her in his arms. Curves and softness and the mysterious essence of woman wrapped around his brain and squeezed until he couldn't form a single coherent thought. The bustle of the emergency room faded until all he was aware of was Erin. The warmth of her body against his. The clean scent of her hair. The weight of her breast against his forearm. He fought the slow spiral of pleasure winding through his body. But he knew it was a losing battle.
"You're just what?" he said, easing her to arm's length. "Weak? Dizzy? Hardheaded?"
"Just a little nauseous. Watch your shoes."
"Terrific," he grumbled. "I've a mind to call the doctor in here and tell him to keep you."
"He said to expect nausea," she pointed out. "I just got up too fast. Give me a break, Chief, will you?"
Nick's heart was still beating too fast, and an odd mix of sexual awareness and self-recrimination sat in his gut like a hot stone. He'd been without sex too long, he told himself. That's all there was to it. He was going to have to do something about it before long. Stephanie's third-grade teacher, Lindsey Burns, was nice enough. Pretty, too, with blond hair and smiling blue eyes. So why hadn't he called her back after their one and only date?
"Think you can walk out of here without passing out on me?" he asked.
Erin shot him a cocky smile. "Try to keep me here."
Nick almost smiled, but he didn't give in to the urge. He didn't want to get too close to this woman. She had trouble written all over her in big red letters. He'd had his fill of trouble. "Let's go," he said, and tried not to think about what he was setting himself up for.
Erin slipped on the sleeveless nightgown and reached for her robe, trying in vain not to jar her aching head. So much for heroism, she thought grimly. If she wasn't in so much pain, she might be embarrassed, having Nick baby-sit her like this. As it was, her head hurt too much to care about anything except downing a handful of aspirin and falling into a soft bed in a dark room.
Pausing at her bedroom door, she took a deep, calming breath, then swung it open. Nick stood in the foyer, looking like a nervous date, his expression relaying the fact that he'd rather be anywhere else than in her apartment. His eyes flicked down the front of her, and Erin felt an uncomfortable tug of self-consciousness.
"You don't have to do this," she said, pulling the lapels of her robe more tightly together.
"I told the doc I would. You know as well as I do you don't ignore a concussion, McNeal."
She wanted to let him off the hook and get him out of there-he was obviously as uncomfortable with the situation as she was. But Erin figured his sense of responsibility-and his need to protect-was too strong for him to leave her alone.
"How's the head?" Shoving his hands into his pockets, he approached her.
"Feels kind of like the drum set my brother got for Christmas when we were kids. He was a Led Zeppelin fan." She walked to the sofa, trying not to notice the moving boxes or the clutter, telling herself she wasn't embarrassed that her apartment was a mess. It had been a mess the last time Nick was there. She told herself it didn't matter. She was a cop. Nick was a cop. All cops had messy apartments, didn't they?
"You're limping," he said.
"That's because I'm too proud to crawl."
One side of his mouth biked into a half smile. "Where's your aspirin?"
She risked a look at him, and almost wished she hadn't. His penetrating stare invariably unnerved her. What was it about those dark eyes of his that left her feeling stripped bare? Like he could look right through her and see all the things she spent so much time and energy trying to conceal.