Lowering the phone, he turned away from her and leaned against the dresser as if he suddenly no longer had the strength to support himself.
"What's going on?" she asked.
Her heart rolled over when he raised his head. His face was chalk-white. Sweat dampened his brow. She sensed danger, felt the violence coming off him in thick, choking waves.
She stepped back when his gaze met hers. In the depths of his eyes, she saw murder. Her heart began to pound.
"Steph and Mrs. T.," he said hoarsely. "They never made it to Indianapolis."
Confusion swirled for an instant—then the meaning behind his words struck her with the force of a freight train. "Oh, God. Oh, no." She felt gut punched. Taking another step back, she pressed her hand to her stomach. "Please tell me they're not—"
"Hector and Em are all right. The bastard has my little girl."
Erin didn't want to ask, but she had to know. "DiCarlo?"
Without warning, he punched the dresser mirror. Glass shattered, spraying outward from the impact.
"Nick!"
"Why her, for God's sake?" he snarled.
"Nick—"
"If he hurts her, I'll kill him. I'll kill the son of a bitch with my bare hands."
"Stop it. Please."
"I've got to find her."
Erin saw blood on his knuckles, fought back a crushing wave of panic. "Calm down—"
"DiCarlo crossed the line," he said in a low, menacing voice.
She stared at him, wondering if he could hear the maniacal rhythm of her heart. "How did it happen?"
"A limo forced them off the road."
"We'll get her back."
"I should have realized it would come to this." His expression turned stricken and pale and as dangerous as a viper about to strike. "I should have been there for her. I wasn't. Just like I wasn't there for her the night of the accident."
The terror resonating in his voice ignited the same emotions inside Erin. She felt her control slipping, like sand through her fingers, no matter how tight her grasp. "This isn't your fault."
"I don't have time for this," he snapped.
Erin's stomach roiled and she felt nauseous. Oh, she hadn't meant to involve that sweet little girl!
"I've got to go to the station," he said.
"Let me come with you."
"Stay here," he ordered. "I don't need DiCarlo getting his hands on you, too." Without speaking, Nick bent and scooped up his uniform shirt. She watched, numb with pain, as he buttoned it with shaking, bleeding fingers.
He barely looked at her as he buckled his holster. "No one knows you're here. Don't open the door for anyone but me. Keep your sidearm close. You got that?"
Erin barely heard his words as cold realization crept over her. An instant later, the situation crystallized. DiCarlo didn't want Stephanie; he wanted Erin. The knowledge impacted her solidly, hitting a place that was raw and weak. She nearly crumpled with the blow.
Shaking, barely trusting her legs, Erin crossed the room. "DiCarlo doesn't want Stephanie, Nick. He wants me."
The rumble of thunder outside punctuated the thick silence that followed her words. Nick slipped his cell phone into his uniform pocket, then turned to her. Erin winced at the ice in his gaze. She couldn't believe that just a few short hours earlier he'd caressed her with such utter tenderness. Shared intimacies with her. Opened his heart. Stolen her own. Her heart shattered with the realization that he blamed her for Stephanie's kidnapping.
He hadn't said the words, but Erin saw the accusation in the depths of his eyes. She stared at him, willing herself to believe it wasn't her fault. But the truth made her sick with regret. Her heart broke with the knowledge that the man she loved blamed her for risking something as precious as his child.
"Don't do anything stupid," he warned.
"I'll stay." She couldn't, of course. She had to find Stephanie. Erin couldn't let that little girl pay for something she herself had done.
He crossed to her and kissed her then—a hard, emotionless kiss born of desperation and fear. But it moved her nonetheless. Moved her so profoundly that her throat locked up and she choked back a sob.
No longer trusting her legs, she backed toward the bed, then slowly sank to a sitting position. She had the sudden, irrational urge to tell him she loved him, fearing this moment would be her only chance, but she didn't.
"Watch yourself," he said. Then, without looking back, he opened the door and stepped into the night.
* * *
Erin slapped her badge down on the counter and shot the desk clerk her best don't-mess-with-me glare. "I'm a police officer. I'm commandeering a vehicle for a police emergency."
The desk clerk of the Pioneer Motel stared at her as if she'd just told him she was going to shoot off one of his fingers. "Wh-what do you mean?"
"I need a vehicle," she snapped. "Now!"
The young man jumped. "Uh … is a truck okay?"
"Fine. Give me the keys." She looked at the clock on the wall behind him. It was twelve-thirty. Outside, a crack of thunder vibrated the walls. How on earth was she going to find Stephanie?
The clerk unsnapped a key chain from his belt loop and handed it to her. "Should I call the police or something?"
"Chief Ryan has already been apprised of the situation."
The young man didn't look convinced. "When do I get my truck back?"
"You can pick it up at the station later this afternoon." She took the key. "Where's the vehicle?"
"Out back. Next to the Dumpster."
The pickup truck should have been in the Dumpster as far as Erin was concerned. She stalled it twice before getting out of the parking lot, and once on the way to her apartment. By the time she unlocked the door, her heart was raging with frustration. The minutes were ticking by, and she didn't have the slightest idea how to find Stephanie. Her police training told her to find Nick or call Frank in Chicago. The part of her that was crushed by guilt because she'd endangered a child's life wasn't thinking quite as logically. Erin knew DiCarlo wanted her, not Stephanie. It made perfect sense to offer up herself in exchange for the child.
The phone jangled as she closed the door behind her. Crossing the room, she snatched it up on the second ring. "McNeal," she said breathlessly.
Thick silence made the hairs at her nape stand on end.
"I've been calling your apartment every five minutes for the last half hour, Officer McNeal."
A sane person would have frozen in fear at the sound of Vic DiCarlo's voice. Erin wasn't feeling particularly sane.
Satisfaction rolled slowly through her that he'd done something so predictable. Thinking fast, she pressed the record button of her answering machine. "I've been busy," she said levelly. "You've got something I want."
"Ah, you don't disappoint me. I appreciate a woman who likes to get down to business quickly."
The cold ruthlessness in his voice made her break into a sweat. "Where's the little girl?" she asked curtly.
"I've been taking good care of her. I have a soft spot for children, you know."
Erin closed her eyes against the sudden rush of heat behind her lids. She tried not to imagine how frightened Stephanie must be. How helpless she must feel not being able to walk or run away from the bad man. Erin's police training told her to keep this impersonal. To keep her emotions out of the situation. But the part of her that was a woman and loved that child, the part of her that loved Nick, cried out with pain and fear and outrage. "If you hurt her, I'll kill you," she said.
"We both know I'm not interested in this child. I am, however, very interested in you."
She gripped the phone, her heart thundering. "What do you want?"
"I want you in exchange for the child, of course."
"I'm listening."
"There's a deserted grain elevator on Highway 59 about ten miles south of Logan Falls."
She looked at her watch. "I can be there in ten minutes."
"A word of warning, Officer McNeal.
Come alone. If you call the police, if you contact anyone, including that police chief of yours, I won't hesitate to kill this child."
Bile rose in her throat, but she choked it down. Her hands shook so violently that for a moment she thought she would drop the phone. Oh, God, please don't let him hurt her. "I'll come alone," she said.
The line disconnected.
* * *
Nick paced the confines of the police station lobby like a caged beast. Terror and frustration rampaged through him. Something darker hovered just beneath the surface. The thought of his sweet, innocent child frightened and alone twisted like a knife in his gut. The thought of losing her—
He broke off the thought with ruthless precision. He wouldn't think of losing her. He wouldn't let that happen. He would die before letting her down again.
The phone shrilled. He snatched it up, cutting the ring short. "Ryan."
"It's Frank. I'm en route. Any news?"
"No." The quality of the connection told him Frank was on his cellular. Nick had called him on his way from the motel to the police station and briefed him on the situation.
"If I can hold it at eighty without getting stopped by the Indiana Highway Patrol, I should be there in an hour. Have you contacted the FBI?"
Nick glanced at his watch, realizing with a stark sense of despair it had only been five minutes since he'd hung up with the Chicago FBI office. "They're sending a team."
"What about Erin?"
Nick had sworn he wouldn't think about her. He didn't want to think about her. Didn't want to dig his emotional hole any deeper than it already was. But the simple utterance of her name was all it took to bring the image of her to the forefront of his mind. Make him remember the way she'd looked at him when they'd made love, when she'd been open and vulnerable beneath him, her eyes as soft as a Midwest sunset. He didn't like the feelings roiling in his chest. They were too close to something real and terrifying he didn't want to face. They made him realize he was in miles over his head and floundering helplessly to save himself.
God help him, he hadn't wanted to fall in love with her. "She's at the Pioneer Motel." Nick's voice was hoarse.
"Good. Keep her there." The other man paused. "How are you holding up?"
"If DiCarlo hurts Steph, I'm going to kill him, Frank. I swear, I'll kill him."
"Easy, partner. Don't go there."
No false reassurances from Frank. Nick thought bitterly. But then, Frank was a cop. Cops were straight with each other, even in the face of tragedy. Both men knew what kind of man Vic DiCarlo was. Just as they knew what he was capable of.
The thought of a monster like DiCarlo getting his hands on his sweet child filled Nick with rage. The power of that rage stunned him, and for the first time in his life he wondered what he was capable of.
But he knew Frank was right. Letting his imagination run away with him would only make him crazy. He wouldn't do his daughter any good if he was a basket case. But he was so worried about her he could barely form a coherent thought. He needed to calm down. Think. Come up with a plan.
"Hang tight, partner," Frank said. "You've got my number. Call me if you hear from DiCarlo."
Nick disconnected, and looked around the room. He grappled for calm, ended up wanting to throw something. He wanted to break something with his bare hands. He wanted to hit something, anything to relieve the tension that had built up inside him like an overheated pressure cooker.
"What have you done with her, you bastard?" he said aloud.
For the first time in his law enforcement career, Nick was at a loss. He didn't know what to do or where to start. He didn't know how to get Stephanie back. He'd considered calling in his deputies, but instinct told him to wait. If DiCarlo got spooked, it was hard telling what he would do. But it nearly killed him that he couldn't do anything but wait.
Sinking into the chair behind his desk, he dropped his face into his hands and closed his eyes. His entire world had come apart in the last hours. First, he'd managed to get tangled up with a woman who would surely leave his life in tatters. Then his beloved child had been taken by a ruthless mafioso.
The urge to call Erin was strong, but Nick resisted it. He hadn't wanted to admit it, but the need to hear her voice was like a living thing inside him. She brought light into his darkness. Feeling into a heart that had numbed itself to emotion. Love into a soul that had been so battered it no longer knew the meaning of the word. He'd made love to her, then let her believe he blamed her for this. He couldn't imagine how much that had hurt her. Nick figured he was getting pretty good at blaming others for his own shortcomings.
The truth of the matter was none of this was Erin's fault. Not Stephanie's kidnapping. Not Rita's death or his daughter's spinal condition. Not his own fear of losing his heart.
The fact that Erin meant so much to him added a uniquely cruel twist to his terror. He knew what kind of woman she was. Independent to a fault. Cocky as hell. Too damn willing to put herself in the line of fire because she still believed in right and wrong, and because she still believed one good cop could make a difference.
The irony sent a harsh laugh from his throat. It was a bizarre sound in the stark silence of the office. He couldn't deny it any longer. He'd fallen in love with her. A cop! A woman with a taste for danger and a reckless streak that ran right down the center of her very pretty back.
At that moment, Nick would have sold his soul to hold her.
Suddenly the need to hear her voice overwhelmed him. He needed her. Erin didn't have to know he'd fallen in love with her. He didn't have to tell her. He wouldn't. As long as he had the strength to walk away when the time came, he'd be just fine.
Snatching up the phone, he dialed the Pioneer Motel.
A sleepy voice answered on the sixth ring.
"Room 135," Nick snapped.
"You mean the lady cop?"
His heart jolted. He hadn't identified either of them as cops when he'd checked in. "How do you know she's a cop?" he asked.
"She commandeered my truck, man. Said there was a police emergency of some kind."
Nick didn't hear the rest of the sentence. The terror inside him burgeoned into a monster, breaking free of the shackles of control. "This is Police Chief Nick Ryan. If she's still there, stop her—"
"Too late, man. She left ten minutes ago."
Nick should have realized she wouldn't sit this one out. Not when she felt responsible. Not when he hadn't bothered to tell her otherwise. Not when she already had two tons of guilt pressing down on her. "What kind of truck?" he asked.
"Blue Chevy, 1985." The clerk paused. "I am going to get my truck back, right?"
Nick disconnected, then stood abruptly, aware that he was breathing hard. Vaguely, he was aware of the roll of thunder outside. The patter of rain against the window.
She was going after DiCarlo.
Nick couldn't let her do it. Not alone. She didn't stand a chance against a man like DiCarlo. Nick couldn't let her get herself killed. Not the woman he'd come to love more than life itself.
He glanced at the wall clock. Twelve forty-five. Frank wouldn't arrive for another hour, the FBI sometime after that. If he could find the blue truck…
Not giving himself time to debate, Nick checked his sidearm, snatched up his truck keys and cell phone, and headed for the door.
* * *
Lightning split the sky, illuminating the entrance to the grain elevator fifty yards away. Erin slowed the truck and turned down the gravel drive. The monstrous structure loomed like a dinosaur grazing amidst the endless rows of corn. Ten minutes earlier, a tornado warning had been issued by the National Weather Service for the counties west of Logan Falls.
Erin figured the situation couldn't get much worse.
She flinched at a deafening crash of thunder. Stopping the truck a few yards from the yawning mouth of the entrance, she stared into the darkened interior, wishing she'd had time to formulate some kind of plan. But for the life of her, she hadn't been able
to come up with anything better than what she was about to do. Offering herself up in exchange for Stephanie was the only way to save that little girl's life. No matter how Erin looked at it, the simple fact remained that DiCarlo wanted her, not Stephanie. The child was merely bait. A bargaining chip. That left the ball squarely in Erin's court, and she didn't intend to squander the chance.
A shiver rippled through her as the first giant drops of rain splattered against her windshield. She usually didn't have any difficulty leaving her emotions behind when she stepped into her cop's suit of armor. But this situation was different. She couldn't get her focus. She couldn't stop thinking about Stephanie. She couldn't stop thinking of Nick—or set aside the cold, hard knowledge of how much was at stake for all of them.
If anything happened to that little girl, Erin would never be able to live with herself. She knew that as surely as she knew DiCarlo didn't bluff when it came to threats. If it was the last thing she did, she would get Stephanie out of this. Or else she would die trying.
Leaning across the seat, she picked up the .22 mini-revolver and slipped it into the holster strapped to her ankle. She checked the cylinder of her service revolver, then tucked it into the waistband of her jeans. She expected DiCarlo or his men to disarm her. If she was lucky, they wouldn't find the ankle holster, and she'd have something to bargain with if things got crazy.
Erin fully expected things to get crazy.
She shut down the engine and got out of the truck. The wind buffeted her, kicking up dust and small debris. Fat drops of rain thunked against the ground and pinged against the hood of the truck.
Another bolt of lightning ruptured the sky. Refusing to acknowledge the fear pounding in her chest, she started toward the entrance. She knew they were watching her. She felt their eyes tracking her, the malice surrounding her like a dark aura. She knew in an instant she could be dead. Just as she knew she didn't have a choice but to walk right into DiCarlo's trap.
She reached the entrance, breathless with adrenaline, every sense honed on her surroundings. Wind howled through the structure like a banshee. A dozen fifty-gallon drums lined the wall to her left. The darkened, windowed office stood to her right. A catwalk overhead offered yet another hiding place.