In Safe Hands (16 page)

“Next time you have that nightmare—any nightmare,” he said quietly, “don't work out until you're unconscious. Just call me, okay?”

With her forehead still pressed to the front of his shirt, not wanting to give up the contact, as little as it was, she said, “You do enough for me, Chris. I'm not waking you up at two in the morning because I'm scared of a bad dream.”

“Yes, you are. And half the time, I'm awake at two a.m.”

“Because you're working.” She lifted her head so she could give him a stern look. “I'd probably call you in the middle of some sort of sting operation, and the ring of your phone would give you away, so the bad guys would scatter before you could bust them.”

He stared at her and then started laughing. His hands slipped away from her wrists as he retreated to the coffeemaker, and Daisy swallowed hard with disappointment.

“You do realize I work for the Field County Sheriff's Department, right? At two this morning, I was helping Ian Walsh and some other guys from Fire drag a bull elk off the road after a semi hit it. After that, I directed traffic for a while so some dumbass who was moving and didn't secure his things in the back of his truck could pick up the remains of his possessions. He'd been losing chairs and boxes and even a mattress for several miles before he realized he was leaving a trail. Let's see…then I had a quiet half hour to write reports, which ended when I was sent on a domestic call.”

His monolog had allowed her to push the memories of her nightmare and the triggering event to the back of her mind where it belonged. Since her hands were steady again, she retrieved her coffee and leaned against the counter to enjoy Chris's story.

“Everyone okay on the domestic?”

He snorted. “They were uninjured, but I don't know if you could call them ‘okay.' For some reason, whenever those two start fighting, they take it to their front yard. The neighbors don't appreciate the screaming, so they call us. The only actual violence was when the woman threw their daughter's doll against the garage door. It knocked off the head completely.”

“Poor kid. Do you think she'd like a replacement…or two?” Her gaze flicked over to the box.

Chris gave her a chastising frown. “Why would you want to traumatize an innocent child like that? Besides, I managed a pretty good repair job after we got the parents to stop yelling at each other.”

“That was nice of you.” The mental image of Chris, the doll doctor, made her smile. She hid it behind her mug.

He shrugged, focusing on his coffee. “Didn't want the kid to find her doll decapitated. That'd require a lot of future therapy.”

“True. Busy night.”

“I'd rather have that than a slow shift. Lots of action makes the time go by faster, and it keeps me awake. I did have a minute to read the transcripts of the interviews with Ellie's dad. Looks like he wouldn't say a word, either time. If he knows who Gray's murderer is, he's not telling.”

Her legs were still tired from her workout, so she placed her coffee mug down and attempted to boost herself up to sit on the counter. Unfortunately, her arms had suffered as much as her lower half, so they refused to support her weight. Daisy's feet returned to the floor with an ungraceful thump.

Without even trying to hide his amusement, Chris put his coffee aside and moved toward her. Not sure what he was planning, Daisy eyed his approach warily. He grabbed either side of her waist and lifted her, making her squawk in surprise, and then deposited her onto the counter. The unexpected assistance made her wobble, and he waited in front of her, his hands still at her waist, until she steadied.

“Good?” he asked, retreating a step, although he kept his arms extended as if to catch her if she fell.

“Uh…yes?”

Chris returned to his corner and his coffee, leaving her feeling off balance in a couple of ways. That was twice in five minutes that he'd voluntarily touched her, and any Chris contact, no matter how fleeting, had the power to destroy her equilibrium.

“So…” It took her a second to pick up the conversation where they'd left off. “Did you get a chance to look into the arsons?”

That made him scowl at his mug. “No. For some reason, the arson reports aren't filed with the rest. I couldn't find the call notes in the computer system, either. I'm going to have to stop by during nonvampire hours and talk to Stacy in Records to see if she knows where they're stored.”

“Why would the reports on those calls be treated differently?” Daisy wasn't familiar with the department's record-keeping system, but it seemed strange to her that one type of report would be kept elsewhere.

“Could be because Fire's involved,” Chris offered. “Rob and Chief Early are both responsible for the suspected arson investigations. With interagency cases, the paperwork's gotta be a beast.”

She nodded, took a sip of her coffee, and then asked, “Not that I'm complaining, since I'm always happy to see you, even in the predawn darkness—”

“The sun's been up for hours.” When she looked skeptical, he amended his statement. “Well, maybe not
hours
, but it's definitely not predawn.”

“Anyway…” She stretched out the word. Although Chris rolled his eyes, he stayed quiet. “Is there any reason for your daily visits to Daisyville?”

He choked a little on his coffee. When she looked at him questioningly, he just shook his head, declining to explain his reaction. Instead, he coughed and said in a slightly strangled voice, “A lot's been happening lately. I get worried.”

That wasn't a very satisfying answer. “You can't just text? If you abbreviate obnoxiously, it's only four letters—
R
,
U
,
O
, and
K
.”

“Doesn't work when you don't answer your phone.”

“Hey, I take sleep where I can get it, even if it's the hard floor of the training room.” Swinging a leg, she tried to kick him, but the kitchen was too wide. “And quit dodging the question.”

“Why didn't you…never mind.” He shook his head. “I'm not dodging the question. I already answered it. Stuff's been going on around here, and there's been a lot to discuss.” Glaring at his coffee a lot harder than it probably deserved, he was quiet for a few moments. “I like talking things out with you. I'll be in the middle of a call where something crazy is happening, and I'll think, ‘I can't wait to tell Dais about this.'”

His admission made her stomach warmer than the coffee had. “I like talking to you, too. It wasn't a complaint. I was just curious.”

“And I promised I'd look at your stove.”

They were both quiet for several sips until Chris spoke again.

“So…you made brownies?”

* * *

After she and Chris ate two-thirds of the pan of brownies for breakfast, she grabbed her laptop and settled on the kitchen floor to keep him company while he checked out the recalcitrant burner.

“Looking at porn?” he asked, lifting the grates off the top of the stove.

“Not unless there's such a thing as antique doll porn.” Before he could respond, she hurried to add, “And if there is, I don't want to know. There are some things you can't unlearn.”

He raised the top of the stove and propped it on the bracing rod. “If you can think of it, there's porn related to it. People have dirty, dirty minds.”

“Chris. What did I just say about wanting to remain blissfully ignorant?”

With a snort, he asked, “So you're actually going to try to sell those things?”

“Figured it was the quickest way to get them out of the house, unless I can convince you to take them to give away to kids.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Firefighters do it.”

Turning away from whatever he was messing with, he gave her a look. “Fire gives kids cute little stuffed animals, not one of those…things.” He gestured toward the box. “People already love firefighters more than cops. I don't need to make it worse.”

“
Some
people,” Daisy corrected, and he gave her a grin before turning back to the stove. Even using a lighter, he didn't seem to be having any luck getting the burner to work. Since watching him wave an open flame around a gas appliance—even if that appliance involved fire on a regular basis—made her nerves twitch, Daisy turned her attention back to her laptop.

She frowned at a photo, trying to recall if the doll in the picture matched either of the ones her dad had given her. The few times she'd opened the box, she hadn't wanted to look too closely, so she couldn't recall any distinguishing features. With a groan, she put her laptop aside and climbed to her feet. Her sound of dread shifted to a grunt of effort as her muscles protested.

“What's wrong?”

She grabbed the box and returned to her spot on the floor. “I have to actually
look
at the freaky things.”

He laughed and lowered the top of the stove. “I have more bad news, too.”

She made a face. “Hit me.”

“The problem doesn't seem to be the igniter, so it's most likely the gas line. Since that's beyond my handyman skills, we'll need to call in a professional.”

While she was still processing that information, Chris's cell phone rang. After glancing at the screen, he answered. “Hey, Rob. What's up?”

Whatever the sheriff's answer was, it made Chris glance at his watch, flinch, and then hurry to replace the grills on top of the stove. “Sorry about that, sir. I didn't realize it was so late.”

“Leave those,” Daisy whispered. “I'll get them if you need to go.”

With a shake of his head, he replaced the rest of the grills before moving to the door. “I'll be home in four minutes. I'm leaving Daisy's now.”

Climbing to her feet again with more determination than grace, she followed him to the entrance so she could secure the door after he left.

“No new trouble,” Chris said. “Well, except with her stove.”

From the half of the conversation Daisy could hear, it sounded as if Chris was late meeting the sheriff, so she was surprised that he didn't leave, but stood by the door instead.

“Don't worry about that,” he told the sheriff with a laugh. “I know my limitations, especially when it comes to things that could explode. I'll give the repair guy from Connor Springs a call and have him come out and take a look.”

After another short pause, Chris started opening the interior door locks. “See you in a few. Sorry again.” He ended the call. “I forgot to bring in my old portable radio—the one that doesn't hold a charge—last night. Rob said he'd swing by my house on his way in to work this morning to grab it. I lost track of time, so he's standing on my porch, wondering where I am.”

“Sorry for delaying you,” Daisy said. “And thanks for looking at the stove.”

“Not your fault I blew off my boss.” With a grin, he ducked through the interior door and then looked at her over his shoulder. “And I didn't do much. Don't use it until we get someone out to fix it.”

“I won't. Go on—you told the sheriff four minutes. You know he has the stopwatch running.”

“Bye, Dais.” Her name was muffled as the door swung shut behind him.

After refastening the locks, she returned to the kitchen. Gathering her laptop and the dolls' box, she headed for the study. The house seemed too quiet in Chris's absence. Strangely, the increased frequency of his visits was making it harder when he wasn't there, instead of easier.

Although she tried to return to her research, she found herself staring blankly at the computer screen. Without Chris there to joke with about the dolls, she couldn't work up any enthusiasm for the project. Normally, she liked learning new things, but too many thoughts were currently taking up space in her brain. The differences between composition and leather doll bodies just wasn't holding her attention.

Leaning back in her desk chair, she spun in a circle. Daisy stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out what the deal was with her growing dissatisfaction. Before, she'd had moments of melancholy or loneliness, especially during sleepless nights, but she'd bounced out of it quickly. Her life wasn't exciting—well, it
hadn't
been until recently—but she'd been content…sort of.

It wasn't just Chris's weirdness, his switching back and forth between pushing her away and being Mr. I-Was-Worried-About-You. The walls of the house, which had always felt safe and protective, were beginning to chafe. More and more, her sanctuary felt like a trap.

After spending time with Lou, Rory, Ellie, and their respective men, Daisy wanted more. She was starting to feel like she could
have
more, too. They'd argued over if she was going to volunteer for the fire department or the dive team, as if it wasn't an impossibility.

Hearing that had woken a tiny voice in the back of her mind, one that whispered how it
might
be conceivable, that she might not have to be trapped in her house for the rest of her life. It was a seductive glut of possibilities—getting a real job and learning how to drive and being able to make brownies whenever she got a craving, because she could pick up the eggs herself, instead of waiting until guilt drove her dad to stop by with groceries. Maybe, if she really wanted to put the cherry on the top of her fantasy, she could even go on an out-of-the-house date with Chris.

It was a wonderful dream, but it would never become reality if she fainted every time she saw an open door.

“Okay,” she said, the loudness of her voice startling her a little. She sounded almost fierce. “That's what I want. Now how do I get that?”

Adjusting her computer so the screen faced her, Daisy opened a new browser window. After taking a deep breath and letting it out again, she began to search.