In Safe Hands (17 page)

Letting out a grunt, Rory stumbled back a few steps.

Daisy cringed. At least the other woman hadn't landed on her butt like the last two times Daisy's kicks had knocked Rory over. “Sorry! I keep forgetting you're not Chris.”

“Dais!” Chris snapped. “Hands up. Don't drop your guard.”

Her fists lifted in front of her face. “I just feel bad for assaulting Rory.”

“Don't.” Rory returned to her original position and adjusted the kick shield. “I need to learn this, just in case I don't have a gun at exactly the wrong moment. Besides”—her teeth bared in more of a snarl than a smile—“I want to be able to take Ian down eventually. It'll be useful for keeping him in line.”

“Heard that,” Ian called from his spot by the heavy bag.

Daisy's laugh took the power out of her next side kick, and she had to hop on her standing left leg to keep her balance as her right barely brushed Rory's shield.

“Daisy. Focus.” Chris was crabbier than usual. She wondered if it was just the night shift taking its toll, or if he'd had a bad call. The thought kept her from making a smart-ass response. Instead, she concentrated on the target, and her foot connected solidly with the shield. Although Rory's breath left her in an audible huff, she kept her position.

“Nice, Ror!” Daisy grinned at her and was rewarded by one of Rory's brief smiles.

Quickly regaining her serious mien, Rory ordered, “Again.”

“Great,” Daisy muttered, although she obediently sent her foot toward the shield again. “She's turning into Chris the Dictator's mini-me.”

Rory gave her another one of her pseudo grins that Daisy thought were just an excuse to bare her teeth. “Just wait until I teach you to shoot.”

“How can you do that?” The next kick connected solidly. Daisy loved that feeling. “It's not like I can shoot up the living room. Well”—her foot hit the shield again—“I
could
, but my dad would probably be annoyed when he saw the damage.”

Rory tilted her head in thought, not looking discouraged. “We could shoot through a window.”

“No,” Chris said flatly, without looking away from his attempt to correct Lou's form.

“It'd need to be an upstairs window.” As always, George's deep voice came as a surprise. Pausing in the middle of a push-up, he braced his arms and held his body weight off the floor with an effortlessness that Daisy envied. “Metal grates on the ones down here. You'd have to angle the target to adjust for the shooter's height if she was on the second story.” Shifting to one arm, he illustrated his words by lifting his hand and holding it at a diagonal. The ease with which he supported his body with one arm and his toes made Daisy stare.

“No shooting out the windows.” Ian put a hand on the heavy bag to steady it while he sent a warning glare over his shoulder at Rory. “This is not the Old West, and our homestead is not under attack.”

“It'd be good practice for defending the house from zombies.” Since Rory was the queen of deadpan humor, Daisy wasn't sure if she was serious or not.

“Can I practice shooting from the window, too?” Lou asked, exertion making her breathless. “I'll bring my new gun. This'll be so much fun.”

“We'll only aim at the annoying neighbors,” Rory promised. That time, Daisy was sure she was kidding. Fairly sure.

“No.” Callum added his voice to the chorus that time.

Rory rolled her eyes, as if the guys' protests were ridiculous. “Fine. No shooting the obnoxious neighbors. I'm sure there's at least one window in this place that faces an unpopulated area. Daisy, again.”

As Daisy obeyed, she tried to decide if training-tyrant Rory or gun-toting Rory was scarier.

“Have her dry fire at a target,” Ellie suggested from her spot on the elliptical machine. “When do I get to kick people?”

Looking at Ellie with surprise and, Daisy was pretty sure, dawning respect, Rory nodded. “Good idea. Get her comfortable with it until we figure out how to work around the not-leaving-the-house thing. I'll bring a couple of handguns for you on Saturday.”

“And you get to kick people when the doctor clears you to kick people,” Chris answered Ellie. George, apparently done talking for the day, grunted. Although Daisy was still learning to interpret George-speak, she was pretty sure it translated as something like, “What he said.”

Ellie grinned. “Should I ask the doctor to write me a note specifically stating that I am healed enough to kick, knee, elbow, and punch others?”

“I have to get to work.” Callum extended the kick shield toward George. “Mind taking my spot?”

With a nod, George rolled to his feet and moved to stand opposite Lou, who appeared to be taking full advantage of her break. Her hands were braced above her knees as she panted for breath.

Dropping a kiss on Lou's cheek, Callum asked, “Sure you don't need the truck today? You could drop me off at the station.”

“Nope, I'll be fine. We're going to have some breakfast here while we talk about death.”

“Okay. Call me if you need anything.” Callum headed for the door.

“Don't I always?” Lou called after him. “Have a nice day at work, honey!”

Turning away from her departing boyfriend, Lou eyed George's massive form. “I'm glad I'm the one doing the kicking.”

“Be right back,” Daisy told Rory, who looked a little relieved to drop the shield and shake out her arms.

“Callum.” Daisy hurried after him. “I'll let you out.”

Pausing just outside of the training room, he nodded and stepped back so she could lead the way. When they reached the entry, she unfastened the locks and opened the inner door for him. With a nod of thanks, he started to pass through the doorway, but then he paused.

“Don't let them start shooting,” he said quietly, “from
anywhere
in your house.”

Daisy laughed. “I'm pretty sure Rory and Lou were kidding about that.”

“Probably.” Despite his words, his frown said clearly that he doubted it. “Thank you for letting us use your gym.”

“Anytime. It's fun. I like having people to train with—besides Chris, I mean.” She kept her focus on Callum and off the exterior door. Her hands were sweating, and she wanted to dry them on her pants, but she didn't want to give away her nervousness.

“We appreciate it.” His expression was analytical, and she knew he noticed the signs of her anxiety, even though she tried to hide them. “Take care, Daisy.”

“Bye.” She forced herself to count to five in her head before she allowed herself to close the inner door behind him and start locking the dead bolts. Her impulse had been to slam the door as soon as he was through, but she managed to quietly shut it and not embarrass herself by smacking him in the backside with the door. Even the thought of the potential humiliation that could have occurred made her squeeze her eyes closed.

Resting her forehead against the door, she took a minute to compose herself before heading back to the training room.

* * *

Since Ian had grabbed five doughnuts and headed home to sleep, only the four women, George, and Chris gathered around the dining room table for coffee, water, and breakfast pastries. Chris pulled out a chair, preparing to sit, but Daisy shook her head at him.

“I'm staying.” The stubborn set of his jaw made Daisy roll her eyes.

“You can if you want to,” she said, “but you look ready to fall asleep standing up. Why don't you go home and rest? I promise to take really good notes.”

“My time off starts tonight. It's better if I stay up as long as possible to transition over to days.” Despite his words, he remained standing, showing that he was at least thinking about his bed.

“Just sleep for a couple of hours, then, to keep you from being a complete zombie. You can't violate confidentiality, anyway, so you'd only be listening. And snoring.” Encouraged by the upward quirk of his mouth, she continued. “If you have a digital recorder handy, we could use that. It'd be even more accurate than my notes, and you could listen to it after you get some sleep.”

It only took him a few seconds to consider it before he nodded. “Good idea. I'll run out and see if I have a recorder in my squad.”

“Actually, now that I think about it, there's no need.” Daisy nodded at her phone sitting in front of her on the table. “I can record our conversation using this.”

“Good idea. Thanks. I'll take off then.” He leaned toward her, and she automatically turned her face toward his. His lips were just inches from hers when she realized what was happening and froze, staring at him. For a moment, it had felt like they were an old married couple, and he was about to kiss her good-bye. Her throat tightened with almost painful longing. How much she would love to have that easy, comfortable,
content
life with him. She wanted that good-bye kiss and all it represented so badly that her chest ached with it. It was just a daydream, though. She would never have that, not if Chris's startled expression was anything to go by.

His eyes widened as he took a step back, bumping into a wall with an un-Chris-like lack of coordination. “Right. See you later.” Turning, he hurried out of the room.

His exit caught the others' attention. “Is Chris leaving?” Lou asked—or Daisy
thought
she asked. It was hard to understand her exact words, since Lou's mouth was full of doughnut.

“Yeah.” Daisy stood and followed the fleeing deputy to the door. “He's following Ian's example and getting some sleep.”

“Night shifts are tough,” Lou said, and Rory made a sound of agreement. “It's hard enough dragging myself out of a warm bed to go on a dive team call.”

When Daisy caught up with Chris at the door, he was focused on unfastening the locks, not even glancing at her when she stopped next to him. Apparently, squirrelly-acting Chris had returned. Daisy hadn't missed him.

“After you get a nap in, want to come over for a matinee?” she asked, deciding that at least one of them should try to act normal. “Dad picked up the mail, and
Brutal Fists
finally arrived.” His hand paused on the first chain lock. “C'mon. You know you want to make fun of their technique in the cage-fighting scenes.”

His exhale was audible, and his shoulders relaxed slightly. “Sounds good. I have a couple of errands to run first, so I'll be here around five or so.”

“Perfect.” She knew her grin was too wide, but she couldn't do anything about it. “I'll make some cornmeal-crust pizza and a salad, and we can finish off the brownies.”

Smiling slightly, he finally made eye contact. “You'd better hide them from the sugar vultures in there, or there won't be any left for tonight.”

With a snort, she waved off his warning. “Did you
see
how many doughnuts Ellie and George brought? Everyone's going to inhale about ten each before slipping into diabetic comas. No one will even want to hear the word ‘brownies.'”

“Brownies?” Lou's excited voice chirped from the dining room, and Chris gave Daisy an I-told-you-so smirk.

Closing her eyes, Daisy shook her head. “I'll hide the brownies.”

He chuckled and slipped out the door. After securing it behind him, Daisy hurried into the kitchen to start another cup of coffee and to slip the covered pan of brownies into a cupboard behind a salad spinner and her Crock-Pot.

“Daisy!” Lou shouted. “Get your toned little butt in here. And don't forget those brownies.”

“Give me a minute, and I'll bring some more coffee,” she yelled back. “But there aren't any brownies.”

There were a few seconds of silence before a scowling Lou strode into the kitchen. “Daisy Little. Are you hiding brownies?”

“What brownies?” She widened her eyes in her best innocent expression.

“Fine. Be that way, B. H.” Lou's sigh was heavy. “We'll just have to make do with the gazillion doughnuts in there. Now hurry up. Ian gave Rory the arson scoop.”

“B. H.?”

“Brownie hoarder.”

As silly and most likely temporary as it was, it still made Daisy smile that she'd been given a nickname. “Just a few more seconds…”

The brewer gave its final gurgle, and Daisy grabbed the mug. With all the company she'd been having lately, she was going to have to get a coffeemaker that produced more than a single cup at a time.

“Ready! Let's talk about fires.”

Rory's scowl was so severe that it made Daisy stop abruptly as she entered the dining room.

“What's wrong?” she asked, setting down the mug and carefully nudging it in Rory's direction.

“I feel like I have to give an oral report,” Rory grumbled, playing with the notepad in front of her. “I'm supposed to tell you what Ian found out about the arsons.”

“It's just us,” Ellie said. “We won't judge. Besides, Lou won't let you get out a full sentence before she interrupts, so your oral report will be a very short one.”

“Hey!” Lou protested.

Uncrossing her arms, Rory picked up the notepad and frowned at it. Daisy tapped her screen to start recording, resisting the urge to examine it, to try to figure out exactly why her phone
still
felt so strangely wrong. Corralling her straying thoughts, she focused on Rory.

“The first of this string of arsons was—”

“Hold up!” Lou jumped out of her chair and retrieved the oversized notepad that Daisy had propped against the dining room wall. “We need to do a timeline.”

Ellie started giggling so hard that she would've fallen off her chair if George hadn't grabbed her and hoisted her upright again. Her laugh was so infectious that Daisy couldn't help but join in.

“Did I call that or what?” Ellie asked when she'd recovered enough to speak, holding up her fist toward George. When he stared at it and then looked at Ellie, she sighed. “Don't leave me hanging. Fist-bump me.”