In Safe Hands (25 page)

Rory was working on something by one of the engines, although she kept glancing at the entrance where Ian had just disappeared. Daisy tried to imagine watching Chris walk into a burning building, and her stomach cramped at the thought. Although she knew that his job was dangerous, it would be so much harder to actually watch him in action. Her gaze found her deputy making his way around the trucks and firefighters to the far side of the yard.

She watched Chris examine the area, squatting down at one point next to the pine tree she'd indicated. There was a flash of light in front of him, and she was confused for a second before she figured out that he was taking pictures. Another Field County squad pulled up behind the one already parked in front of Daisy's house, and the sheriff climbed out of the driver's seat.

After scanning the scene, he strode over to where the man Daisy presumed was Chief Early directed the other firefighters. The two spoke briefly before the sheriff's head snapped in Chris's direction. When Coughlin started toward where the deputy was still taking pictures, Daisy hurried to tap out a text to Chris, letting him know that the sheriff was headed his way.

Even though his back was toward her, Daisy knew when he read the text, since he turned around and waited for the sheriff to reach him. Despite the distance between Chris and her viewing perch, she could tell that his entire body was tense.

Their conversation was short, and it ended with Chris retracing his steps around the firefighters toward her house. After a cursory look around the area Chris had been examining, the sheriff returned to the fire chief's side.

Although Chris was clearly stalking toward her front door, Daisy was reluctant to stop watching the activity outside long enough to run downstairs and let him in. She knew she wasn't helping, but it still felt like she'd be abandoning the firefighters if she looked away for even a second.

Tamping down that illogical compulsion, she forced herself to tear her gaze from the window and hurry down the stairs. Even competing with all the other noise from outside, Chris's knock was loud.

Daisy pushed the button and opened the inside door. By the time the night was over, she figured she'd be completely comfortable with seeing the open exterior door.

Well, at least
more
comfortable.

“What's up?”

Apparently, she wasn't the only one becoming accustomed to her newfound bravery, since he didn't pick her up and move her out of the way that time. Instead, he stepped around her as he entered, allowing her to close the door on her own.

“I've been grounded,” he gritted, heading for the stairs.

“Grounded?” Daisy followed him to her bedroom, where he alternated between pacing and watching out the window. Unwilling to give up her view, she ducked under the arm he'd braced against the wall and reclaimed her spot on the window seat. Chris didn't seem to notice and just watched the scene below them over her shoulder.

“Sent away like a kid who was acting up. I managed to get a few pictures of a partial shoe print in the mud by that tree you pointed out before Rob arrived. Good thing, too, since he ordered me back here after a verbal spanking.”

“But…” With an effort, Daisy looked away from the hole being chopped in the roof of the burning house and focused on Chris's profile. “That makes no sense. You're just doing your job.”

“Trying to, at least.” His jaw muscles were flexing again. “He's got to be protecting Macavoy. I just don't get why he's covering for someone he's known less than a year. Blackmail, maybe? Could Macavoy have some kind of dirt on Rob?”

Turning her attention back to the window, she watched the action blindly as her thoughts spun on the hamster wheel. “We just assumed it was Macavoy because of the way he quit and ran. What if it wasn't? What if it's someone else?”

In her peripheral vision, Daisy saw him turn his head so he could look at her. “But he admitted to Rob that…shit.”

As she met his gaze, she saw the dawning horror in his face. “Did you ever talk to Macavoy about it before he quit?”

“No.” He shook his head, as if to deny the suspicions that had just popped into his brain.

Daisy hesitated before asking, “Is the sheriff close with any of the other deputies?”

His laugh had a bitter edge. “If you'd asked me that last week, I would've answered, ‘me.' Rob's pretty remote. He keeps his work and personal lives separate.”

“Who are his friends, then, off the department?” she asked. “Do you know?”

Shaking his head, he moved away from the window and started pacing again.

“This is small-town, gossip-fueled Simpson,” she said when he didn't respond. “Someone has to know the sheriff's personal friends.”

“I don't think he has any.” When he reached her bed, he pivoted and reversed his course back to the window. “He works such long hours that he doesn't even have time for his son.”

Remembering Tyler's comment about his dad not teaching him to drive, she grimaced in sympathy. “Poor kid. What about a girlfriend?” When Chris shook his head again, she made a sound of frustration. “Isn't there
anyone
he gets along with?”

Instead of answering, he paced in silence for a few minutes. “This isn't like Rob,” he finally burst out, startling Daisy. “I've worked with him for over eight years. He's not—” Chris cut off his words as he made another pass across her bedroom. “He's one of the good guys.”

Daisy hadn't gotten a good-guy vibe off the sheriff, but she kept that to herself. “We're just speculating,” she said instead. “You know him much better than I do. What is your gut telling you about how he's been acting?”

He finally came to a halt behind her. Craning her neck, Daisy watched him settle his shoulder against the wall so he could stare out the window over her head.

“He's been…strange. Distracted. Evasive.” Pausing, Chris let out a deep breath, sagging a little harder against the wall. He looked tired. “Acting like he's hiding something.”

Reaching behind her, she caught his hand and pulled it over her shoulder so she could hold it. “Whatever's going on, we'll figure it out.” She injected as much confidence as she could into her words.

He shifted so he was standing close enough for her to feel his body heat against her back. Holding her breath, she eased back the half inch it took to make contact. When he didn't move away from her, she exhaled and leaned a little harder against him. Instead of jerking back, he wrapped his free arm around her upper chest. Despite her worry about what was going on outside, she was glad to be in his arms. Being held against Chris always made her feel so safe, even as the fire raged across the street.

They stayed like that, silently watching, until the firefighters put away their hoses and someone pounded on Daisy's front door.

When Daisy, flanked by Chris, pushed the intercom button, it turned out that the “someone” was actually two “someones.”

The fire chief, Winston Early, was an older man wearing bunker gear, minus the gloves and helmet. After she invited him and the sheriff into the kitchen, he introduced himself. His wide, beaming smile made her automatically return it. “Mind if we ask you a few questions, Daisy?”

“Sure.” She kept her gaze on the friendly face of Chief Early. The sheriff loomed in her peripheral vision, and she was afraid she'd show her nervousness if she looked directly at Coughlin. “Was there much damage to the house?”

“The one bedroom is pretty much gutted, and there's a ventilation hole in the roof, but the rest of the house is salvageable. If you hadn't called Rory, we probably could've only saved the basement.” The chief's smile widened.

“Jennings.” The sheriff looked pointedly at Chris and then at the door. “Why don't you wait outside? I'll talk to you as soon as we're done in here.”

Chris looked like he wanted to object, but he just nodded stiffly at Coughlin, squeezed Daisy's shoulder, and left the kitchen. Daisy watched him go. From the set of his shoulders, she could tell that he was unhappy about being dismissed.

“Okay, Daisy,” the fire chief said, giving her another smile. “We'll make this quick. Why don't you tell us what happened tonight.”

“There's not much to tell.” She shifted her weight, wishing she could sit. Since she didn't want this interview to last any longer than it had to, though, she ignored her ingrained manners and didn't ask if the two men wanted to go into the living room. If they weren't sitting, then she didn't want to be, either. It would make her feel too…vulnerable or something.

“I couldn't sleep, so I was at my window seat at about two thirty. I saw an odd light coming from the left top window of the empty house across the street, number 304, and I realized it was flames. I called Ian, but he didn't answer, so I tried Rory, who called it in. After that, I called Chris. Right after I got done talking to him, I saw something move on the far side of the burning house.”

That got both men's attention. “What exactly did you see?” the sheriff asked.

“Not much,” she admitted. “Just something moving next to that funny-looking, squatty pine tree. I kept watching the area after I saw it, but that was it. Chris was taking pictures over there, though, of someone's shoe print in the mud.”

The two men glanced at each other, and Daisy locked her teeth together so she didn't start defending herself. She'd seen what she'd seen, and there was nothing she could do if they didn't believe her.

“Ms. Little,” Coughlin said, “how much sleep have you gotten over the past few nights?”

“About the usual amount,” she lied. “Why?”

Instead of answering, he asked another question. “When you saw the flames, why didn't you call 9-1-1?”

Since she didn't think it was a good idea to tell them that the sheriff would have wasted too much time if she'd called Dispatch directly, she shrugged. “I was a little frantic, so I just started going down my recent calls list. Ian didn't answer, so I called Rory.”

“Why have you been calling Walsh?” Coughlin really knew how to inject accusation into his even tone. “Aren't you and Deputy Jennings a couple?”

Her tired brain couldn't make the connection of why he was asking her that. She was tempted to say that she'd tell him the answer as soon as she'd figured it out herself, but she reminded herself that smart-assery was not going shorten this interview.

“Ian called to see if our training group was meeting last Wednesday,” she said instead.

Both men looked at her blankly.

“There's a group of”—she counted quickly in her head—“eight of us. We work out in my home gym a couple of times a week.” Shaking her head in a futile attempt to clear it, she shifted her weight again. Her legs were so tired that they were starting to feel rubbery. “I'm sorry, but what does that have to do with the fire?”

“Just trying to get all of our facts straight,” Chief Early nonanswered. “Did you see anyone before you saw the fire?”

“No.” She mentally reprimanded herself for not paying more attention, instead of freaking out about the unlocked door. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault.” The chief smiled at her again. “Thanks to you, we were able to save most of the house, so it was a good night.”

Although she returned his smile, the very last of her adrenaline was leaving her, and she was starting to sway. “Is that everything you needed?”

The two men exchanged another one of their cryptic glances, and she resisted rolling her eyes.

“That should do it.” The fire chief was the one who answered. “We'll stop by or call if we think of anything else.”

“Okay.” When they didn't move, she turned and walked to the door, hoping they'd follow. They did, although they stayed several steps behind, talking in low voices that she couldn't overhear. “Do you think this is the work of the arsonist?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Coughlin's eyebrows drew together in a fierce scowl. “How did you know about the arsons? Did Jennings tell you?”

“Just because I'm stuck in here,” she said with attempted ease, trying to pretend that her stomach wasn't jumping around like crazy at his menacing look, “doesn't mean I'm not still in Simpson. Everyone gossips here, except for Chris. He never shares the details of his cases with me.” That wasn't quite the truth, but he'd only told her about the minor, harmless calls, like the missing tire cover, and he never mentioned anyone's name. Besides, he wasn't the one who'd brought up the arson cases. The information had flowed
to
him, but not from him.

Early gave a wry grimace when she mentioned the gossiping, but the sheriff returned his expression to his typical emotionless mask, which gave Daisy the impression that he didn't believe her. Mentally apologizing to Chris for even bringing up the arsons, she opened the door, hoping to encourage the two men to leave before she said anything else that caused more trouble.

“Next time something happens”—the sheriff stepped close to her—too close—“call 9-1-1. That system is in place for a reason.”

“I'm hoping this is the last time I'll need emergency services,” she said, intentionally not agreeing to his command. “At least for a while.”

“We hope so, too,” the fire chief said. “Be safe, Daisy.”

“Thank you.”

After a final hard glance, Coughlin followed the other man out. Closing the door behind them, Daisy fought the urge to throw every last lock and then hide under her bed. Before she could follow the impulse, though, her cell chirped. When she dug the phone out of her pocket, she saw it was a text from Chris.

OK if I stay over tonight?

Without hesitating, she sent back a
yes
. It would be a relief to have his company, even if they didn't end up spooning on the couch again. The memory of waking up with him pressed to her back and his arm over her waist made her flush with heat. The phone chirped again.

Need to talk to Rob, then I'll knock.

Her thumbs flew over the screen, and she sent the text without thinking about it too hard. If she allowed herself to dissect everything she sent to him, each text would take an hour of agonizing.

Great. I'll be waiting.

* * *

It wasn't very long before Chris knocked, but she'd still managed to doze off while she waited, sitting on the tile with her back against the door. Her body wasn't very cooperative, and it took her a few tries before she could scramble to her feet and reach the unlock button.

Turning the doorknob, she pulled it toward her as she backed against the wall, letting the position of her body and the door block any sight of the outside world. She wasn't going to start backsliding and locking the door again, but her tired brain had had enough shocks for the night…or day or whatever. She yawned so widely that her jaw cracked.

The knob was pulled gently from her grip as Chris stuck his head around the door. “You all right back here?”

Since she was in the middle of another yawn and couldn't talk, she just nodded, making him laugh.

“Okay, sleepyhead.” He pushed the door closed and took her hand, tugging her away from her leaning position. “It's bedtime.” When she resisted, not wanting to leave the support of the wall behind her, he grabbed her other hand and pulled. “C'mon. You look ready to fall over.”

That's how she felt, too. With a groan that made him laugh again, Daisy peeled herself off the wall and allowed him to tow her toward the stairs.

“What'd the sheriff have to say?” she asked through yet another yawn.

“More of the same.” The amusement slipped from his expression as grimness replaced it.

“Sorry.” She squeezed his hands.

“Not your fault.” Shifting around behind her, he urged her up the steps with a hand on her lower back. “I'm just glad my days off start tomorrow so I have some time to try to figure this out. If I'd been sent on one more bullshit—sorry, Dais—call, there's a good chance I would've punched Rob in the throat.”

“Not a good thing to do to your boss,” she mumbled, weaving a little as he steered her into her bedroom.

He gave a short laugh. “Not if I want to keep him as my boss, or if I want to stay in law enforcement instead of becoming a mall cop.” His hand fell away from her back as she turned to face him. “What's that look?”

“I'm trying to picture you as a mall cop.” Shaking her head, she frowned. “Sorry. I just can't see you in anything but this uniform.”

His grin was a little crooked. “Good thing I kept my fists to myself, then.”

Her response was interrupted by a yawn.

“Bed,” he ordered, pointing.

“Fine,” she grumbled, putting her phone on the nightstand before pulling her hoodie over her head. The tank underneath started to come along for the ride, and she grabbed it, tugging it to cover her belly again. The neck of the sweatshirt was narrow, and it caught around her face.

“Problems?” Along with amusement, Chris's voice also held something deeper. When she answered with a bad-tempered grunt, he laughed, and then his hands were there, easing the hoodie off her head.

“I forgot how much I don't like that sweatshirt.” She glared at it balefully as she tossed it over her desk chair. “It's for laundry-day-only use.”

Without thinking anything except how tired she was, she shoved her yoga pants over her hips and let them drop to the floor. It took Chris's harsh inhale for her exhausted brain to realize that she'd just stripped her lower half to her
underwear
in front of him.

“Sorry!” she yelped, diving for the bed. Her coordination was off, thanks to exhaustion and half-naked panic, so she tumbled onto the mattress in an ungraceful heap. As she tried to pry the top sheet out from underneath her, she babbled. “I don't like to sleep in pants, since they tend to wrap around my legs if they're loose, but I don't like leggings, either, so that's why I—what is wrong with this sheet?!”

“Lift up.” When she obeyed, he yanked the recalcitrant bedcovers back far enough for her to finally get her legs under them. Even with her bare lower limbs hidden, she still felt exposed, so Daisy pulled the covers up to her chin. Chris stood by the bed, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Sorry,” she said, a little more calmly now that she was buried in blankets. “I didn't mean to flash you.”

To her surprise, he grinned at her. “You still had too many clothes on for flashing. It wasn't even indecent exposure yet.”

“It felt indecent,” she grumbled, although his laugh forced her to smile. “And I'm a terrible hostess. Did you want to sleep in Dad's room? The sheets are clean.”

“The couch is fine.” He sat by her hip, and she could feel the heat of him, even through the covers. “It's comfortable.”

“Okay.” Her eyes couldn't stay open anymore. “I'll get you some blankets.”

He snorted. “You're not going anywhere except la-la-land. I'll get my own blankets.”

“Mm-kay.” Any plan that didn't involve her getting out of her warming nest of a bed was fine with her. “Linen closet's by the bathroom.”

“Got it.” Something brushed her forehead, but her eyelids refused to lift so she could see what it was. “Good night, Dais.”

“'Night, Chris.”