In Safe Hands (30 page)

“At least
I
don't wear Spandex,” he growled, moving to a new spot to torture her there. “Those new outfits you've gotten since the others started working out with us…” The sound he let out was full of frustration and longing. Although she knew it shouldn't make her happy, she couldn't erase her smug smile. It was just so satisfying to know that she hadn't been the only one wanting what she thought she could never have.

With a final nip that made her gasp in the best way, he stood and circled her waist with his hands. Dipping his head, he kissed her lips as he slid his fingers higher, until they traced the bottom edge of her sports bra. Daisy stood on her tiptoes so she could press her mouth harder against his.

He pulled away as his fingers circled around to her back, still fingering her bra. “What's the trick to this?”

For some reason, that made her snort a laugh.

“No, seriously.” Despite his words, he was grinning, too. “Are there hooks? A zipper? A hidden keyhole? A secret password? Because it seems awfully tight just to pull off over your head.”

She was almost laughing too hard to be of any help, but she managed to peel off her bra, yanking it over her head and flinging it across the room. “See? It's like magic.”

“Yeah.” His face was serious, and the heat in his eyes as he stared at her bare breasts sucked all the desire to laugh out of her, leaving only need. “Magic.” He covered her with his hands and then his mouth, and her knees went wobbly. Half-sitting and half-falling, she plopped onto the bed, Chris following her down.

As he worked his way up her neck, she stroked his head and down his back, pressing into the muscles running along his spine so she could both feel and hear his groan of pleasure.

“I need to get some pretty bras,” she said, her breath catching on the last word as his teeth lightly scored the side of her neck. “I have too many”—she lost track of what she was saying for a moment when he moved to just beneath her ear—“sports bras. They're not very sexy.”

“Everything you wear is sexy,” he said against her throat. “You could make granny panties hot. Or a flannel, one-piece Union suit. Or those plastic clogs—even the orange ones.”

She was laughing again, and he caught the sound with his mouth, turning it into a needy moan. It was different than she'd expected. Even in all her daydreams, she'd never imagined that sex with Chris would be so much fun. When he nipped at her lip, making her gasp, she lost track of her thoughts and just felt.

Taking his time, he explored her body, touching and kissing and telling her why each part was his new favorite. He loved her ears because of the way she'd tuck her hair behind them, and her toes just because they were cute. Her elbows made him a fan when she'd jab him teasingly. He knew she could use them to really hurt him if she tried, but she never did, even when he was at his most annoying. The indentation above her breastbone reminded him of how vulnerable she was, and her biceps of how strong. Chris told her how he loved her knees and her shoulder blades, the back of her neck, and her belly button.

By the time he was finished cataloging her assets, she was panting and sweating and so worked up she was ready to scream. That was when he donned a condom and slid inside her, and she was ready, more than ready.

“God, you feel amazing,” he groaned, and then he kissed her fiercely. Locking her fingers in his hair, she pulled his head down, needing him as close as she could get him. Not breaking the contact of their mouths, he started to move, and the wonderful pressure began to build again.

Tangling her legs around him, she tugged at his hair, wanting to make him as frantic as she felt. His breath caught, and he pulled back far enough to study her face. After a few seconds, he bared his teeth in a wild grin and lost control.

His patience from earlier was gone, smashed to bits, but Daisy didn't care—in fact, she reveled in his urgency. She clung to him and lost herself in the heat and pleasure of the motion. It was fast and hard and shoved Daisy over the edge into bliss before she even knew her climax was coming. She clutched at his shoulders as she rode the unexpected wave of ecstasy, aware that she was digging her short nails into his skin again, but unable to let him go. Chris didn't seem to mind her roughness. In fact, he matched it with an intensity of his own, driving into her until he found his own pleasure.

After he disposed of the condom, they lay tangled together, sweaty and breathing harder than after their toughest cross-fit workout, and a breeze from the window swept over them. It would've been too cold if she'd been alone. Since Chris's lax body covered most of her, Daisy felt the air touch only her cheeks and one arm. It was perfect, a sign that she was moving forward—with Chris, with letting go of her fears, with her life. Suddenly filled with such euphoria that she could almost feel her body floating off the bed, she tightened her arms around Chris, her rock.

He stirred in response, pushing himself up so he could look at her face.

“Okay, Dais?” He brushed a damp strand of hair off her cheek, and she remembered him telling her how much he loved that hair and that cheek. She smiled.

“I don't know if I mentioned it tonight.” She mirrored his motion on his much-shorter hair. It wasn't long enough to hang in his face, but she brushed it with her fingers anyway. “Since you were talking so much, I couldn't really get a word in edgewise.”

With a mock insulted look, he began to tickle her. He seemed to instinctively identify all of her most sensitive spots, and he ruthlessly took advantage of that knowledge. When he'd reduced her to laughing, pleading exhaustion, he finally showed mercy.

“You were saying?”

Wiping the mirth-induced tears from her eyes, she tried to glare at him. It was difficult to do while she was still giving the occasional hiccup of laughter. “What I was
saying
, before that unprovoked attack, was that I love you—as in love-love you.”

“You love-love me?” He appeared to be holding back a smirk—not very successfully. “Is the double love different from the single love?”

When she shoved his shoulder, he didn't budge. “I mean that I love you, and not in a just-friends way.”

“I know.” He rolled off her and stood next to the bed.

She frowned at his smug tone. “That's not the right response.”

“Fine. I love you, too, in not a just-friends way. Is that better?” His grin was too contagious, and she fought returning it.

“Not really,” she grumbled. “Maybe in about twenty years, when we're an old married couple, and this is old hat, but it's pretty
new
hat right now, so I was hoping for a little more passion—eep!”

He picked her up and swung her off the bed, ending her monologue. “Shower?”

A shower sounded wonderful. Everything with him sounded wonderful. “Okay. Race you.”

* * *

“Okay. What is up with you?” Lou demanded.

“Me?” Although she tried, Daisy couldn't stop smiling. “Nothing.”

“Uh-huh. Liar. Who else here thinks Daisy's lying?” She raised her hand, and Rory and Ellie joined her.

Laughing, Daisy caved. “Fine. Chris and I are kind of…well, we're dating now.”

While Lou whooped with excitement and Ellie called out her congratulations, Rory looked confused.

“I don't get it. Weren't you dating before?” she asked.

“We were just friends,” Daisy explained. Lou coughed and raised her hand again. “We were!”

Once the laughter died down, they asked her a million and one questions. When she was blushing hot enough to spontaneously combust, she called a halt to the interrogation.

“Aren't we going to talk about the murder? Isn't that why we're meeting tonight? Please?”

“Fine.” Lou conceded, flipping to a blank sheet on the oversized notepad. “Who wants to talk about dead people?”

“First,” Ellie said, her expression changing from amusement to concern, “I want to talk about Daisy's gas leak yesterday. What happened?”

Her stomach twisting in remembered fear, she gave the other women a condensed summary of the incident. “Is Ian in a lot of trouble?”

Rory shrugged. “Not as much as after he went into his dad's burning house against orders. He'll have to do some of the nastier tasks around the station for a week or two, and then he'll be off the hook. Chief Early knows he's not going to change.”

“I'm sorry,” Daisy said for what felt like the hundredth time.

Rory didn't look upset. “Not your fault. Ian's just…how he is.” By the sappy look on her face, she liked Ian exactly as he was. “Did the chief determine it was just an accident, then?”

“Probably.” To Daisy, it didn't feel like an accident. It was one more way the house was turning from a sanctuary into a trap. “Although the repairman said the damage was strange.”

“Strange?” the other women echoed.

“Strange as in deliberate?” Lou asked.

“The repair guy laughed at the idea when Chris suggested it.” Although she knew it was ridiculous to think that someone had intentionally sabotaged her stove—had tried to
kill
her—Daisy's stomach was churning.

The other women exchanged uneasy glances. “But did he say it couldn't have been deliberate?” Ellie asked.

Even in her Chris-induced happy daze, the possibility that someone had intentionally caused the gas leak had been poking at the back of her brain. “No. Who would've done that, though? And why?”

“An explosion sounds right up an arsonist's alley,” Lou said in a hushed voice, as if she were in danger of being overheard. “And you
were
a witness to a possible dead-body moving.”

“But who? And how?” Daisy repeated, unable to wrap her head around the idea that someone hated her enough to try to kill her. “No one ever comes inside. Only my dad, Chris, our workout group, Tyler Coughlin, and that real estate agent.” As she listed off the names, Lou wrote them down.

“Real estate agent?” Rory repeated.

Daisy grimaced. “We need to have these meetings more often. The real estate agent was showing the house across the street, and they found blood on the ceiling. Chris wanted to get a warrant to search the place, but the sheriff refused.”

“Why?” Lou turned from the notepad. “I would think blood would be suspicious enough to call for a search, especially after what you saw.”

“Tyler Coughlin was here?” Rory interrupted.

A little startled by the change in topics, Daisy blinked at her before answering. “Yes. He's my grocery-delivery boy.”

Looking grim, Rory stared at the names on the list. “When was he here last?”

The room suddenly felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of it. Daisy barely found enough air to speak. “Yesterday,” she said in a tiny voice. “Right before the gas leak.”

“Tyler?” Ellie sounded shocked. “The sheriff's son? But he's a kid!”

“He's sixteen.” Lou drew a circle around his name. “Old enough to know how to start a fire. And that would explain why the sheriff would try to cover for him.”

“Including the missing arson reports,” Rory added.

Swallowing hard, Daisy thought about bashful Tyler, all gangly arms and legs, who pretended he was grown up enough to like coffee. “I don't know. It fits, but… Do you think he murdered Willard Gray, too? I don't think he'd be capable of
killing
someone, do you?”

“If it was him, he tried to blow up your house,” Rory said flatly, “with you in it.”

Everyone went silent. Daisy tried to wrap her head around the idea that Tyler had tried to kill her. The Tyler she'd seen—the awkward, lonely boy—was a murderer. And Tyler's father…how much had he known?

“The sheriff knew about the arsons,” she started carefully. “Do you think he also knew about Willard Gray? Or my gas leak?”

“He couldn't,” Ellie said firmly. “There's no way. To cover up something like that, Rob would have to be just as much of a monster as his son.”

Rory looked uncertain, but Lou added, “I agree. He seems to really care about people. I don't think he could have known what Tyler was doing—the killing part, at least—and allow it to continue.”

“What do we do?” Daisy asked, her heart thumping like she'd just sprinted a mile. She wasn't as sure that the sheriff wasn't complicit in his son's murderous activities, but the other women knew Rob better than she did.

Carefully capping the marker, Lou placed it on the coffee table. “You need to call Chris.”

* * *

Chris stared grimly at the notebook with unseeing eyes. “Give me until tomorrow.”

The women looked at each other. “He's
killed
people,” Daisy said carefully. “If it is Tyler, we need to make sure he's stopped before he hurts someone.”

“I know.” When Chris turned his head and met her eyes, she almost flinched. Instead of his usual cheery expression, he just looked tired and sad. “Just give me a little time to figure out how to tell Rob, and then we can bring this information to the BCA.”

“Don't tell him tonight,” Lou warned, her knee jiggling up and down. Since she'd abandoned the notepad, she hadn't been able to sit still. “Rob is a good guy, but this is his
son
. We're pretty sure he's been covering up the arsons. Murder is a whole different thing, and we don't think Rob would defend Tyler for that. If we're wrong, though, he could take Tyler and run.”

“I know. I'll tell him first thing tomorrow, and we'll call in the state investigators immediately afterward.”

Ellie had been chewing on the side of her thumbnail until she'd grabbed her arm with her opposite hand and pulled both into her lap. “What if it's not him? We don't have any proof.”

“At the very least,” Chris said, “the case needs to be taken over by someone who'll be objective. If they find that Tyler's innocent, I'll be very happy.” He didn't sound like he expected that outcome, though.