In Safe Hands (11 page)

Daisy gave the other woman a look. “I thought we'd decided that I
wasn't
an Amish grandmother. Besides, I don't really sleep much. We could meet at midnight, for all I care.” An unhappy sound to her left made her turn her head and catch Chris's frown. After giving him a reassuring smile, she turned back to the women. “Eight is fine.”

With that settled, everyone except Daisy and Chris said their good-byes and clustered into the small space between the interior and outer doors. Six people made it a fairly tight fit, but Daisy could hear them chatting and jostling each other good-naturedly, so no one seemed to mind waiting to exit until she'd secured the inner door.

When the locks were refastened, Chris reached over her shoulder and slapped the door with his open palm a couple of times. The voices faded as the group left, and the outside door cut them off completely when it closed behind them. Daisy looked over her shoulder at Chris.

“That went well, don't you think?” Without giving him a chance to answer, she added, “It felt like it went well. At least, I'm pretty sure it did. Right?”

He waited until she fell silent. “You done?” She glared at him, but he just looked amused. “It went very well.”

Slumping back against the wall, Daisy felt suddenly exhausted—happy, but exhausted. “It was nice of you to lead the training.”

He shrugged off her thanks. “I enjoyed it. If I ever get sick of being a cop, I might become a personal trainer.”

“You can practice on us, then.” She smiled at him. “We'll give you good references when you start training the rich snow bunnies who want to improve their skiing.”

Making a face, he admitted, “That doesn't sound appealing. Maybe I'll stick with training cops instead.”

“And me,” Daisy said on a yawn.

“And you, snoozy. Go take a nap.”

Surprisingly, she felt like she could sleep for a week. “Are you taking off, then?”

“Yes, if you can pry yourself off the door.” His smile was teasing.

“I suppose.” With put-on reluctance, she straightened and stepped to the side. “Thanks again, Chris.”

He was watching her in an odd way, but he just said, “You're welcome, Dais. Sleep well.”

* * *

She couldn't take her eyes off the gun. Even when she heard the sherif
f
's deputy yelling at him to drop his weapon, and she knew that help had arrived, her gaze remained fixed on the matte black surface of the pistol. She saw his finger, curled around the trigger, pull tighter and tighter until—

Something woke her abruptly. Sitting up quickly before she was fully awake, she swayed a little as she listened for whatever noise had disturbed her sleep. All was quiet, though, and she eventually relaxed.

The clock on her nightstand glowed, showing that it was close to ten p.m. With a yawn, she relaxed back against the pillows, but the spurt of adrenaline that had shot through her veins when she startled awake kept her heart beating quickly and her eyelids open. With a sigh, she resigned herself to being awake for at least a few hours.

Kicking off the covers, she slid out of bed. If she wasn't going to sleep, there was no sense in wasting time lying there and staring at the dark ceiling. She might as well be productive.

Daisy cleaned the training room first, snickering to herself at the sight of Max's now-covered lower half. As promised, Callum had brought a pair of sweatpants and had even dressed the dummy himself. While she stood on a bench so she could wipe down the pull-up bar, the memory of the guys having their impromptu competition made her smile again.

It had been a fun day. Before the group training session, Daisy had been worried that she'd accidentally do something or say something that would drive them away, never to return again. As much as she loved her books and computer time, it would've been hard to go back to seeing only Chris and her father occasionally. Now, she had Monday night's get-together to look forward to, plus they'd been talking about making the training sessions a regular, couple-times-a-week thing.

As she moved the mats so she could vacuum, she did a mental inventory of the pantry and freezer. The Monday evening meeting would be held too late for a big meal, but she had the ingredients to make teriyaki meatballs and crab wontons. She wished she had eggs, so she could make some brownies, too.

“What do you think, Max?” she asked over the whine of the vacuum. “Would it be crossing a line to ask Chris to pick up a few things at the store?”

The dummy dangled silently on his hook, his new sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

“I know he brought groceries today without me asking, but it's different when I request it. It changes it from a favor between friends to, I don't know, a duty for the poor housebound girl, I guess. I don't want him to see me as helpless and needy.”

Max's silence felt slightly judgmental.

“I know, I know. I
am
needy and kind of helpless. It's stupid, but I want Chris to look at me and see a whole person, not just this living ghost haunting my house.”

Turning off the vacuum, she gave Max an accusatory glare.

“It's a good thing you're useful in other ways, Sir Maximillian, because as a therapist? You kind of suck.”

By the time she finished with the training room, Daisy was in full-on cleaning mode, so she decided to tackle the rest of the house. Her dad's room had a slightly stale smell from disuse, and she left the door open to let it air. It was close to one in the morning by the time the house was done.

Feeling grubby, Daisy took a shower and then crawled back into bed. She knew she wasn't tired enough to sleep, so she grabbed a book off her nightstand. It was by one of her favorite urban fantasy authors, and it was a sign of how crazy her life had gotten over the past few days that she hadn't finished it yet. It had been a long time since her real life was as interesting as what happened in her books.

After rereading the same page over and over for a half-hour, she gave up on the book. Her brain was spinning with so many things—the training session, Chris's recent weirdness contrasted with his consideration, the renewed possibility that Deputy Macavoy might actually
have
been hauling a dead body around at three thirty in the morning, the Gray case and the fact that the other women were interested in getting her, Crazy Daisy's, opinion about it, and even the pros and cons to making brownies for Monday night,
i
f
her dad returned in time to make an egg run. How could a book, even a good one, compete with all that?

Daisy sighed. Since she wasn't going to be able to sleep or read with all the thoughts crowding into her brain, she didn't want to stay in bed. She turned off the bedside lamp and moved to the window seat, once again feeling that twinge of guilt. It wasn't a strong enough pang to keep her from opening and raising the blinds, however.

As usual, Ian and Rory's house was shuttered, with no hint of light showing. Daisy waved at the dark building, feeling a glow of pleasure that she'd actually met them, worked out with them, laughed at their jokes. The Storvicks' place was dark as well, but Daisy had no urge to meet any of those family members.

As if magnetized, her gaze moved to the white house with the for-sale sign in the yard. She wished it would sell, so she'd have a new family to watch, rather than scouring the darkness for the possibility of a second body removal. Shaking her head, Daisy reminded herself that there was a very, very slim chance that Macavoy's burden had been a person.

Leaning against the window, Daisy shivered at the touch of the cold glass. She debated whether to take the ten steps it would require to fetch a blanket, but pulled her knees to her chest instead. It was a poor substitute, but she was feeling lazy.

The clouds were moving quickly, and Daisy watched, mesmerized, as they scurried through the night sky. She quit trying to control her thoughts and just let them run through her brain. Chris popped up more than she'd hoped, but, for once, she didn't fight it. Ever since she'd stopped leaving the house when she was sixteen, he'd been a regular visitor. He'd always acted like an older brother, teasing and overprotective, but she'd never felt like his sister.

Thinking about the early days of their friendship made her mind drift toward thoughts of her mom. She slammed a mental door, blocking any memories of that day. Shifting on the window seat, she hugged her legs harder and replayed the training session in her head again instead.

A shadow shifted, moving from the trees to the far side of the empty house. Daisy straightened so quickly, she knocked her head against the wall. Absently rubbing the back of her skull, she peered into the blackness.

Before she could even begin to blame her imagination and the poor illumination, the shadow moved again. The light from the closest streetlamp reflected off a pale face.

“Should've worn face paint, whoever you are,” she muttered, moving to her knees and leaning close to the window. When her breath started fogging the glass, she reluctantly shifted back a few inches and used her sleeve to clear the condensation. “Or one of those black bank-robber face masks.”

The figure disappeared, and Daisy made a sound of annoyance. She didn't move, as if a shift in position would ensure that she didn't see the trespasser again. She stared so hard at the spot where she'd last seen the shadow that her eyes began to itch and burn. When she finally allowed herself to blink, her vision blurred with tears, and Daisy hurried to rub away the wetness.

It took her a few seconds to catch the motion on the near side of the house, since she was concentrating so hard on the other. The figure stood out against the white of the house and the remaining snow, showing the differences between the current intruder and Macavoy. This one was lanky and not quite as tall as the deputy. That, and the way he moved, made her think he was a teenager.

Daisy squinted, trying to bring the kid's uncovered face into focus. “Corbin, is that you? What are you up to this time?” She wondered if he was trying to sneak inside so he didn't get in trouble with his parents for breaking curfew. Instead of looking at his home, though, possibly-Corbin was peering into one of the side windows of the white house.

That wasn't going to lead to anything good. Although she hated taking her eyes off the skulking kid, she made a quick dash to grab her phone off the nightstand where it'd been charging. Returning to the window seat, she saw that maybe-Corbin was still in the same place. He'd grown bolder, though, and had cupped both hands around his face to better see into the dark room.

Daisy's finger hovered over Chris's name, but it was his last day off before he started on nights. Instead, she found the nonemergency number for Dispatch and tapped it. Whoever was manning the phones would be up already—hopefully—so she wouldn't be waking someone to report some bored, trespassing kid.

“Communications.”

“Hi,” Daisy said awkwardly. “This is Daisy Little, and there's what looks like a teenager sneaking around outside the empty house across the street from me. It's 304 Alpine Lane.”

“Daisy Little?” the dispatcher repeated. “The sheriff wanted to talk to you directly if something else happened involving that house. Can he give you a call on this number?”

“Oh,” Daisy said, flustered. “I'm pretty sure it's just a bored kid, so you don't have to wake up the sheriff for something so minor. I just don't want any damage to be done to the house. Could you just have one of the on-duty deputies do a drive-by?”

“Sheriff Coughlin was insistent,” the dispatcher told her apologetically. “Is this number the best one for him to use? I'm sure he'll call you immediately.”

“This number is fine,” she said reluctantly. If she'd known it was going to require a conversation with Sheriff Judge-y-pants, Daisy would've woken Chris, instead. “Could you let him know that it's definitely not an emergency, though, and that I don't require a call back?”

“I'll tell him.”

“Thanks.” After she ended the call, Daisy stared at her cell phone in dread for a few seconds before remembering the trespasser. When she looked at the white house, the kid was gone—or out of her sight, at least. She watched the property, alternating between the near and far sides of the house, but no one was skulking in the shadows.

The sound of her ringtone made her jump. In her attempt to get another glimpse of the intruder, the sheriff's call had slipped her mind. With the kid gone, she was even more reluctant to answer. Daisy was afraid if she didn't, though, the sheriff would send someone to her front door to check on her. Over-the-phone embarrassment was preferable to in-person embarrassment, so she accepted the call.

“Hi, Sheriff.”

“Ms. Little.” He sounded alert, so hopefully the dispatcher hadn't woken him. “More trouble in the neighborhood?”

“Nothing major,” she said. “I didn't mean to bother you with this, but the dispatcher insisted you'd want to talk to me.”

“It's fine. What's going on?”

“Someone was sneaking around outside the for-sale house. It looked like a teenager. He went around the back and then looked in a side window. I just called Dispatch in case he was thinking about doing some vandalism or wanted to break in or something.”

“Is he still there?”

“I don't think so.” Her eyes were glued on the empty house, and everything was still. “He slipped away while I was talking to the dispatcher.”

“I'll stop by in the morning,” the sheriff said, making Daisy wince.

“You really don't have to do that, Sheriff.” She tried to sound grateful and discouraging at the same time. “I just thought a squad passing through the neighborhood would drive the kid away. He's gone now, and you don't need to waste your time—”

“Seeing to your peace of mind isn't a waste of time, Ms. Little,” Coughlin interrupted. “I'll be by around six thirty tomorrow morning, if you'll be awake by then?”