In Safe Hands (Search and Rescue #4)(105)

Lowering her head to the floor, she watched as Chris yanked out his phone and tapped the screen. As he held the cell to his ear, he let his other hand brush her cheek so, so lightly. Although she knew something was off, that she was too calm, Daisy just lay still and enjoyed the feel of his fingers on her skin as he talked to Dispatch. She realized how scared she’d been that she’d never get to experience his touch again.

The ceiling was spatter-painted with chunky red, and she couldn’t keep looking at that. Hoping that Chris was too occupied with the call to notice, Daisy turned her head. Inches away from her face were the sheriff’s dead eyes. Caught by his vacant stare, she couldn’t look away, couldn’t even blink, until hands straightened her face, gently turning her gaze back toward the bloody ceiling.

To her relief, Chris’s face blocked her view of the sprays of blood and…other stuff. “You still with me, Dais?”

“Yes.” Her voice was flat and as hoarse as a pack-a-day smoker’s. “Did you shoot him?”

He nodded. “Three times in the top of the head. It was the only target available to me.”

She tried to nod, but his hold prevented it.

His forehead touched hers, and she held back a wince. The throb of pain was muted, though, and she didn’t want to lose the contact with Chris.

“I didn’t hesitate this time,” he said, so quietly she barely heard him. He didn’t sound like himself, and she wondered if he was in shock. Daisy was pretty sure she was. It wasn’t normal to be that calm. Maybe being terrified for so long had fried all the fear receptors in her brain.

Lifting a hand, she stroked the back of his head, trying not to think of how she was getting blood in his hair. “Thank you.”

“That’s twice, Dais. Twice in two days that you almost died. Don’t do it to me again.”

It was a choked hiccup of a sound, but Daisy still couldn’t believe he’d actually made her laugh—here, covered in a murderer’s blood, lying next to the sheriff who was missing the back of his head. There really was something wrong with her brain. “I’ll try.”

“You better. I love you too much to lose you.”

“I love you, too, Chris.” Her hand paused on the back of his head. “Did you see? I left the house.”

“I saw. Knew you could do it.”

“I threw up on the porch.”

He made a sound very similar to her earlier parody of a laugh. “It’s okay. I’m proud of you.”

“Tyler burned my house. He’s on the porch, too.”

“What?!”

Before she could explain, the sound of booted footsteps came from the direction of the front door, followed by two voices calling out, “Sheriff’s department!”

Chris raised his head, revealing his newly blood-streaked forehead, and Daisy propped herself up on her elbows so she could see. Two deputies charged into the room, guns out. The gory scene brought them up short, and they stared in silence for a frozen second.

“Dad?” A bloody-faced Tyler appeared in the doorway behind them. One of the deputies turned, holstering his gun, and used his body to both stop Tyler from entering and to block the boy’s view of the room. “Dad! What’s wrong with him? What’d they do to him? Dad!”

As the deputy backed a still-screaming Tyler toward the front door, the other cop finally shifted his shocked gaze from the sheriff’s body to Chris. “What the f*ck happened here, Jennings?”





Chapter 23


If Daisy had known how long it would be before she got to go home, she might’ve reconsidered leaving her house. But then an image of Chris’s limp body flashed through her mind, making her shake her head. Even if she’d known she’d never get to return home, nothing could’ve stopped her from heading to his rescue.

“Daisy?”

“Dad?” She blinked at the bearded face peering around the curtain that made up the wall of her cubicle. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard about what happened on the radio—well, the basics, at least. They didn’t mention you, but I called to make sure you were okay. When you didn’t answer your cell phone, I tried Jennings. His went to voice mail, too, so I drove to Simpson. The fire chief told me they’d taken you to Connor Springs in the ambulance.” He eyed the scrubs a kind nurse had found for her to change into when her gory clothes had been taken away in evidence bags. “He said you were covered in blood.”

“Not mine,” she explained. “Except for some bruising on my face and…well, pretty much everywhere, I’m okay. The EMTs insisted I come here, though.” Under the cover of their professional calm, she’d been able to tell that the amount of gore she’d been wearing had freaked them out. It had taken a while to convince them that they weren’t missing a gushing injury.

“How’d…” He rubbed a hand over his mouth and started again. “You’re out of the house. Was it the fire?”

“No.” After all the horror and shocks of the night, her trek through the burning house and across the street had been pushed to the back of her mind to deal with later. “I saw the sheriff attack Chris. I had to go.”

That time, she was pretty sure his face swipe was to wipe away tears. Gabe caught the back of a chair like it was a cane and lowered himself onto it. Propping his elbows just above his knees, he stared at the floor.