In Safe Hands (Search and Rescue #4)(38)

“The yard’s a mess,” he said, looking at the coffeemaker and back at her.

“What does that mean?” When he continued eyeing the brewer like it was a water fountain in the desert, she sighed and popped a hazelnut cup into the machine. “You know, you’re welcome to help yourself.”

“It tastes better when you make it.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Do you want to hear what I found over there or not?”

“Yes, please.” She put the daisy mug in place to catch the coffee and turned back toward Chris, making the “get on with it” gesture that she’d stolen from him.

“There are boot prints everywhere. Some I could tell were old, since they’d gone through some melting and refreezing cycles. The new ones were mostly similar to mine, so I’m assuming those are Rob’s from this morning.”

“Mostly?” Her pulse accelerated. Despite Chris’s insistence that she wasn’t crazy, the incident with the sheriff had allowed doubts to creep into her head.

“Hard to tell, but I thought I saw a few partials—very partial—of a different style of boot. The other prints almost completely covered them, though.”

“Covered them?” Daisy frowned, confused. “Like the sheriff walked on them? Why would he do that?”

Chris shrugged, his brows drawn together. “Not sure. I haven’t talked to him about this yet.”

Her stomach dipped. “Is this going to cause a problem for you? I mean, I basically shooed him away and called you to tattle. Will he be pissed?”

Scowling, Chris said, “I’m pissed. If he trampled evidence because he was determined you were imagining things, he deserves to be called out on it.”

“How do you know I wasn’t?” Although she tried to keep her voice casual, Daisy couldn’t quite manage it. “Imagining things?”

“First of all, I know you. If you said you saw someone, then there was someone there.” His matter-of-fact tone calmed her. “Secondly, I lifted a couple of handprints from the window.”

It took a second for the information to sink in. “That’s what you were doing to the window! Really? There were prints?”

He grinned as he nodded. “Both sides, as if someone had cupped his hands against the glass to look inside. And I lifted a beautiful, crystal-clear print of his right pinkie finger. He must have rolled his right hand as he took it off the glass.”

Relief flooded through her, the feeling so intense that she couldn’t breathe for a second. When her lungs started working again, she blew out a long exhale. “I’m not crazy.”

“You are not crazy. The handprints won’t be much use unless we have a suspect in custody so we can do a comparison, but I’ll send the fingerprint to the Colorado Bureau of Criminal Apprehension and have them…oof.”

Daisy looked up at his stunned face, her arms wrapped tightly around his middle. “Sorry. I know you hate it when I touch you, but I’m just so relieved that I couldn’t help myself. I’m letting you go and backing away now.” She retreated to the other side of the kitchen, unable to stop grinning, even when Chris’s surprised expression turned into a scowl.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean?” It wasn’t that funny, but she started giggling as she offered the filled coffee mug to Chris. He accepted it absently but didn’t take a drink, all his attention still focused on her.

“I don’t hate it when you touch me. What makes you think that?”

She shrugged. “Whenever I try to give you a hug, you jump away like you’re a cat and I’m an ocean wave.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Please.” The complete and total lie made her smirk at him. “The last time I tried to hug you, after you gave me Max, you couldn’t run away fast enough. Admit it—you’re a total hug-blocker.”

His mouth hung open. Daisy was tempted to close it with a finger on his chin, but she supposed she’d pushed him far enough for the day, especially since he’d come running over when she’d needed help.

“There are so many things wrong with what you just said. I’ve never run away from anything,” Chris said. Daisy hid another grin. Of course, accusing him of running off was what had tweaked him the worst. “And I’m not a hug-blocker, whatever that is.”

“Yeah, you kind of are.”

“I’m not—are you laughing?”

“Sorry. I’m not laughing at you. Well, maybe a little, but I’m mostly really happy that I’m not having hallucinations.”

His outraged expression softened. “You’re as sane as I am, Dais.” He finally took a sip of his coffee, his eyes fixed on something over her shoulder as he thought. “What’s Rob’s deal, I wonder?”

The thought of the sheriff made her stomach start churning again, in a mix of anger and apprehension. “The dispatcher said he wanted to know if I called. Isn’t that…weird?”

“It is unusual.” His thoughtful frown deepened. “I’ll check with…do you know which dispatcher you talked to last night?”

“I didn’t get a name, but she had a squeaky voice.”

Chris’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “Libby. I’ll see if she’s working tonight. Maybe she’ll know why Rob’s fixated on you.”