Page 6 of In Safe Hands

“Looking a little rough there, Dais.”

Yawning, she shrugged, too sleepy to be concerned about her bed head. Once Chris was through the doorway, she allowed the door to close behind him and fumbled with the locks. Her hand-eye coordination apparently took longer to awaken than the rest of her.

“What are you doing up so early?” she asked when she eventually managed to secure the final chain.

“It’s ten.” He paused in the middle of untying his boots to look up at her. “That’s not early. In fact, you could probably call that late.”

“Not when you’ll be on nights in a few days.”

He shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Me either. Well, until around seven this morning.” Although she attempted to keep the accusation out of her tone, she didn’t try that hard. Shuffling into the kitchen, she headed for the single-cup coffee brewer.

“Make me a hazelnut one?” Chris asked.

“Mine first,” she grumbled, eyeing his obnoxiously chipper and wide-awake expression. “I need caffeine worse than you do.” He’d obviously showered, since his normally unruly blond hair was behaving. His scruff was gone too, so he’d even shaved. Daisy missed the stubble. It gave a rough edge to his too-perfect handsomeness.

“Dais?” There was a note of amusement underlying his voice. “You fall back asleep?”

She blinked at him. “Huh?”

With a laugh, he reached past her and pushed the “on” button. “You zoned out on me. I figured you’d mentally gone back to bed.”

“Wish I could,” she grumbled, staring hard at the trickle of coffee making its way into her mug. The sleepiness faded, and the memory of what she’d witnessed in the wee hours started to loop through her mind. As she stood in the kitchen with Chris, the midmorning sunlight streaming through the window above the sink, the whole possible-dead-body incident seemed surreal.

“Any reason you were awake all night, or just the usual?” He grabbed the mug he always used, the one Daisy had painted in fifth grade. Being quite the young narcissist, she’d covered the surface in a multitude of her namesake flower.

Focusing intently on adding creamer to her cup, she mentally debated what to tell him. By the time she put her spoon in the sink, she’d decided. “I saw something really strange last night—this morning, actually.”

Most of his attention on his coffee-making, Chris just gave an absent, “Hmm?”

“One of your brethren was parked in front of the white house across the street—the one that’s been for sale forever?” Now that she’d had a few sips of coffee, the fog around her brain was beginning to lighten.

“My brethren?” He raised an eyebrow.

Daisy shrugged, careful not to spill her coffee. “It was a sheriff’s department squad. Not sure which deputy was on the call, though.”

“At an empty house?” The brewer gave a final gurgle, and Chris pulled out the daisy mug, lifting it to his mouth in the same motion. “What was the call?”

“Since you won’t get me my own emergency-services radio,” she said, mostly joking, “I don’t know what the call was. But it was weird.”

He used the hand not holding his coffee to make a “go on” gesture.

“When I first saw the squad, I figured that Corbin was getting a stern talking-to, but the Storvicks’ house was dark.”

Chris groaned. “What’s that little delinquent up to now?”

“Nothing that I know about…yet. I saw him arguing with someone on the phone a couple of nights ago, right before he smashed his cell against the wall.”

Chris closed his eyes for a second, and his shoulders dropped in a silent sigh. “Dramatic little bastard. Thanks, Dais. I’ll let the sheriff know we can expect another damage-to-property call from the girlfriend’s family.”

“Probably,” she agreed.

“So, if it wasn’t Corbin Storvick, what was a deputy doing here?”

She eyed him over her coffee mug. “It was weird.”

“You said that. Weird how?”