Gone Too Deep (38 page)

Although the frown between his eyebrows remained, he waved for her to continue.

“While the guy is putting the
object
into the back of the SUV, a boot falls out of the bottom of the tarp.”

“A boot?”

“A boot.” As much as she wanted to stay objective, Daisy couldn't take it anymore. “A boot! From a foot! Which is connected to the possible
dead body
that this guy was taking somewhere, probably to join the headless guy in Mission Reservoir!”

So much for sounding levelheaded. Daisy shut her mouth with a snap, but the words were out, and she couldn't suck them back in, no matter how badly she wanted to.

After staring at her for a long moment, Chris took a sip of his coffee. His maddening calm made her want to rip his mug away from him and throw it across the kitchen. Daisy reminded herself that tossing coffee around would not help the goal of making him think she
wasn't
crazy.

“A body.”

“Yes.” Since her attempt at a factual retelling was already blown, she figured she might as well tell him everything. “Whatever he was carrying in that tarp was shaped like a person. When he dropped it into the back, it even flopped around like a dead body would.”

“Hmm.”

Chris had on his cop face. He hardly ever used his cop face with her, and Daisy's chest felt tight. Beneath that mask, was he thinking about what a nut ball she was? She desperately hoped telling him this wouldn't damage their friendship—any more than it already was, at least. It was just that there was a
boot
. Surely, Chris would understand the importance of that boot.

“Where'd he go?” he asked, finally ending the silence.

“I'm…um, not sure.” She made a face, not wanting to admit the less-than-brave truth. “He started looking up toward my window, and I was afraid he'd see me, so I kind of jumped back and…well, I tripped.”

“You tripped.” His face was blank, and she really wished he'd stop using that impassive tone of voice on her.

“I tripped,” she growled, narrowing her eyes. Their stare-off continued until Daisy knew she was going to lose—she
always
did—so she started talking again to distract him. “By the time I got back to the window, he was gone.”

Although he made that aggravating noncommittal sound again, his gaze was thoughtful. He focused on the mug in his hands as if his coffee were a crystal ball.

After waiting for what she felt was a more than sufficient amount of time for him to consider the situation, Daisy couldn't stay quiet any longer. “So?”

“It was dark.”

It was a statement, rather than a question, but she answered anyway. “Yes. The moon was bright when the clouds weren't covering it, but the streetlights out there are pretty much useless unless someone's standing directly under one.”

“You're sure that he wasn't in uniform?”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes to bring the memory of the scene into better focus before opening them again. “Yes. He was all in black—boots, pants, and coat with the hood up.”

“What'd he look like?” The intensity of his gaze flustered her, making her feel like she was the subject of an interrogation. It was just Chris's way of asking questions, she told herself, trying to ignore her discomfort and focus on answering.

“I didn't see his face, and the angle from upstairs makes it hard to judge, but I think he was fairly tall. Not skinny, but the coat made it hard to tell if he was muscular or just chunky. I took a video, but it's really dark.” Pulling out her phone, she found the video and handed her cell to Chris.

As he watched it, frowning, he asked, “Did you get the squad number off the SUV?”

“No. Sorry.”

“Anything distinctive about the guy? The way he walked or held himself?” Chris held out her cell.

Accepting her phone, she closed her eyes for a moment again, but it didn't help that time. “No. He was walking through snow and carrying something heavy and dead-body-like, so…oh!” The thought made her bounce, remaining coffee sloshing around in her mug. “The snow! There'll be footprints!”

Draining his cup, he rinsed it out and left it in the sink. “I'll check it out.”

Chris pulled on his outerwear and let himself out the interior door. After bolting it behind him, Daisy dashed for her bedroom window. She watched as he headed toward number 304. He took pictures of the tracks on both sides of the building with his phone before circling to the back yard.

Waiting impatiently for him to reappear, she wished she could just walk out of the house and join him. Merely catching a glimpse of the front door was enough to make her dizzy, though, so she doubted she'd be visiting the great outdoors anytime soon.

“Coward,” she muttered, letting her head tilt against the chilled glass. “No wonder he won't even let you give him a hug. You're a scaredy-freak.”

The glass reflected her unhappy expression. In high school—when she'd
gone
to high school—she'd been considered pretty enough. She'd been shy, though, and the attention her early developing body had attracted had made her more nervous than flattered. Her caramel-colored hair used to get blonde streaks from the sun, and her skin had tanned easily. Her mouth was full and wide, her teeth straight enough to never need braces, and dimples dented her cheeks when she smiled. She liked her eyes—greenish-gold with thick lashes.

Surely not all of that could have changed?

It was hard to look in a mirror and judge her own appearance, though. Daisy knew she was pale, and her hair was darker without help from the sun, but she didn't think she was ugly. The fitness room kept her toned and muscular. However, without outside feedback—flirty, interested looks from guys or the honest critique of a female friend—she didn't know if she'd be considered attractive. As much as she wanted him to, Chris never seemed to notice what she looked like at all.

Shaking herself out of her introspective funk, she saw Chris crossing the yard. Next door, Corbin was walking on the path that ran in front of his house. He'd almost reached the driveway where his Jeep was parked when he spotted the deputy. Although Chris wasn't in uniform, Corbin must have recognized him, because the teen lowered his head and hurried back toward the front door.

“Ooh, you've done
something
bad, baby creeper,” Daisy said. “Get him, Chris!”

Chris was already striding toward Corbin, his long legs moving quickly through the snow. Before the boy could step onto the porch, the deputy was next to him. Daisy wished for binoculars once again, plus the ability to read lips, as Chris talked for several minutes. Corbin kept his head down, except for an occasional nod or head shake.

When Chris finally headed back to Daisy's front door, she scrambled off the window seat and rushed down the stairs to let him inside. Slapping the button to unlock the exterior door, she unfastened the deadbolts and chains. In her excitement to hear what he'd discovered about the mystery deputy's early morning visit—plus the smack-down he'd hopefully given Corbin—she jerked open the door without pausing to listen for the usual click of the latch.

As it swung wide, exposing the
still-open
exterior door, she felt as if all the blood drained from her body. A wide rectangle of sunlight outlined a startled-looking Chris. Her eyes fixed on that too-bright expanse over his shoulder, that yawning hole that allowed in all the dangers and horrors of the outside world. Her heart thudded in her ears, the beats so fast they started blending together. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything except stare at that terrible brightness.

Her vision blurred and tilted…right before the world went black.

There was no fuzziness to soften her humiliation. As soon as Daisy opened her eyes and saw Chris's concerned face framed by her entryway ceiling, she knew what had happened. His hand was at her throat, and his cell phone was pressed to his ear.

“She's regaining consciousness. Pulse is seventy-two.” His voice was clipped as he relayed the information to whoever was on the other end of the call, but it softened when he spoke to her. “Hey, Dais. You back with me?”

“No,” she said. “I mean, yes. I'm fine. But you better not be calling for an ambulance, Chris Jennings, or I'm going to be super pissed.”

He frowned at her. “Yes, she's conscious and alert now.”

“I am. Conscious, alert, and in no need of medical assistance.” She tried to sit, but he moved his hand from her throat to her upper chest to keep her lying flat. He was squatting next to her, still in his boots, coat, and hat. “Chris. I'm serious. Cancel the ambulance.”

“You hit your head.” Once he said it, a corresponding throb lit up the back of her skull. “I tried to catch you, but I wasn't quick enough.”

She probed the lump on the back of her head, restraining a wince. “It's just a minor bump.” Despite her best efforts at trying to stay calm, she could hear a hint of panic in her voice. “Please, Chris. I'll have to explain why I fainted in the first place, and what if they want to take me to the hospital?” Tears threatened to compound her humiliation as she grabbed for him, catching a handful of the BDUs covering his calf.

His silence squashed her hope, and a tear escaped. Gritting her teeth, she turned her head, burying her face against his leg in an attempt to hide.

Chris swore. “Sorry, Libby. That wasn't directed at you. Go ahead and have Med stand down.”

Stupidly, relief made Daisy cry harder. Chris's hand moved from her chest to cup the back of her head. Freed, she rolled to her side, tucking her face even farther under his knee until her forehead bumped his boot.

“Appreciate it, Libby. Uh-huh.” His hand stroked Daisy's hair as he spoke absently into his phone. “Okay. Thanks again.” He must have ended the call, because suddenly both of his hands were free. Rocking back to sit on the tiles, Chris hauled her into his lap.

The shift in position startled her, thankfully stopping the flow of tears. She held herself stiffly for a second and then relaxed into his chest, too worn out to fight him. The material of his coat was rough against her damp cheek, but his arms were locked tightly around her, which was nice.

“Dais,” he muttered, using his thumb to wipe the residual wetness from the exposed side of her face.

“Sorry.” Her sigh shuddered with leftover tears. “Thanks for cancelling the ambulance.”

His fingers moved to feel the sore spot on the back of her head. The unexpected contact sent a throb of pain through her skull, and she couldn't help flinching away from his touch.

“I probably shouldn't have,” he grumbled, his fingers returning to the aching bump. “What if your skull's fractured?”

“My skull's not fractured. Ow!” She swatted at his probing hand. “If you don't stop pushing on it, though,
yours
might be. Quit it! What are you trying to accomplish by poking at me, anyway?”

“I don't know.” Thankfully, he stopped. “Just making sure you don't have brains leaking out or anything.”

“Gross.” She made a face and then tried to stand. As nice as it was to be in Chris's arms, she didn't want to be held because he pitied her. “I don't. My brains are all where they should be, and they're still greatly superior to whatever's in your thick skull.”

At first, he resisted letting her go, but then he snorted, and his body relaxed. “Please. We both know that I'm the genius of this operation.” As he climbed to his feet, he helped her stand, as well. She was grateful for his grip on her arms when the room wobbled around her. It quickly straightened, and she stepped back, slipping free of Chris's hold. After locking the interior door, she moved into the kitchen.

“Hah.” She suddenly felt overwhelmingly tired and would have paid a great deal of money to be able to sit down again. She didn't trust Chris not to have Libby send the ambulance after all, though, so she feigned nonchalance and leaned against the counter, letting it support a good portion of her weight. “My brain would totally kick your brain's ass in a death match.”

The worried crease between his eyebrows eased slightly. “Would not.”

“Would, too.”

“Not.”

She stuck out her tongue. “Whatever, Einstein. Tell me what you found.”

“Found?”

Gesturing in the general direction of the street, she prompted, “At 304? Oh, and what'd you say to Corbin? Did you see him sprint for the house when he saw you? That boy did something naughty.”

Instead of answering, he eyed her searchingly. “We can talk about this later.”

“Oh, no way, Jose! I could barely wait until you got back, as evidenced by…” She trailed off, waving toward the door. “If you drag this out any longer, I'll…well, I'll think of something bad to do to you. So, spill.”

After another few seconds, he caved, digging his phone out of his coat pocket. “Fine. Here. You can check out the prints while I take off my boots.”

Not wanting to leave the support of the counter—since she had a feeling it was the only thing keeping her upright—Daisy held out her hand for the phone. With a shrug, he tossed it to her.

“Ack!” She fumbled but managed to catch it between her palms before it could fall onto the tile. “Careful, there. Don't you think one falling object a day is enough?”

He returned to the entryway and pulled off his boots. “I was testing your reflexes.”

“Thanks, Dr. Chris,” she said dryly, pulling up the most recent photos. Frowning, she flicked through them, magnifying a few to get a closer view. “What is that in some of these—a penny?”

“Yep.” Having shucked his coat and hat, he moved to stand next to her. “I don't have my kit with me, and I needed a scale. Pennies work, since they're a standard size.”

She snorted. “You just saw it in that movie we watched a few weeks ago.”

“Did not. Learned that in cop school.” He nudged her with his shoulder, and she caught herself before she toppled sideways. “Besides, she used a quarter in the movie.”

Grinning, Daisy brought the phone closer to her face. “Can you tell anything from these? Not to knock your photography skills, but they all look like white dents in the snow to me.”

“Yeah.” His gloomy voice made her glance at him. “I can tell that they match my boots.”

Her eyebrows shot toward her hairline. “Which means…what? That you were the one moving a body last night?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Dais. You caught me. No, these are about a size or two bigger than mine. Whoever it was walking around out there was wearing department-issued boots.”

“So it was definitely a deputy.”

“Unless someone just happened to get the same brand and style of boots, then yeah.”

“Uh…didn't we already know that? This guy was driving a squad, after all.”

Reclaiming his phone, Chris started sorting through his photos. “Not necessarily. All someone needed was access and the keys. Could've been a family member or a friend of someone on the department. Here.” He handed the phone back to her, a photo of about a dozen people on the screen. “Was the person last night any of these guys?”

She looked at the picture. It must've been taken at some sort of training, because they were all in BDUs and tan T-shirts bearing the sheriff's department logo. Most of them were smiling, although a few had on their tough-guy expressions. “I didn't get a good look at his face, but we can eliminate this guy, this guy, and these two women because of their builds.”

Chris scowled as she pointed.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he grumbled, taking his phone again and pocketing it. “It just sucks that you took Lawrence out of the suspect pool. I wouldn't have minded arresting him.”

Daisy laughed. “Sorry.”

“It's premature thinking that a crime was committed, though,” Chris warned. “I need to check the call log from last night and this morning to see if there was a legitimate reason for a deputy to be at that house.”

“Not in uniform?” she asked doubtfully.

“There might be a good explanation for that, too.”

She watched as he stared into space, obviously thinking hard. “You think it was something…not good, though.”

“Maybe,” he dodged. “Maybe not. I don't have enough information to determine that yet.”

“Uh-huh.” Daisy wasn't convinced. “But your gut tells you it wasn't just a normal response to a call. I can tell, since you have on your hunter face.”

“My what?” he half laughed, losing the intent expression as he turned to face her.

“Hunter face.” She shrugged. “You get this look, like you're a wolf about to take down an elk.”

“Right. No more
Nature
specials for you.”

She made a face at him but let it drop. “What's the next step?”

“Checking the call log, like I said.” His eyebrows furrowed again as he looked at her, and Daisy met his gaze evenly, hoping she didn't look as wobbly as she felt. “I'm thinking about asking Lou if she could come over to talk to you.”

“What?” That seemed to come out of the blue. Startled, she dug through her brain to remember what Chris had told her about a Lou. “You mean barista, dive team member, and stalker-killer Lou? Why?”

“That's the one.” He drummed his fingers against the counter. “Because she's been looking into Willard Gray's murder.”

“The guy found in the reservoir? Well,” she corrected herself, wrinkling her nose, “most of him was found in the reservoir, at least.”

“Yeah.”

“Why should Lou come talk to me?”

Chris was still frowning, and his words came after a hesitation, as if he wasn't sure he should be saying what he was. “I can't give you details about the case, Dais. I could lose my job.”

“So, you really do think what I saw this morning is related to that Gray guy's murder?”

“Probably not.”

“But it might be.”

Blowing out a frustrated breath, he pushed away from the counter and paced the kitchen. “The Gray case has been a complete cluster from the beginning. So many things about it don't make any sense, and it's frustrating the hell out of me. Whenever anything strange happens, I find myself trying to link it to the case. I know I'm reaching, but something's telling me not to blow off what you told me as…” He sent her an odd look, a mix of frustration and guilt.

“As the ravings of a crazy lady?” she finished for him, trying to keep her voice light even as she swallowed back bile.

“No.” He stopped and scrubbed his fingers through his hair, bringing it back to its usual rumpled condition. “No. Dais, you're not crazy.”

Forcing a laugh, she waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “It's okay, Chris. I know what I am.”

“Dais.”

It was time to change the subject. “Tell Lou she can come over here, if she wants.”

“Daisy.”

“From what you've told me, she'll be fun to talk to, even if we don't unearth a countywide conspiracy.” She pushed away from the counter, relieved when her legs wobbled a little but held her upright. “Did you want some coffee to take with you?”

He was watching her with a little too much intensity, so she tried to ignore him, moving over to the coffeemaker and holding up a hazelnut cup. “No,” he finally said, sounding defeated. “I'm good.”

They were both quiet as Chris once again donned his boots and coat. He unlocked the interior deadbolts, the heavy clicks loud in the silence, and then stilled, turning to look at her.

“You're not crazy.”

Although she felt too tired to start the argument again, she couldn't make the assurances he needed to hear. Instead, she sighed. “See you later, Chris.”

His face grew tight, but he finally turned away. “Bye, Dais.”

After the interior door closed behind him, Daisy stared at it for a long time before moving to engage the locks.

* * *

Rob gave a grunt of annoyance when his phone started ringing. It always seemed to happen when his hands were full. Leaning forward, he dumped Anderson King's body onto the rocky ground and then reached for his phone, checking the caller ID before accepting the call.

“Chris,” he greeted.

“Hey, Rob.” A tentative note in his deputy's voice caught Rob's attention. “I've got a strange question for you. Got a minute?”

Not really.
“Sure. What's up?” Holding his phone in place with his shoulder, Rob took off his backpack and pulled out the bottle of bear bait.

“Was there a call for service at 304 Alpine Lane early this morning?”

Rob froze, the bottle falling from suddenly numb fingers. He had to clear his throat before he was able to speak. “Sorry, reception got bad for a second there. Did you say 304 Alpine?”

“Yeah. It's the vacant white house that's been on the market all winter.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.
“There wasn't a call there as far as I know. Why do you ask?”

“My friend, Daisy, saw someone out of uniform put something into a squad.” Chris hesitated a moment before he continued. “She thought it looked…suspicious.”

Rob couldn't breathe.

“She got some video footage of the guy on her phone, but it was pretty dark.”

Video footage?
The clamp around his throat tightened.

After a few moments of silence, Chris spoke again. “There was nothing on the call log, but I figured there was some explanation other than…”