In Safe Hands (8 page)

Pulling a fleece blanket from the foot of her bed, she brought it with her to the window seat. Curling up on the cushioned bench, she wrapped the blanket around her. All the Storvicks' lights were out except for the glow of a computer screen coming from Corbin's room. It was really boring watching the kid stare at whatever website he was perusing, and Daisy reluctantly allowed her gaze to move to the vacant house next door.

She was actually relieved that everything was dark and still, with no pseudokillers or late-night handymen roaming the property. A quick glance at Ian and Rory's place showed that the shutters were firmly in place. Without anything to hold her interest within view, Daisy rested her forehead against the window and allowed her thoughts to wander.

Of course, the first person to pop into her head was Chris and his increasingly weird behavior toward her. It wasn't like she was throwing herself at him. Daisy thought she hid her feelings pretty well—at least, as long as he kept his shirt in place. She was fully aware that she wasn't girlfriend material, so, except for that one stupid attempted kiss, she tried to keep her hands and her wishes to herself. And yet, every once in a while, she'd catch him watching her with the hungriest expression. It made her wonder—

Something moved on the far side of the empty house. Jerked out of her thoughts, Daisy sucked in a breath and then groaned.

“Not again,” she muttered, staring at the spot, waiting to see if there was another sign of life. After a few long minutes, her eyes were starting to burn from not blinking.

Sitting back, she dismissed the movement as her imagination. She sighed. Her brain was taking lots of trips into fantasyland lately. Maybe it was time to find another therapist like the sheriff had implied.

Yet even as she told herself there was nothing to see, her eyes remained fixed on the far side of the yard for a long time.

* * *

“Make the call.”

Macavoy was breathing in short, audible gasps. “Why are you…doing this?”

“
Call.
”

With shaking fingers, Macavoy touched a number on his screen. In the following silence, broken only by the deputy's rough breathing, Rob heard two rings before the call connected with a click.

“Dispatch.”

Macavoy hesitated, so Rob gave his temple a nudge with the barrel of his Beretta. “This is Angus…Macavoy.”

“Angus!” The dispatcher's tone went from coolly professional to friendly. “How are you?”

“I…” Pausing, he gave Rob a pleading look, which the sheriff answered with another, harder press of the gun to Macavoy's head. “I have…to put in…my resignation.”

“Oh no! You're leaving us already? It's the snow, isn't it? Did you get a new job in California or somewhere?”

“No. Family…situation.” Macavoy's breathing was worsening, each breath ending with a squeaky wheeze.

The dispatcher paused before saying, “You're sounding pretty short of breath, Angus. Are you okay?”

“Fine.” The word came out as a gasp.

“You sure? Do you need me to send medical out to your place?”

Rob's hand jerked, jamming the gun barrel against Macavoy's head. The deputy winced away and then froze, as if expecting a shot.

“No!” Macavoy yelped, before he sucked in an audible breath and then continued more calmly. “No. I'm…fine. Just stress because…of the family…thing. Don't send med. I'll nebulize right after…this call.”

“Okay.” The dispatcher sounded reluctant to let it go, and Rob gave Macavoy's temple another shove to remind him to wrap up things. “You'll call back if things get any worse, though?”

“I…will. Have to…go now.”

“Well, you have my email.” The dispatcher's tone had lightened. “Let us know how things turn out for you.”

With a sideways glance at Rob, Macavoy muttered agreement before ending the call. “I did…what you asked. I'll…leave. I won't tell…anyone.”

“It's really too bad. You were a good deputy.”

Rob pulled the trigger.

Tyler met him at the back door with a bucket of soapy water, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and a garbage bag. How had this happened, that his sixteen-year-old son knew Luminol would light up bleach residue like a Fourth-of-July sparkler? All Rob had ever wanted to do was to protect his kid, but everything had gone wrong.

“What are you doing?” Guilt leant a snap to his voice, and Tyler took a step back.

“Helping.” Tyler held out the garbage bag. After a long moment, Rob sighed and accepted it.

“You shouldn't help.” Rob stepped farther into the shelter of the porch before he dragged off his boots, BDUs, and sweatshirt. Although Esko Hills was a nice neighborhood, a good place to raise a family, it had more than its share of busybodies and curious gazes. “I'm your dad. It's my responsibility to take care of things like this, not yours. Your job is to go to school and not get into trouble.” He gave his son a meaningful look.

Dropping his gaze to the floor, Tyler muttered, “Sorry. I couldn't help it.”

“We've talked about this.” In just his boxer briefs and socks, the air was cold against his skin. Rob hurried to shove his clothes into the garbage bag and yanked the drawstring. “Every time, you risk exposing yourself—and me.”

His son's shoulders curled forward. “I know.”

“C'mon.” Rob reached to put a hand on the back of Tyler's neck, but stopped when he saw blood smeared across his thumb and index finger. “Let's go inside.”

As the door closed behind them, Tyler turned. “Dad?”

“Yeah?” Rob used the soapy water to scrub at the smear on his right hand. Once the visible blood was gone, he uncapped the hydrogen peroxide and began pouring it over his hands.

“What really happened to Mom?”

He froze for a moment, watching the peroxide bubble on his skin. “What do you mean?”

“Until that day, she'd always come back. Always. And when you walked in and saw her hitting me… You looked really mad. Like, madder than I've ever seen you get.”

“Why are you asking this?”

Tyler lifted one thin shoulder. “I guess because you always take care of me. That, and I wondered why she stopped coming home.”

Drying his hands on a paper towel that he added to the garbage bag of clothes, Rob said, “Take these to the outdoor wood furnace, would you?” As much as he didn't want his son involved in any part of this, no matter how small that part may be, Rob needed to escape the conversation. He'd never lied to Tyler, and he wasn't about to start now.

“Sure.” Taking the bag, Tyler took a few steps toward the door and then paused. “Thank you. I used to be so scared she'd come back.”

Rob watched his son's back until the door closed behind Tyler.

You're welcome.

* * *

Her mom was sobbing. Daisy had never heard her mom cry—not like this. In her spot, crouched behind the snack-cake display, she shook and mentally called herself a coward. She should do something, help her mom somehow, but all she could do was cower and try to hold back the scream that wanted to escape. His finger tightened on the trigger—

The ringing of her cell phone brought her out of her nightmare with a jerk. Before she could figure out where she was, Daisy twisted toward the sound and fell off the window seat onto the hardwood floor.

“Ow,” she groaned, crawling toward where her still-ringing phone sat on her nightstand. By the time she reached it and saw that it was her dad, the call had gone to voice mail. She tapped her screen to call him as she sat on the floor, leaning her back against the side of the bed.

“Daisy,” he answered brusquely. “Let me in.”

“Oh, sorry!” She scrambled to her feet and headed for the bedroom door. “Have you been knocking? I was asleep.” Reaching the stairs, she flew down them two at a time.

“Yeah, I've been knocking for a while.” His tone had mellowed a little, although he still sounded short. “I was worried when you didn't answer.”

“Sorry,” she repeated, pushing the unlock button. “I didn't think you'd be home so soon.”

“Jennings called me. He told me you needed me to come home.”

“Chris said what?” Daisy realized she'd been talking and missed the sound of the exterior door latching. “Is the door locked again?”

“Yeah. Open up.”

She unfastened the locks with her left hand, her right keeping her phone pressed to her ear. When she opened the door to let her dad inside, she lowered her cell and made a face at it. “Guess there's no need for these anymore. Hi, Dad.”

“What's going on?” Gabe started shedding his boots and coat. He was short and wiry, and he hadn't shaved his reddish-blond winter beard yet. Ever since she was a kid, people had said she looked exactly like her mother—they used to, at least, before her mom had been killed and Daisy had disappeared inside her house. “You okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn't I be?” After relocking the door, she headed to the coffeemaker to start a cup of French roast for her father.

“Your deputy buddy was pretty insistent that I head home immediately. I only had a day and a half left on the Connor Springs project—it'll be two days, now that I'm wasting this morning driving back and forth for no reason.” He hung up his coat and followed her into the kitchen.

“Sorry.” She ran through her last few conversations with Chris and shrugged. “I'm not sure why he thought you were needed here. Oh! I did mention that I wanted to have snacks when everyone comes over for training.”

“Training?”

“Lou Sparks asked if she could train with me and Chris, and then it kind of snowballed. Five or six people are coming over on Saturday afternoon.”

“Let me get this straight.” He glowered from under his bushy, light-colored brows. “Chris sent me tearing all the way over here because you're throwing a
party
?”

It was on the tip of Daisy's tongue to remind him that Connor Springs was only twenty miles away, but she swallowed the words. Gabe was building up to one of his rages, and she'd rather not have to clean up broken coffee mugs or explain new dents in the walls to her guests the next day.

“I'm not sure why he asked you to come here,” she said instead. “Did you want this coffee in a travel mug?”

His hand slapped the counter, the sound making her jump. “What do you think?” He stomped over to where he'd just left his boots. Daisy poured the French roast into a travel cup and secured the lid tightly. Her dad did not need to spill hot liquid on his lap. His head was already too close to spinning around,
Exorcist
-style.

As she waited for him to finish yanking on his coat, she debated whether she should ask him to pick up a few things before he left town again. When he turned toward her and she met his still-furious eyes, she silently held out his coffee instead. He snatched the cup and used his other hand to undo the locks, his abrupt movements testifying to his irritation. As soon as he was through the interior door, she hurried to close and relock it, knowing that he wouldn't hesitate to slam through the outer door in his current mood.

Once the locks were secured, she moved to the living room window, opening the blinds so she could watch his older blue pickup as it accelerated away from the house. He turned onto the cross street, and she gave a humorless snort of laughter. Even the jerky way he steered his truck showed his annoyance.

Heading back into the kitchen, she debated whether she wanted a cup of coffee. The caffeine would be welcome, but her stomach was churning from her dad's visit, and she didn't think acidic coffee would go down too well. Setting aside the mental debate, she called Chris.

“Daisy. What's up?”

She was a little disappointed that he sounded wide awake. It would've served him right if she'd jerked him out of a deep sleep. “Why exactly did you call my dad and tell him I needed him here?”

“Because you do.”

“I do? Why?”

“You need groceries, for one.”

“Seriously?” She groaned. “I make a throw-away comment about giving my training guests some munchies, and you have my dad drive all the way from Connor Springs?” Great, now she'd started with the “all the way” nonsense. It must've been catching. “That's not a necessity. I'll just tell everyone that it's BYOSD.”

“Connor Springs is not that far. Also…wait. BYO-what-now?”

“Bring Your Own Sports Drink,” she translated. “And I know it's not far. My dad was annoyed about losing half a day of work, though.”

After a short silence, Chris spoke in a dark voice that gave her the shivers for reasons she didn't want to examine too closely. “How annoyed?”

“No crockery was broken.” She tried to keep her tone light, even faintly amused. “He wasn't here long.”

“He left?” Again with the growly voice. “Why'd he even come back if he wasn't going to stay?”

“After talking to you, I think he was convinced that I was dying. Once he saw that I was fine, he headed back to Connor Springs.”

“Why doesn't he stay at home and commute to the job site every day? It's Connor Springs, not Alaska.”

The answer to his question was something Daisy tried very hard not to think about, so she decided it was time to redirect the conversation. “Chris, I'm fine. Try to reserve the emergency calls to Dad for when I'm dying and/or dead, okay?”

“You're not fine,” Chris said flatly. “Ever since you saw Macavoy moving that junk, you've been sleeping even less than usual, haven't you?”

“No.” It was a lie. “In fact, Dad woke me up when he got here.”

“After what? An hour of sleep? Maybe two? You can't do that to your body, Dais. You'll go nuts.”

In a flare of defensive irritation, she snapped, “What does it matter, since I'm already crazy?”

There was another silence, which was finally broken by Chris's sigh. “No, you're not.”

She rubbed her forehead with a hand that shook. “What do you call not being able to leave the house? I'm not exactly rational.” Although she didn't mention it, it didn't seem exactly stable to mentally turn a pile of junk into a dead body, either. Maybe she was getting worse.

Instead of countering her argument, Chris suggested, “Why don't you think about starting therapy again?”

“That didn't work out so well.”

“Tell Gabe he can't sleep with the new one. In fact, you can just remove all hot shrink temptation altogether and do sessions via video on your laptop.”

The thought of talking about the worst day of her life with a stranger, of admitting all her illogical yet overwhelming fears, made her wince. “I'll think about it,” she lied, just so he'd drop it.

“Really think about it.” Okay, so he wasn't going to drop it. “Rob said he was concerned about you, about what would happen if you were ever in a situation where you
had
to leave the house, and I agree with him. Daisy, you passed out when you just
looked
at the open door. Going on as you've been living isn't making you better.”

It wasn't anything she didn't know, but it still tore up her insides to hear him talk about it. She opened her mouth to say something—she wasn't sure what—but then closed it again. If she spoke, he'd be able to tell that she was crying.

“Daisy? Dais?” She'd been quiet too long, apparently. “I don't want to hurt you, but I think you're cheating yourself by not getting help. You're—”

She couldn't listen to him any longer. Moving the phone away from her ear, Daisy ended the call. She just held the phone in front of her for a while, watching as the screen went blank. When it rang in her fingers, she jumped and then turned off the cell and left it on the kitchen counter.

Swiping at her wet cheeks, she blew out a breath. After a few more inhales, the shakiness disappeared, and she was able to stop crying. She left the phone where it was and went to go beat up Max.

It was amazing how violence could make her feel so much better. After abusing Max, she spent some time practicing with the heavy bag and the speed bag, then hopped on the treadmill for forty minutes. Afterward, she felt sweaty, disgusting, and much calmer—even a little sheepish about the way she'd hung up on Chris.

Daisy showered and then retrieved her phone, her finger hesitating over the “on” button. With a sigh, she figured she should just get it over with, so she turned on the cell. Once it came back to life, she saw that she had a dozen messages. The single one from Lou stood out amongst the eleven left by Chris. Like the chicken she was, Daisy listened to Lou's first.

“Hey, Daisy! It's Lou. I'm just checking to see if we're still on for tomorrow. I hope so, since I am so excited about learning to kick some…hang on. I'll be with you in a moment! Gotta go—customers.”
The way Lou growled the word made Daisy smile.
“Let me know if anything changes. Otherwise I'll see you tomor— Just a minute! I'll be right there to take your order!”
Her voice dropped to a mutter.
“Seriously? They can't wait two seconds for their lattes? I tell you what, Daisy—I'm going to have some major aggression to work out tomorrow, so you'd better hope we don't get paired up. Otherwise, it's pow! And wham! And—Coming! Jeez Louise, Callum isn't the only one who needs to learn patience. See you tomorrow!”

Daisy was laughing by the time Lou's message ended, making it easier to listen to Chris's. All of his were short, consisting of some variation of
“Dais. Call me.”
With a grimace, she tapped his name on her screen. He answered after a single ring.

“Daisy. Finally.”

“Hey, Chris. Sorry I hung up on you earlier, but I really don't want to talk about that anymore.”

“Fine.” His heavy exhale was audible. “Just don't turn off your phone like that. What if you needed to call for help?”