Her shoulders sagged as the panic drained out of her. The thought of losing Chris had almost brought her to her knees.

Chris was still talking. "If you see that kid again, though, don't call Dispatch. Call me-I don't care what time it is-and I'll have one of the other deputies come out and do a thorough investigation."

"Why is the sheriff so anti-me? Did he say anything?"

"Not about that." His face was set in frustrated lines. "I talked to Libby last night, and Rob didn't mention to her why he wanted a heads-up if you called. She said he's done that with a couple of other people, but only the real"-his gaze shifted off to the side for a moment, like he was searching for a word with a PG-rating-"dirtbags."

Squishing up her face, Daisy said, "Well, that makes me feel good."

"Sorry, Dais." He moved so he was standing in front of her. "I don't know why he's acting like this. It makes me wonder..."

"Wonder?" If he didn't finish his sentence, she'd die of curiosity.

To her relief, he continued, "If he thinks that Gray's murderer is with the department."

Her eyes widened. "The sheriff suspects the killer is a deputy?"

"Possibly. That would explain why Rob's being so secretive, withholding information from us, like about Baxter Price. After the whole thing with Macavoy's early morning 'junk pickup,' it made me start wondering."

The thought that she might have witnessed the murderer in action punched her in the stomach. "Do you think Macavoy...?"

"He couldn't have killed Willard Gray, because he hasn't been here long enough, but he's involved somehow. I can't even talk to him about it, though, since he quit."

"He quit?"

"Yeah." Chris looked frustrated. "Called Dispatch, said he was quitting, and then he just left. He won't even answer his phone-at least not when I'm calling him. I wanted to talk to him about this whole thing, plus now we're shorthanded. We're running from call to call like a bunch of headless chickens."

"But...he can't just leave!" Daisy sputtered. "He put a body-well, a possible body-in a squad car. Shouldn't the sheriff have told him not to leave town or something?"

Amus.e.m.e.nt lightened Chris's expression for a moment. "Cops don't actually say that in real life, you know. Besides, Rob is certain that it was junk, not a dead body, being put in the squad. If Rob suspects one of us, it isn't Macavoy."

Daisy hummed, not liking that Macavoy could skip town so easily. Rob might think his former deputy was just hauling junk, but the sheriff hadn't seen it like Daisy had, hadn't watched the weight and movement of the corpse-like bundle.

She was still trying to absorb the possibility that a cop might have killed Willard Gray. Whether it was Macavoy or some other deputy, the idea was just wrong. The good guys should be just that-good. Not decapitating, cold-blooded murderers. Some of the deputies sounded better than others, but it was terrifying to consider that the very guy they were hunting could be the one who was supposed to provide Chris with backup on a dangerous domestic call. "Maybe the sheriff doesn't think it's someone in the department. Could he be trying to keep the information from some of the looser-lipped deputies so that it doesn't leak?"

"Like Lawrence?" Chris said thoughtfully. "Could be, but we already only give him information on a need-to-know basis. After the last time his brain took a vacation and he spilled confidential info to Lou, Rob's had him on a tight leash."

"It could've made him paranoid about another leak-the sheriff, I mean." As the theory took shape in her mind, she let the words leave her mouth unfiltered. It could be completely bogus, but Daisy realized she was slightly desperate to move away from the idea that a deputy was responsible for Gray's death. "Or he suspects someone in the outer circle."

"Outer circle?"

"Medical, Fire, Search and Rescue," she clarified. "From what the training group said, it's a complete gossip-fest. Is that true with the sheriff's department, too? I mean, would deputies talk to the EMTs or firefighters about details on the case and not think they were doing something wrong?"

"Could be." His eyebrows pulled together as he thought. "I try to keep my mouth shut around anyone who isn't a cop-and not a.s.signed to the case I'm talking about-but I know that some of the guys are a little more casual about it."

"That's so spooky." She shivered, wrapping her arms around her middle. "One of the good guys might be a killer."

Chris didn't respond beyond a slight tip of his head, but his mouth turned down at the corners.

As she studied him-her handsome, wonderful, loveable Chris-she mirrored his frown. She hated this uncertainty, not knowing whom they could trust. "Be careful out there."

Meeting her gaze, he held it for several beats. "Always."

Only an hour had pa.s.sed after Chris left when there was a knock on the door. It was actually more of a series of heavy thuds, rather than an actual knocking sound, and she pressed the intercom b.u.t.ton tentatively.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Daisy, let me in."

Her eyes widening with surprise, she pushed the unlock b.u.t.ton. When she opened the inner door, her dad came inside, his forearms and wrists strapped with grocery bag handles. He was juggling a couple of cardboard boxes, as well, and she hurried to grab one from him. Daisy grunted at the unexpected weight.

Setting it on the floor by her feet so she could secure the interior door locks, she eyed the box, but the flaps had been folded over so it was impossible to see what was inside. As soon as the last chain was in place, she scooped up the mystery package and followed her dad into the kitchen.

"Hi, Dad," she said, putting the box on the counter so she could help put away the groceries. "You got eggs! Thank you. I've been wanting to make some brownies."

Bent over as he placed something in the vegetable-crisper drawer, he responded, "Figured you'd gotten low, so I stopped by the Connor Springs grocery store before heading home."

"Oh, good." As she reached over him to put away the milk, she craned her neck to see what vegetables he'd gotten. "Their produce is always so much better than the stuff from Melcher's."

He made a sound of agreement.

"Watch your head when you stand," she warned as she opened the freezer door. "Was chicken on sale? I think you bought out the store."

"No." He carefully retreated, ducking his head until he could straighten without braining himself. "I just know you like it, so..." He shrugged, not meeting her eyes.

"I do. Thank you." She finished stacking the packages in the freezer. Picking up a pound of ground beef, she hesitated and then put it in the fridge, instead. "I'll use that to make your favorite meatloaf, as long as you picked up some jalapenos?" She glanced down, loving how the fruit and veggie drawers were full of colorful things. Frozen vegetables and canned fruit were fine, but nothing like fresh ones.

"No." Her dad gathered the empty bags, still avoiding eye contact. "I mean, I did get jalapenos, but I won't be here for dinner tonight."

"Hot date?" Although she felt mild disappointment, it was nothing like she would've felt even a week ago. She still missed her dad, but she'd been having plenty of company, and that seemed to have filled the usual void of loneliness.

He shook his head. "New job."

"Oh." That was quick. Typically, he stayed several days or even a week before heading off to the site of a new project. "Another one in Connor Springs?"

"This one is south of Parker. Huge new house with ground-source heating and cooling, PV and pa.s.sive solar, wind-pretty much every alternative-energy system they could think of, except for conservation. Ten thousand square feet, including a turret. Rich people are nuts."

Her smile was slightly forced. "It's going to be a long one, then, huh?"

He shot her a sharp look. "Don't be laying a guilt trip on me for working."

"I'm not." She focused on smoothing a bag of Tropical Skittles. He'd gotten all her favorites. "I'm not. I'll miss you, but I made some new friends."

"Yeah? That's good." His expression softened slightly, although it remained wary. He nodded toward the box she'd carried inside and its slightly bigger mate. "Come see what else I found for you."

She'd forgotten about the mystery boxes, and she made an excited sound that was embarra.s.singly close to a squeal. She loved presents. Unfolding the flaps on the box she'd left on the counter, she sucked in a breath.

"Oh, Dad! These are awesome!" Daisy carefully pulled out one of the vintage children's books that filled the box. "Where'd you find these?"

"The Connor Springs library had one of those fundraising sales, where people can donate books." She nodded, still focused on the box's contents. From her first quick peek, the books looked to be in great condition. Daisy couldn't wait to list them online. "That box was five bucks. I was going to text you a picture to see if you'd be interested, but I wanted to surprise you."

"These are perfect-thank you!"

"There's another box, too."

"Oh!" Daisy quickly returned the books she'd pulled out of the box and headed for the second one. "I totally forgot about Box Number Two." She used her game-show announcer voice, but her dad just looked confused.

Shrugging off her failed joke, she opened the flaps on the second box. Peering inside, she had to fight the urge to jump back in horror. "Oh...wow." Inside was the creepiest pair of dolls she'd ever seen.

"Those were at the junk store on Evergreen Street. They looked really old, so I figured you might be able to get lots of money for them." He sounded so proud that Daisy stifled the need to reclose the flaps and send the box with Gabe to Parker. If they were in another town, they couldn't kill her in her sleep.

The one with the wonky eye was staring at her as if it were plotting her murder. Daisy already had possible dead-body shuffling going on outside her bedroom window. She didn't need a pair of h.e.l.l dolls adding to her nightmares. Her dad looked so pleased with himself, though, that she couldn't crush him.

"These are...great, Dad. I'll have to do some research so I know what I'm selling. Dolls are new to me."

"Yeah." He laughed. "Even as a little girl, you'd pick a stuffed animal over a doll every time."

She smiled back, quickly folding the flaps closed to break the dolls' unwavering stares. "Thank you again, Dad. That was really thoughtful of you."

Brushing off her thanks uncomfortably, he turned toward the garbage can. "I'd better head out. I'll take out the trash on my way." Pulling a handful of mail from his coat pocket, he laid it on the counter. "I stopped by the post office, too."

"Thanks." Her stomach twisted a little. "Want me to make you a sandwich for the road?"

"No, I'll just stop somewhere. Coffee'd be good, though."

Daisy didn't hesitate to move toward the brewer. It was a relief to have something to do so she didn't have to stand there and watch him scramble to leave as fast as possible. She focused on the drip, drip of the brewing coffee until it gurgled to a stop. After she transferred it to a travel mug, she saw he was by the door, ready to go.

Her smile was forced, but it didn't matter, since he was careful not to make eye contact with her.

"Travel safe," she said, trying to keep her voice light. "Thanks again for the books and the dolls." Daisy was proud at how the word "dolls" came out with barely a pause. Maybe Chris would take them with him next time he stopped by to visit. They could ride shotgun in the squad and terrify criminals into surrendering.

"Bye, Daisy."

She carefully fastened the locks, one by one, until she was secure again. Alone, but secure.

She could hear her mom sobbing, pleading, but Daisy couldn't see her face. Everything was blurry except for the gun in his black-gloved hand. Daisy shook so hard that her tremors rattled the snack-cake display she was hiding behind. Although she desperately tried to be quiet, the scream built up inside of her, pressing against her lungs until she had to let it out or she would suffocate. The shrill sound escaped, filling her ears and drowning out everything-her mother's cries, the stranger's threats, the sirens outside. Where was Chris? Chris always came at this point. He wasn't there, though. No one was there. The gun flashed, and Daisy knew her mom was gone. Grief blended with fear, and her scream grew louder and louder until the gun pointed straight at Daisy's face.

She jerked awake with a gasp. As soon as she realized it had been a dream, she scooted to the edge of the bed. The sheets were damp from sweat, and they clung to her skin, slowing her progress.

With a small noise of disgust, Daisy yanked at the material. In her half-awake panic, she just managed to tangle herself further. Her feet caught the edge of her blankets, tripping her as she lurched out of bed. She landed on her hands and knees, the hardwood floor connecting painfully, the throb telling her she'd have bruises later. Twisting so she was sitting on the floor, she kicked her way free of the covers that still managed to cling to her feet.

Finally free, she scrambled to her feet and hurried toward the stairs, whacking her shoulder on her bedroom doorframe as she pa.s.sed through it. She grimaced, rubbing the spot where yet another bruise would appear. It was like the house itself was punishing her for what she'd done that day eight years ago.

Although she hadn't had a destination in mind when she'd fled her bedroom, her legs carried her automatically to the training room. Ignoring the creeping feeling of menace emanating from the immobile equipment, she jumped onto the treadmill. Daisy arrowed up the speed past her usual warm-up, needing to run fast enough to get away from the nightmares and the memories and her stupid, panicky, shut-away life.

Running was too monotonous, though, giving her too much time to think. She kept thinking she heard things over the steady burr of the treadmill-a creak of a floorboard or the click of a latch. Every imaginary sound made her jump and flinch so strongly that, several times, she stepped on the edge of the belt and almost fell. Running wasn't enough to kill her past and present ghosts, so she started a circuit, moving from pull-ups to leg-lifts to jump-ups to burpees to sit-ups to punching the heavy bag to push-ups and back to the treadmill for more sprints. She lost track of how many rotations she'd done, her muscles burning until they finally just went numb.

Numb was good, she decided, as the feeling disappeared from her body and then her brain. She stopped hearing the phantom intruder, her mother's sobs, a gun firing. All she knew was her feet pounding on the treadmill or her fists smacking against the bag, until either she tripped or her legs decided they were done, and she sprawled on the floor.

That didn't hurt as much as it should have, either, so there was another benefit to the numbness. With the current noodle-like state of her muscles, she barely managed to roll over onto her back. The high ceiling was white and b.u.mpy, and Daisy stared at it until her eyes grew fuzzy and she had to close them.

She wondered if she'd really damaged her body, if the lack of feeling was disguising a serious injury. With her phone upstairs, Daisy would have no way to call for help. She'd be trapped in the exercise room, possibly for days, until Chris decided to visit. Or maybe he'd never come. He'd decide she was too much trouble, or the sheriff would order him to stay away, or Chris would find a girlfriend who could actually leave the house and go on a date, and he'd marry this non-messed-up woman, and they'd have adorable blond babies who'd wear Chris's charming grin.

Daisy knew she was wallowing in self-pity, but she couldn't stop. Her muscles and her mind had nothing left to give, no reserves of emotion or energy to help her bounce out of her funk. She could only lie there, tears seeping from under her eyelids and tracking over her temples. Finally, she took the only escape she had open to her-unconsciousness.

The pounding woke her. It was faint, but persistent, and it seemed to be growing louder. She rolled onto her side and groaned when every piece of her shrieked in agony. The floor was hard underneath her, and she reluctantly opened her eyes to see the legs of a weight bench in front of her face.

Painfully, she hauled herself to a sitting position, blinking a few times to orientate herself.

"You couldn't have made it to the mats before you pa.s.sed out?" Daisy muttered. She'd never been drunk, so she'd never been hungover, but she wondered if it felt anything like her current state. If so, she'd continue abstaining for reasons other than just because her dad refused to buy her alcohol.

The pounding was getting ferocious, so Daisy stumbled to her feet, straightening her body with a whimper. Her first steps were stilted and uneven, although moving helped the stiffness in her muscles. By the time she reached the front door, she was walking almost normally-normally, at least, for a ninety-year-old woman.

She jabbed at the intercom b.u.t.ton. "What?"

There was a pause before Chris's voice came through the speaker. "What do you mean 'what'? Why didn't you answer?" He sounded p.i.s.sed.

"I was sleeping," she snapped, feeling a little cranky herself. "Why didn't-this is dumb." Releasing the intercom b.u.t.ton, she buzzed Chris in and then leaned against the door, taking some of her weight off her complaining legs.

The exterior door closed with a harder thud than usual, meaning Chris had helped it along. For some reason, the idea of him slamming doors like a hormonal thirteen-year-old girl made her snicker as she unfastened the interior door locks.

When she saw his face, her initial theory was confirmed. He was indeed p.i.s.sed.

Although she expected him to tear into her as soon as he was inside, Chris remained silent until she'd locked the door and made her stumbling way into the kitchen.

"What's wrong with you?" he finally demanded, following her. Instead of heading to the coffeemaker, he stood stiffly by the far counter, his arms crossed over his chest. As always, it really did nice things to his muscles when he stood that way.

Daisy shook off the lecherous thoughts, trying to focus. "What's wrong with me?" she repeated. "You're going to have to be more specific."

His scowl deepened, and Daisy didn't have the heart to tell him it made him more attractive rather than intimidating. "You're limping. Are you hurt?"

"Just sore." With a yawn, she figured she might as well take advantage of the brewer if Chris wasn't interested. "I worked out pretty hard last night." She started a cup of coffee and grabbed a gla.s.s for water. From the way her head was pounding, she knew she had to be dehydrated. She downed two gla.s.sfuls while Chris glared at her.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?"

Apparently, it was going to take a few more minutes for Chris to get over his snit. "My phone's in my bedroom."

For a moment, he looked more confused than angry. "You just said you couldn't hear me knock because you were sleeping."

"I was sleeping." She traded her water gla.s.s for the coffee mug. Between the water and the caffeine, one or both should help with her headache. "Just not in bed." A yawn interrupted her explanation. "I fell asleep in the training room."

"Why were you sleeping in the training room?"