Chapter 16.

When Daisy, flanked by Chris, pushed the intercom b.u.t.ton, it turned out that the "someone" was actually two "someones."

The fire chief, Winston Early, was an older man wearing bunker gear, minus the gloves and helmet. After she invited him and the sheriff into the kitchen, he introduced himself. His wide, beaming smile made her automatically return it. "Mind if we ask you a few questions, Daisy?"

"Sure." She kept her gaze on the friendly face of Chief Early. The sheriff loomed in her peripheral vision, and she was afraid she'd show her nervousness if she looked directly at Coughlin. "Was there much damage to the house?"

"The one bedroom is pretty much gutted, and there's a ventilation hole in the roof, but the rest of the house is salvageable. If you hadn't called Rory, we probably could've only saved the bas.e.m.e.nt." The chief's smile widened.

"Jennings." The sheriff looked pointedly at Chris and then at the door. "Why don't you wait outside? I'll talk to you as soon as we're done in here."

Chris looked like he wanted to object, but he just nodded stiffly at Coughlin, squeezed Daisy's shoulder, and left the kitchen. Daisy watched him go. From the set of his shoulders, she could tell that he was unhappy about being dismissed.

"Okay, Daisy," the fire chief said, giving her another smile. "We'll make this quick. Why don't you tell us what happened tonight."

"There's not much to tell." She shifted her weight, wishing she could sit. Since she didn't want this interview to last any longer than it had to, though, she ignored her ingrained manners and didn't ask if the two men wanted to go into the living room. If they weren't sitting, then she didn't want to be, either. It would make her feel too...vulnerable or something.

"I couldn't sleep, so I was at my window seat at about two thirty. I saw an odd light coming from the left top window of the empty house across the street, number 304, and I realized it was flames. I called Ian, but he didn't answer, so I tried Rory, who called it in. After that, I called Chris. Right after I got done talking to him, I saw something move on the far side of the burning house."

That got both men's attention. "What exactly did you see?" the sheriff asked.

"Not much," she admitted. "Just something moving next to that funny-looking, squatty pine tree. I kept watching the area after I saw it, but that was it. Chris was taking pictures over there, though, of someone's shoe print in the mud."

The two men glanced at each other, and Daisy locked her teeth together so she didn't start defending herself. She'd seen what she'd seen, and there was nothing she could do if they didn't believe her.

"Ms. Little," Coughlin said, "how much sleep have you gotten over the past few nights?"

"About the usual amount," she lied. "Why?"

Instead of answering, he asked another question. "When you saw the flames, why didn't you call 9-1-1?"

Since she didn't think it was a good idea to tell them that the sheriff would have wasted too much time if she'd called Dispatch directly, she shrugged. "I was a little frantic, so I just started going down my recent calls list. Ian didn't answer, so I called Rory."

"Why have you been calling Walsh?" Coughlin really knew how to inject accusation into his even tone. "Aren't you and Deputy Jennings a couple?"

Her tired brain couldn't make the connection of why he was asking her that. She was tempted to say that she'd tell him the answer as soon as she'd figured it out herself, but she reminded herself that smart-a.s.sery was not going shorten this interview.

"Ian called to see if our training group was meeting last Wednesday," she said instead.

Both men looked at her blankly.

"There's a group of"-she counted quickly in her head-"eight of us. We work out in my home gym a couple of times a week." Shaking her head in a futile attempt to clear it, she shifted her weight again. Her legs were so tired that they were starting to feel rubbery. "I'm sorry, but what does that have to do with the fire?"

"Just trying to get all of our facts straight," Chief Early nonanswered. "Did you see anyone before you saw the fire?"

"No." She mentally reprimanded herself for not paying more attention, instead of freaking out about the unlocked door. "Sorry."

"Not your fault." The chief smiled at her again. "Thanks to you, we were able to save most of the house, so it was a good night."

Although she returned his smile, the very last of her adrenaline was leaving her, and she was starting to sway. "Is that everything you needed?"

The two men exchanged another one of their cryptic glances, and she resisted rolling her eyes.

"That should do it." The fire chief was the one who answered. "We'll stop by or call if we think of anything else."

"Okay." When they didn't move, she turned and walked to the door, hoping they'd follow. They did, although they stayed several steps behind, talking in low voices that she couldn't overhear. "Do you think this is the work of the arsonist?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Coughlin's eyebrows drew together in a fierce scowl. "How did you know about the arsons? Did Jennings tell you?"

"Just because I'm stuck in here," she said with attempted ease, trying to pretend that her stomach wasn't jumping around like crazy at his menacing look, "doesn't mean I'm not still in Simpson. Everyone gossips here, except for Chris. He never shares the details of his cases with me." That wasn't quite the truth, but he'd only told her about the minor, harmless calls, like the missing tire cover, and he never mentioned anyone's name. Besides, he wasn't the one who'd brought up the arson cases. The information had flowed to him, but not from him.

Early gave a wry grimace when she mentioned the gossiping, but the sheriff returned his expression to his typical emotionless mask, which gave Daisy the impression that he didn't believe her. Mentally apologizing to Chris for even bringing up the arsons, she opened the door, hoping to encourage the two men to leave before she said anything else that caused more trouble.

"Next time something happens"-the sheriff stepped close to her-too close-"call 9-1-1. That system is in place for a reason."

"I'm hoping this is the last time I'll need emergency services," she said, intentionally not agreeing to his command. "At least for a while."

"We hope so, too," the fire chief said. "Be safe, Daisy."

"Thank you."

After a final hard glance, Coughlin followed the other man out. Closing the door behind them, Daisy fought the urge to throw every last lock and then hide under her bed. Before she could follow the impulse, though, her cell chirped. When she dug the phone out of her pocket, she saw it was a text from Chris.

OK if I stay over tonight?

Without hesitating, she sent back a yes. It would be a relief to have his company, even if they didn't end up spooning on the couch again. The memory of waking up with him pressed to her back and his arm over her waist made her flush with heat. The phone chirped again.

Need to talk to Rob, then I'll knock.

Her thumbs flew over the screen, and she sent the text without thinking about it too hard. If she allowed herself to dissect everything she sent to him, each text would take an hour of agonizing.

Great. I'll be waiting.

It wasn't very long before Chris knocked, but she'd still managed to doze off while she waited, sitting on the tile with her back against the door. Her body wasn't very cooperative, and it took her a few tries before she could scramble to her feet and reach the unlock b.u.t.ton.

Turning the doork.n.o.b, she pulled it toward her as she backed against the wall, letting the position of her body and the door block any sight of the outside world. She wasn't going to start backsliding and locking the door again, but her tired brain had had enough shocks for the night...or day or whatever. She yawned so widely that her jaw cracked.

The k.n.o.b was pulled gently from her grip as Chris stuck his head around the door. "You all right back here?"

Since she was in the middle of another yawn and couldn't talk, she just nodded, making him laugh.

"Okay, sleepyhead." He pushed the door closed and took her hand, tugging her away from her leaning position. "It's bedtime." When she resisted, not wanting to leave the support of the wall behind her, he grabbed her other hand and pulled. "C'mon. You look ready to fall over."

That's how she felt, too. With a groan that made him laugh again, Daisy peeled herself off the wall and allowed him to tow her toward the stairs.

"What'd the sheriff have to say?" she asked through yet another yawn.

"More of the same." The amus.e.m.e.nt slipped from his expression as grimness replaced it.

"Sorry." She squeezed his hands.

"Not your fault." Shifting around behind her, he urged her up the steps with a hand on her lower back. "I'm just glad my days off start tomorrow so I have some time to try to figure this out. If I'd been sent on one more bulls.h.i.t-sorry, Dais-call, there's a good chance I would've punched Rob in the throat."

"Not a good thing to do to your boss," she mumbled, weaving a little as he steered her into her bedroom.

He gave a short laugh. "Not if I want to keep him as my boss, or if I want to stay in law enforcement instead of becoming a mall cop." His hand fell away from her back as she turned to face him. "What's that look?"

"I'm trying to picture you as a mall cop." Shaking her head, she frowned. "Sorry. I just can't see you in anything but this uniform."

His grin was a little crooked. "Good thing I kept my fists to myself, then."

Her response was interrupted by a yawn.

"Bed," he ordered, pointing.

"Fine," she grumbled, putting her phone on the nightstand before pulling her hoodie over her head. The tank underneath started to come along for the ride, and she grabbed it, tugging it to cover her belly again. The neck of the sweatshirt was narrow, and it caught around her face.

"Problems?" Along with amus.e.m.e.nt, Chris's voice also held something deeper. When she answered with a bad-tempered grunt, he laughed, and then his hands were there, easing the hoodie off her head.

"I forgot how much I don't like that sweatshirt." She glared at it balefully as she tossed it over her desk chair. "It's for laundry-day-only use."

Without thinking anything except how tired she was, she shoved her yoga pants over her hips and let them drop to the floor. It took Chris's harsh inhale for her exhausted brain to realize that she'd just stripped her lower half to her underwear in front of him.

"Sorry!" she yelped, diving for the bed. Her coordination was off, thanks to exhaustion and half-naked panic, so she tumbled onto the mattress in an ungraceful heap. As she tried to pry the top sheet out from underneath her, she babbled. "I don't like to sleep in pants, since they tend to wrap around my legs if they're loose, but I don't like leggings, either, so that's why I-what is wrong with this sheet?!"

"Lift up." When she obeyed, he yanked the recalcitrant bedcovers back far enough for her to finally get her legs under them. Even with her bare lower limbs hidden, she still felt exposed, so Daisy pulled the covers up to her chin. Chris stood by the bed, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Sorry," she said, a little more calmly now that she was buried in blankets. "I didn't mean to flash you."

To her surprise, he grinned at her. "You still had too many clothes on for flashing. It wasn't even indecent exposure yet."

"It felt indecent," she grumbled, although his laugh forced her to smile. "And I'm a terrible hostess. Did you want to sleep in Dad's room? The sheets are clean."

"The couch is fine." He sat by her hip, and she could feel the heat of him, even through the covers. "It's comfortable."

"Okay." Her eyes couldn't stay open anymore. "I'll get you some blankets."

He snorted. "You're not going anywhere except la-la-land. I'll get my own blankets."

"Mm-kay." Any plan that didn't involve her getting out of her warming nest of a bed was fine with her. "Linen closet's by the bathroom."

"Got it." Something brushed her forehead, but her eyelids refused to lift so she could see what it was. "Good night, Dais."

"'Night, Chris."

Chapter 17.

Someone was in the house. It was too dark to see, but Daisy could feel the staring eyes, hear the raspy breathing. Her shaking hand reached for the bedroom lamp, and she turned the switch, but nothing happened. The room stayed draped in blackness. Sliding out of bed, the floor cold against her bare feet, she crept toward the door. The shadows moved, shifting into menacing shapes. She had to get downstairs, but the doorway kept sliding farther away, as if the house was taunting her, trapping her. When she tried to run, it felt like she was moving in slow motion. He was going to catch her, hurt her. She needed to get away, but she couldn't. She couldn't stay, couldn't leave, couldn't run, couldn't scream- "Daisy!"

Her eyes popped open, and she sat up abruptly. Chris jerked out of the way, barely avoiding a clash of foreheads. It took a moment to adjust to reality, but then the familiar shapes of her bedroom stood out in the gray dawn light. Her first breath hurt her throat, before her breathing slowed, as did her heart rate.

"Chris? What are you doing in here?" He was sitting on her bed again, almost exactly where he'd been when she fell asleep. If not for his crazy bed head and the fact that he was wearing fewer clothes than he had been earlier, she would've thought he'd been sitting there the whole time.

"I heard you." He pushed some stray strands of hair out of her face. "I figured you were having a nightmare. Your mom?"

"No." She blinked. "No. It wasn't my mom. Wow. This is the first nightmare I've had in years that wasn't about her."

"What was it about?" His hand brushed her hair again, but she didn't think he was dealing with unruly strands anymore. Instead, it was almost like he was stroking her.

"Someone was in the house." When he lifted his eyebrows, she shook her head, starting to smile. "Not you. Someone...scary. I wasn't screaming, was I?"

"No. It was more like whimpering."

When she eyed his face and saw no signs of teasing, she groaned in embarra.s.sment. Falling back so her head hit the pillows, she pulled the covers over her face. Despite the m.u.f.fling effects of the blankets, she heard him laugh as he tugged them from her grip.

"Shove over," he ordered. "It's only been an hour since everyone left. That's not enough rest to keep from going insane from sleep deprivation."

Too startled to protest, she scooted to the side as he slid into bed with her. Even with a few inches between them, she felt his warmth, and it was tempting to curl into his side and use him as an oversized heating pad.

"What are you doing?" she finally organized her half-awake and scattered thoughts enough to ask.

"Trying to sleep," he grumped. "If I'm here, maybe you won't wake me up with your sad little noises."

"Sad little..." She poked him in the side, hard. "Soon you'll be the one whimpering." She jabbed him again. Laughing, he caught her hand.

"I don't whimper," he said, making her even more determined to reduce him to tears. He reversed the a.s.sault, though, finding all her ticklish spots and showing no mercy, even as she shrieked with laughter. He rolled her beneath him, holding her down with his body weight as his fingers dug into the sensitive places on her sides.

"Okay," she panted, an occasional hitch of leftover giggles interrupting her words. "You win. No more. I give up." Obviously, she wasn't going to win in a tickle fight with Chris. She vowed to find his weakness eventually, though, and fully exploit it.

Although she'd expected triumphant crowing from Chris, he'd gone serious. His breath was coming fast-she could see his chest move-and his expression was intent. The look in his eyes made her heartbeat speed up from something other than exertion, even before his gaze dropped to her lips.

He lowered his head slowly, checking her expression every few seconds, as if expecting her to protest. All she could manage to do was lie still and wait for his mouth to descend to hers. For a second, she wondered if her dream had just shifted topics, since she'd never truly believed her relationship with Chris would reach this point.

When his lips touched hers, however, she knew she was awake. It was too intense, too incredible, too real for something created by her imagination. Even though he kept the contact light, the sensations radiating from her mouth made her dizzy. She slid her fingers into his hair. That way, she could play with the silky strands while also making sure his lips didn't leave hers.