In Safe Hands (31 page)

“Should we meet here tomorrow at nine, then?” Rory said, and everyone's eyes went to Chris.

“Yes.” His cop mask had fallen into place. “I'll plan to talk to him at eight.”

“I'll see if Cal's up for a stakeout,” Lou offered. “We'll keep an eye on Tyler's house to make sure he doesn't sneak out and commit any felonies tonight.”

“If you take from now until midnight, Ian and I'll take the graveyard shift.”

Ellie leaned forward. “I'll see if George can do the last four hours with me. If he can't, I'm kind of useless. George doesn't like me to go anywhere alone without asking Rob for a deputy, and telling the sheriff I'm right outside of his house, spying on his son, would be…uh, bad.”

Although there were a few chuckles at that, the laughter quickly died. Subdued, the other women left. It was strange, Daisy thought, when normally the group was so loud and boisterous. She looked at Chris, who hadn't moved.

“You okay?” she asked, wanting to hug him. When he was wearing that stoic expression, though, he almost felt like a stranger.

When he looked at her, his cop-mask fell away, revealing the worry beneath. “How am I going to tell Rob his kid's a killer?”

Rushing forward, Daisy wrapped her arms around him, trying to give him that feeling of loving security she always felt when Chris was holding her. “I'm sorry you have to do this.”

He hugged her back, a little harder than usual. The items on his duty belt pressed against her belly, a physical reminder of his job, of that huge part of him that would always be a cop. Daisy was aware it would be hard to let him leave for work every day, knowing he could be injured or even killed. She loved Chris, though, and that meant loving the deputy, too.

She tipped her head back so she could meet his gaze. “Can you stay tonight?”

“I'm not going anywhere.” His arms tightened around her. “Tyler's targeted you. I don't want you to be alone until they pick him up tomorrow.”

“Good,” she said, not wanting to let go of him. “I like having you around.”

His smile was a ghost of his usual grin. “Love you, Dais.”

“I know.”

That made him laugh.

* * *

Once Rory, Lou, and Ellie had left, Tyler hurried across the street and wiggled under the porch, just like he'd watched his dad do the other night. The cover to the crawl space was in place, but the screws were missing, so Tyler just moved it over and slid into the hole feetfirst.

The crawl space was about four feet high. Crouching, Tyler shuffled forward, shining his flashlight—set to the dimmest setting—on the boards above him, checking for the hatch that would allow him into the house. The stove thing hadn't worked, so he was going to try again. This time, he'd do better. He'd get rid of the threat to his dad.

“You okay?” Daisy's voice made him freeze and flick off his flashlight. Tyler figured he was right beneath her, since her words were only slightly muffled.

“How am I going to tell Rob his kid's a killer?”

Tyler stopped breathing for a second.
They knew!
Chris and Daisy knew, and they were going to tell, and Tyler and his dad would both go to prison. He hesitated as his mind raced. Tyler's plan wouldn't work now that Chris was there. Soundlessly, he retraced his path to the opening under the porch.

As much as he wanted to take care of things himself, Tyler knew he had to tell his dad what he'd heard. His dad would know what to do.

Chris paced the kitchen as Daisy unenthusiastically checked out the options for dinner. Nothing looked appetizing, and she knew they were both too stressed and anxious to eat. Giving up on her search for food, she leaned back against the counter just as Chris's phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, and his face went grim. “Rob,” he answered, sounding robotic. It felt like her heart stopped for a second before her heartbeat took off at a gallop.

“Now? Right. Okay.” Chris's impassive expression had acquired a few cracks, and he didn't look happy. “I'm already at Daisy's, so just knock when you get here.”

Chris's free hand tightened into a fist. When Daisy glanced at his balled fingers, he must have noticed, since he stretched them flat again. Monotone and even, his voice didn't reveal his anger.

“See you.” He ended the call and returned his phone to his belt with restrained violence. Once he glanced at her, though, his face softened. “Guess I'll be having that talk with Rob sooner than later.”

“What's up?”

He grimaced. “Rob decided I was right about doing a search. He got a warrant for the house across the street this afternoon, but the gas leak put it on the back burner.”

She snorted at his unintentional—at least she hoped it was unintentional—pun.

His quick grin didn't clarify whether he'd meant the play on words or not, and he soon sobered. “He's coming over so we can search the house.”

“Tonight?” She glanced at the black window. “In the dark?”

“Rob said we'll do the interior tonight and then come back tomorrow to search the yard.”

Her stomach was churning as every instinct she had screamed a warning. “Why is he willing to search the house his son lit on fire—and where Tyler might have killed someone?”

“He said we won't be going into the room that burned. Safety reasons.” The last two words were heavy with sarcasm. “I can't believe Rob knows how bad Tyler's gotten. Covering up an arson, especially when it's an unoccupied shed, is a much different thing than hiding a murder. Rob lives by a strict moral code. There's no way his conscience would allow him to do that.”

She made a noncommittal sound. It seemed that she was the only one who believed the sheriff was capable of covering up his son's murderous tendencies. “Will you talk to the sheriff about Tyler tonight instead of tomorrow morning, then?”

His cheerful expression flattened as he sighed. “I'm going to have to. There's no way I can pretend that nothing's wrong the entire time we're searching.”

“Do you think he'll fire you?” Daisy asked, hating that Chris could be punished for doing the right thing.

“Maybe.” His tone was even, but Daisy knew how much Chris wanted to stay with the sheriff's department. “I have no idea how he'll react. He's all about the rules, except when it comes to his son. When I think of everything he's done to cover up Tyler's arsons…”

Daisy's breath caught. “Do you think the sheriff is the one who—”

A heavy knock on the door stopped her words. She turned too fast and almost slipped, but Chris caught her arm, steadying her—physically, at least. “The sheriff's here. How am I supposed to make small talk with him when we've just been accusing his son of murder?”

“I'll go. You can stay here.” He gently nudged her toward the stairs as he gave a humorless laugh. “This is going to be fun, processing a crime scene while finding a tactful way to ask my boss if his kid could be a killer. If it's not too late when we finish over there, I'll come back tonight.”

“Come back, even if it is too late,” she told him, a warm flicker cutting through the chill that lingered in her chest from their previous conversation. “I'll be up.”

His smile disappeared almost as quickly as it arrived. His shoulders stiffened, and he headed for the door. Daisy heard the inner door click as it latched behind Chris, and she hurried back up the stairs to her bedroom window, turning off the lamp on her way.

Resting one knee on the window seat, she watched Chris and the sheriff cross the street as they headed toward the empty house. While Chris took a detour to the parked squad, collecting a black case from the cargo area, Coughlin fiddled with the lockbox hanging from the knob on the front door. He must have gotten the code from the owners or the realtor, since he unlocked the door and held it open for Chris.

The two men disappeared into the house, and Daisy sagged into the window seat, knowing it was going to be an endless few hours of staring at the blank outside of the house. The large front window lit, clearly showing the interior of the living room and the two men moving around inside. Room by room, they turned on the lights. When the owners had moved, they'd apparently taken all the blinds with them. The only window that stayed dark was the one that had shown flames the night before.

Once almost the entire house was illuminated, Chris and Rob returned to the living room. It was like watching a muted movie on a very small screen. Not for the first time, Daisy wished for binoculars. She leaned forward until her forehead was pressed against the glass.

Even with the distance, it was easy to tell that the two men had worked together for a long time. They moved around the room in an efficient rhythm, and Daisy hoped that meant the search would be quick, and Chris would be back at her house even before she had a chance to get bored watching them collecting evidence.

There was a thump downstairs. Startled, Daisy jumped from the window seat. She strained to listen, but her heart pounding in her ears drowned out any other sounds. Creeping toward the bedroom door, she flinched as a floorboard creaked under her foot. She paused in the doorway, but she still didn't hear anything.

Daisy started wondering if she was imagining this, like she'd imagined the intruder the other night. This sound had been loud and definitely inside the house, though. Taking a couple of steps out into the hall, she inhaled a deep, steadying breath—and froze.

She smelled smoke.

As her heart began to gallop, she reversed her steps, hurrying back into her bedroom toward the bedside table where her phone was charging. Chris was just across the street. She'd call him, and he'd be inside her house in seconds. Grabbing her cell, she pushed the main button, but nothing happened. Daisy stared at the black screen as she pushed the start button over and over. It was charged and only a few months old—why was her phone dead?

Giving up, she rushed out of her bedroom. There were fire extinguishers. She could use those to put out the fire before it got out of control. As she descended the stairs, the smell of smoke grew stronger.

In the downstairs hall, she flicked the light switch, but nothing happened. Could something electrical have blown, causing the smoke and a loss of power? Strangely enough, the thought was almost reassuring, that there was an explanation. As frightening as an electrical fire might be, unexplained thumps and smoke and power outages were even more terrifying.

As she entered the kitchen, intending to grab a flashlight from the utility drawer, she stopped abruptly. Flames flickered in the entryway, coloring the kitchen red. The smoke was thicker, burning her throat and making her cough. Pressing her sleeve against her mouth and nose, she grabbed the fire extinguisher from under the sink. When she turned around, pulling the pin to unlock the device, a backlit, menacing figure was standing in the kitchen doorway.

With a shriek, she squeezed the lever, dousing the person with foam. He lurched toward her, so she threw the extinguisher at him and ran into the living room. Blinded by the darkness after she'd stared into the fire, she crashed into a chair and tumbled to the ground, landing painfully on her hip and shoulder.

As soon as she hit, she was scrambling to her feet again, running almost before she had her feet untangled from the chair legs. Unable to resist a glance behind her, she saw Tyler moving slowly from the kitchen, pouring something from a rectangular can onto the floor.

It felt like time slowed as he put the container down and pulled out a matchbook. Tyler struck a match, the small flame standing out against the red and orange of the burning kitchen, and looked at her, smiling faintly, as he tossed it to the floor. Fire zipped along the line of accelerant, lighting the fumes in a tiny wall of flame.

“I didn't want to hurt you,” he called over the roar of the fire. “But you saw him with King and refused to shut up about it. I had to do it. I had to do what needed to be done.”

King?
Did he mean Anderson King? She hadn't seen the sheriff with anyone. Her whole body jerked as the realization hit. It hadn't been Deputy Macavoy. The sheriff had been moving Anderson King's body that night.

Slowly, deliberately, Tyler moved closer, leaving a thin trail of gas behind him. Snapping out of her shocked daze, Daisy bolted for the stairs. None of the rooms would be safe downstairs. With their barred windows—or no windows—she couldn't escape even if she'd been able to force herself outside. Briefly, she considered the front door, but terror instantly smashed that idea. Even with her home on fire, the thought of leaving it liquefied her insides with fear.

Sheer instinct drove her toward her bedroom, her sanctuary, even though she knew it would become her coffin. Her lungs felt tight in the haze of smoke, not allowing her to pull in enough air. After all those miles on the treadmill, all those sessions with Chris, terror and smoke destroyed her fitness, leaving her gasping as she climbed a single flight of steps. At the top of the stairs, she looked over her shoulder to see Tyler, backlit by red and yellow flames, pouring gas in patterns across her hall floor.

“Tyler!” she called, her voice cracking, and he turned to look at her. Heat rushed up the stairs, as hot and dry as if she were baking in an oven. “Tyler, please stop! Why are you doing this?”

“I can't stop!” His voice broke, as well, but Daisy couldn't tell if it was from emotion or the smoke. “I have to take care of this. It's my turn to be a man. Dad protects me, and I protect him. That's what families do!”

The raw emotion in Tyler's voice gave Daisy hope. Maybe she could reason with him, get him to stop burning her house. “Your dad wouldn't want you to hurt me,” she said hoarsely. The smoke was thickening, threatening to choke her, and she held off a cough, since she was afraid she wouldn't be able to stop once she'd started. “He wouldn't want you to do this.”

“Shut up!” His arms flew wide in a vehement gesture, sloshing gas onto her wall. “You don't know anything. I'm doing this for him! You
saw
him with Anderson King! He didn't want to do it, but he didn't have a choice. King was a blackmailing drug dealer. And what happened to Mr. Gray was his own fault. He'd taken pictures of me at the fires. They would've ruined everything!”

The horror of what she was hearing merged with her hellish surroundings. Despite the fact that she knew Tyler, this
boy
, had stood by while his father killed people, she gave one last attempt at convincing him not to burn her alive. “Please, Tyler. I don't want to die.”

“I'm sorry.” He stopped playing with the fire and walked to the stairs, his gaze fixed on her face. “You're nice and really hot, and I don't want to hurt you. I have to protect him, though.”

“My phone's in my room, and I'm going to use it to call Chris,” she bluffed. “He's going to be here in seconds, and he'll be pissed. You should get out while you can.”

The sound of his laugh made the back of her neck prickle with aversion. “Good luck with that. Dad killed that phone remotely before he called Chris.”

“What?” Confusion made her hesitate. “How could he do that to my phone?”

“It's not your phone.” He started climbing the stairs, the flames rolling up the walls next to him. “Dad broke in through the crawl space and switched your phone for a matching one. You can't call for help. You're not getting out of this house…ever.”

She reeled back as his words hit her like a physical blow. It was her private nightmare, that she would die alone, still trapped in this house. When Tyler laughed again, Daisy knew it was no use. He was going to burn her house to the ground—with her inside.

Darting into her bedroom, she slammed her door and locked it. Turning, she fought the instinctual urge to hide under the bed or in the closet. It wasn't Tyler who was going to kill her, but what he brought with him. She couldn't hide from fire and smoke. It would find her.

Her frantic glance took in her room, trying to find a way out. Her computer was downstairs in her study, and it was useless for communicating without power to the modem, anyway. Her gaze locked on the window. Even if she couldn't force herself to leave through it, she knew she could open it. If she yelled, surely someone would hear her?

Running to the window, she put her hand on the crank. Before she could turn it, she looked across the street at number 304 and went still. Framed by the picture windows, the sheriff was standing in front of Chris, his face buried in his hands. As she watched, Chris stepped closer, placing a hand on one of Rob's slumped shoulders.

“No!” she yelled, struggling to open the window. “It's a trap!”

Before she could even crack open the window an inch, the sheriff yanked something off his duty belt. In the same motion, he raised it high in the air, and the object extended into a baton. The sheriff swung as Chris stumbled back, his arm rising to deflect the unexpected blow.

Sucking in a breath, Daisy lurched back. Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion. She couldn't take her eyes off the horrifying tableau across the street, but when the sheriff lifted the baton again, something popped in her head, and she was able to move in real time again.

She charged for the door, unlocking and swinging it open, only to come face-to-face with Tyler.