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 passed 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 button. “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 pissed.
“I was sleeping,” she snapped, feeling a little cranky herself. “Why didn’t—this is dumb.” Releasing the intercom button, 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 pissed.
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 glass for water. From the way her head was pounding, she knew she had to be dehydrated. She downed two glassfuls 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 glass 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?”
Sometimes it was a pain to be friends with a cop. “It wasn’t really a planned decision. I was tired after working out, so I lay down and dozed off.”
“On the floor of the training room.”
Since her mouth was full of coffee, she just gave an affirmative shrug.
“How long did you work out?”
Seriously, he was a bulldog. “I don’t know. A while.”
“A while.” He’d talked about the sheriff’s confession-winning stare, but his wasn’t too shabby. “Did you fall asleep or did you pass out?”
“Does it matter?” She couldn’t hold his gaze. Instead, she focused on tracing the rim of her mug. “Did you want some coffee?”
“Yes, it matters.” He ignored her other question. “What happened? Was it hearing about the Gray case?” His arms uncrossed so he could scrub his hands over his face. “I knew I shouldn’t have gotten you involved.”