“Me too.” Although she tried to hold her serious expression, a giggle slipped out. “I did it, Chris.”
“Yeah, you did.” He spun her around, making her laugh harder and press her forehead against his chest so she didn’t get dizzy. Being that close to him made her loopy enough. “That therapist you found must be a genius. You’ve had, what? Three sessions with him? Four? And you’re about two steps away from walking out the door.”
The idea of actually leaving the house cut off her laughter. “Not quite,” she managed to squeeze out of her suddenly tight throat. “And it’s not all Dr. Fagin’s doing. When we talked about…Mom last week, and you told me your version of what happened, it just…knocked something loose in my head.” Chris raised his eyebrows, and she shook her head. “In a good way. It was like I’d been in this loop, with my memories and nightmares and everything, and you shoved me out of it. I’m not explaining this well.”
He smiled. “No, I get it. I think you knocked me loose, too.” Instead of putting her down, he carried her into the kitchen with her feet dangling several inches off the floor. She laughed as he hoisted her to sit on the counter, giddy from excitement and triumph and being held so close to Chris for so long. “Now tell me about the blood.”
Daisy repeated everything Natalie had told her, while Chris scribbled in his small notepad.
“Natalie…what did you say her last name was?”
Making a face, she admitted, “I don’t remember it. Sorry. Oh, wait!” She dug into her sweatshirt pocket, pulling out the realtor’s business card and glancing at it before handing it to Chris. “Here. It’s Natalie Sharp.”
“Thanks.” Accepting the card, he slipped it into the notepad, which he then tucked into one of his BDU pockets. “I’m going to call Rob. He’s talked to the owners recently, so he might be able to get them to allow us to search the place. If not, we’ll need to get a warrant.”
“Want me to go find somewhere else to hang out while you talk to him?” she asked, starting to move toward the edge of the counter in preparation of hopping down. With a shake of his head, Chris stopped her with a hand on her knee. He left it there, warm and heavy, and Daisy couldn’t stop staring at it as he pulled out his phone.
“Rob. I’m here at Daisy Little’s place.” He frowned slightly at whatever the sheriff had said, and Daisy wished she had superhero hearing so that she could listen to both sides of the phone conversation. “That place across the street that’s for sale? A realtor was showing it this morning and noticed some blood in the living room.” Pausing, he gave a small shake of his head. “No, not much, just traces on the ceiling, wall, and floor. After that weird thing with Macavoy, I thought—”
He cut off abruptly, as if the sheriff had interrupted, and his frown deepened. “If you spoke to the owners again, and they gave permission for a search, then we wouldn’t need to get a warrant.” It was obvious, from Chris’s scowl and the way his fingers were digging into her leg, that he was not pleased. “After what Daisy saw, we should at least—” The vein in his temple began throbbing in time to the muscle clenching in his jaw. He glanced at her and then looked away, his tone becoming stiff. “No, sir, she is a credible witness.”
With a final quick squeeze of her knee, he moved into the living room. Daisy managed to stay where she was for almost three seconds before slipping off the counter as quietly as she could manage. Peeking through the doorway, she saw Chris’s back as he headed down the hallway toward the training room.
Although she felt a slight pang of guilt, it wasn’t strong enough to keep her from following. He’d closed the door, but it hadn’t latched, so she eased it open just enough to hear. Chris’s voice boomed through the space, making her jump.
“She’s not delusional!” Even his pause vibrated with anger. “She has some anxiety issues. Her mom was shot in front of her when she was sixteen. I think that would mess up anyone.” She heard his boots thump against the floor as he paced. “She’s never been an attention seeker, and she’s never had a problem separating reality from fiction. Besides, she’s not the one who saw the blood.” His footsteps got faster and hit harder. “Why not check it out? It’ll only take me an hour to process the scene. If the owners give their permission—” The next pause was short. “But—” After another silence, his exhale came out like a growl. “I don’t understand why—”