That phrase made me feel colder than forced entry would have.
My hands curled so tightly my nails left half-moons in my palms.
For one ugly heartbeat, I wanted to shake Daniel awake and demand answers.
I wanted to scream at him for being on the floor, for not protecting Chloe, for being unconscious when I needed him calm and solid and explaining things.
Then he made a sound that was almost my name.
The anger vanished so fast it embarrassed me.
“Daniel,” I whispered.
His eyelids flickered.
One paramedic told me to give him space.
I did.
Barely.
Then the officer near the laundry room stopped.
Not paused.
Stopped.
His flashlight beam fixed on the door leading into the garage.
He looked once at the plug-in warmer.
Then at the key dish.
Then at me.
A second officer came back holding a small evidence bag.
Inside it was something I recognized before my mind wanted to.
