Sweet Dreams Boxed Set

by Brenda Novak

  Chapter 5

  Fortunately, Evelyn had slept for most of the ten hours she’d been on the plane. Without her mother sitting next to her, brooding, it’d been a lot easier to relax.

  After she reached Ted Stevens International Airport in Anchorage, she had to grab a bite to eat, rent a car and drive an hour to Hilltop—and yet, because of the time difference, she arrived before nine-thirty, when the sun was just setting. In June, on the longest day of the year, Anchorage received twenty-two hours of sunlight. But from the beginning of August to the end, the days grew rapidly shorter—by almost three hours.

  Evelyn had yet to visit Alaska in mid-winter. There’d been no reason to brave the weather. It wasn’t as if she needed to decide whether she’d be willing to come; she knew she’d go wherever the government built her a facility. She’d heard a great deal about the prevailing darkness, however, and wasn’t looking forward to it.

  She called Amarok as soon as she spotted the straggle of buildings that constituted Hilltop from the ridge above, and asked him to meet her out at Hanover House, which was ten minutes on the far side of the valley. He agreed, but she beat him there, and she was glad. It gave her an opportunity to stand alone in the dwindling sunlight—before she had to view the damage he’d told her about—and admire the huge stone edifice where she would soon be spending the bulk of her time. Her dream was becoming a reality; this proved it. Fortunately, she couldn’t see any graffiti on the front. The portable toilets weren’t here, either. She could only guess all of that was inside or in the back.

  Maybe the people of Hilltop had room to complain about the type of men she’d be bringing to the area, she thought, but they couldn’t say anything about the beauty of the facility itself. The old-world architecture of Hanover House made it look as if it would stand for centuries, like a castle. There were no gargoyles or gothic embellishments, thank goodness, but the lines were a bit Draconian—something others had noticed, too. She’d seen one cartoon that depicted HH as a medieval torture chamber. She’d been lampooned in the same cartoon as the “mad scientist” who was “turning the screws” on the “poor, unfortunate souls” who fell within her power, which was frustrating. If the general populace only knew how well she tried to treat the men she studied, they could never make such an imaginative leap.

  She heard a vehicle pull into the lot behind her and turned to see Amarok get out of his government-issued 4x4, which sported a winch and a snowplow. When she saw that he was dressed casually in a flannel shirt and a pair of worn jeans instead of his uniform, she realized that she’d probably pulled him out of whatever he did for enjoyment on a Friday night.

  “I’m sorry, I—if you were busy, you should’ve said something,” she told him as he came toward her with that long, confident stride of his. “This could’ve waited until tomorrow.”

  His lips twisted slightly. “Don’t tell me you’re surprised that other people don’t work twenty-four hours a day.”

  She couldn’t help noting the sarcasm and feeling slightly defensive at the implication. “I don’t work twenty-four hours a day.”

  He cocked an eyebrow as if he’d refute that statement, so she glanced away to remove the challenge. That was an argument she’d most assuredly lose. “I agree I work too much,” she admitted, “but there’s no need to exaggerate my hours to that degree.”

  “From what I’ve seen, if you’re not working, you’re thinking about work. It’s sort of one and the same.”

  “Excuse me?” she said. “You don’t even know me.”

  He ignored her response. “What happened to your head?” he asked, indicating her stitches. “Were you in an accident?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “I’m guessing it wasn’t a bar fight, since I can’t see you even going into a bar.”

  She folded her arms. “It was more like a prison fight.”

  “You got into it with an inmate?”

  “I was blindsided. Nothing I could do about it.”

  His eyes slid down to the scar on her neck. “By one of the nut jobs you work with?”

  “He isn’t a nut job. He knew exactly what he was doing.”

  He scratched his neck. “You’re saying you were attacked. Again.”

  She shrugged as if it hadn’t been a big deal, even though it sort of was. “Goes with the territory.”

  With a shake of his head—in disgust?—he rested his hands on his lean hips. “God, no wonder you hate men.”

  “I don’t hate men,” she argued. “You’ve just decided that you don’t like me because you don’t like what I’m doing.”

  “I never said it was personal.” He gestured toward the building. “And I’m not the one who tore out the copper here and broke the windows, no matter what you think.”

  “I would hope not, since you’re all I’ve got to rely on as far as bringing those who did it to justice.” Although there wasn’t any snow on the ground, the temperature was dropping significantly with nightfall. She buttoned her suit jacket to ward off the chill. “Anyway, you didn’t have to meet me tonight. You could’ve put it off.”

  He shrugged. “I figured I might as well get it over with.”

  Feeling rumpled after traveling for so long, she wished they had agreed to meet in the morning. She was worried about the extent of the damage, was eager to see it in case the reality might offset some of the worry, but she couldn’t deny possessing a certain amount of female vanity. She wanted Amarok to think she was pretty, and she could’ve made a better showing—but that was something she hadn’t been willing to kowtow to, hadn’t wanted to acknowledge.

  It was harder to be so cavalier, however, now that they were face to face. “I’ll be quick so that you can get back to...to enjoying your evening, then.” She gestured toward the entrance. “Where’s the damage? I suppose it’s inside?”

  “It’s everywhere. You just can’t see it from the front. No doubt whoever did it was afraid they’d be spotted if someone pulled in—from the construction crew or whatever.”

  “Have you spoken to the construction crew? Did any of them see anyone they didn’t recognize, or anyone who was acting unusual?”

  “’Fraid not. Every single one claims everything was fine when they finished up for the night on Wednesday. Thursday morning they arrived to discover the damage.”

  “And called you.”

  He dipped his head in response.

  “Where’s the copper?”

  “It was piled in back, but I had them take it inside. With all the windows broken in the office section, and no real divide between that and the prison section at the moment, ‘inside’ provides little protection, but...I figured it was better than doing nothing.”

  Evelyn frowned as they entered what was finished of Hanover House so far. “Do you think they were planning to come back and pick it up?”

  “If so, they haven’t. I hung out here for quite a while last night, hoping they would.”

  “That was nice of you,” she said.

  He caught and held her gaze even though she was reluctant to let him. “I’ll take that as your apology for accusing me in the first place.”

  “I didn’t accuse you.” She lifted her chin in umbrage. “I just... I know how you feel about this place.”

  “Because I’ve made it no secret,” he said pointedly. “But I’m not dumb enough to come out in open opposition and then sabotage the construction.”

  Evelyn had been prepared for some damage but what she saw proved even more disheartening than she’d expected. He’d been right about the “c” word. The construction crew had focused on trying to get some of the plumbing back in and had left the more superficial damage for later, which meant the graffiti was right there for her to read. “Apparently, someone feels very strongly that I should die.” She forced a smile with that statement as if it didn’t bother her, but he hesitated as if he could tell it did.

  “I’m hoping that’s a figurative statement,” he said at length.

  �
��Even if it isn’t, they’ll have to get in line.” Her heels clicked on the concrete as they walked through the facility.

  “This makes me sick,” she said when they’d toured it all. “It’s such a waste to deface property like this. I worked so hard to get the money necessary to build this institution in the first place.”

  He said nothing, just leaned against some 2x4’s that would soon be walls, and watched as she made a note of everything.

  “Do you think it’ll be reported in the news?” she asked.

  “Depends on who the construction workers tell. They’re from Anchorage, which isn’t ideal if you’d rather keep it quiet. I haven’t told anyone.”

  She sighed as she turned to face him. “I can’t have this type of thing continue.”

  “You’re going to hire a security guard, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, but there’s not a lot of money left in the budget, especially now that we need to absorb this.”

  He kicked a small piece of scrap wood across the room like a pebble. “From my perspective, you can’t afford not to have a guard.”

  “But I’m not even sure it’ll solve the problem,” she said, watching the piece of wood until it came to rest. “The duration of the job will be too short to attract someone who doesn’t already live here. And if I hire someone who’s local, it’s possible he won’t be any more excited to have Hanover House in Hilltop than the person or people who did this. For all I know, I could wind up hiring the culprit.”

  Amarok shoved off the studs and came toward her. “Have you ever heard the saying, ‘You can trap more flies with honey than vinegar?’”

  “Of course.” She took a step back. “But how does that apply here?”

  He held up, but to a certain extent, the size of him still intimidated her. “I suggest you try a different approach, one where you establish a rapport with the community, show them you’re not what you appear to be.”

  She smoothed her wrinkled suit. “You’re implying that I appear to be...what?”

  “Aloof. An uptight outsider.”

  He smelled good, but she didn’t really want to notice that—or the way his dark hair fell across his forehead with a slight curl on the ends. He needed a haircut, and yet she liked his hair exactly as it was, sort of unruly. He was different than any cop she’d ever met, she decided—different than any man she’d ever met. “I have a Boston accent. I can’t overcome the outsider part.”

  “You could relax, be friendlier.”

  “I’ve been friendly!” she argued, stung that he would suggest otherwise.

  He ducked his head to peer into her face. “To the mayor and the city council, maybe.”

  “I haven’t had the chance to get to know anyone else,” she said, lifting her hands in exasperation.

  “Because you haven’t created the opportunity.”

  “And how do I do that? Go knock on everyone’s door and introduce myself?” She struck a prayer-like pose. “Ask if I could please join the community?”

  “You wouldn’t have to go that far. All you’d have to do is come down to The Moosehead now and then, give folks a chance to speak to you.”

  She shoved the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder. “You really think that would help?”

  “I do. Everyone’s curious about you, what you’re doing here, whether it’s going to work out and how it’ll impact their lives. They’ve seen you on TV and they’ve seen you around town, here and there, getting gas or groceries. But you’re largely a mystery. And people are often afraid of the unfamiliar.” He looked around. “Maybe the vandalism is a result of that fear and you could make it go away by offering a little reassurance.”

  That actually made sense. She’d been so busy, so focused, she hadn’t even considered that she might be able to change the way she was perceived here, might be able to smooth the path for her move to Hilltop. “But The Moosehead’s a bar, isn’t it?”

  At the uncertainty in her voice, he shook his head. “Forget it. There’s no helping you.”

  “What?”

  “If you don’t want the folks around here to feel as if you’re looking down on them, you can’t act too good for The Moosehead. It’s where they go every weekend, how they socialize.”

  “I’m not looking down on The Moosehead. I don’t go to bars because it’s like...false advertising.”

  “False advertising?” he echoed.

  She could tell she’d caught his interest. “Nightclubs are where people go to find...other people.”

  “Yeah, like friends. That’s what I’m talking about.”

  “If you’ve seen me on TV, then you know my history. It’s not friends I’m worried about.” She started scooting the trash on the ground around her into a small pile with one foot. “I don’t do well with any...sexual interest. So why go out dancing? That’s like putting goods on display that aren’t for sale.”

  When she risked a glance at his face, she saw that he was frowning. “Then you’re not over it,” he said softly.

  She could tell he was talking about Jasper’s attack. “Of course I’m over it. I’m as over it as I’m going to get, anyway. I’ll just...never be able to participate in certain...things, that’s all.”

  “Like…?”

  “Dancing. Making out.” She cleared her throat as if there was more but she didn’t continue.

  “And…?”

  When she gave him a pointed look instead of answering, she could tell he understood that sex was also on the list, but he didn’t seem as put off as she expected.

  “What if you had a police escort?” he asked. “What if I’d be there tonight to look after you? And what if I promised—gave you my word—that I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you? Would you be able to trust me? To unwind a bit? Maybe have a few drinks and make yourself accessible?”

  Everyone loved Amarok. He commanded a great deal of respect in Hilltop. That he was offering to be her liaison with the community might make a big difference. Maybe, with his help, she could build a bridge...

  “I think so,” she said, but she couldn’t help envisioning the dark, smoky atmosphere, the smell of alcohol and the close press of bodies on the dance floor, where it would be so easy to get groped. It made her nervous. She didn’t know anyone here, not really. She didn’t even know Amarok. And yet...she felt she could trust him. “Just...I didn’t have time to mess with getting my gun on the plane, so...you-you can’t leave me there alone. You have to keep your word.”

  “I always keep my word,” he said. “I’ll be your designated driver, see that you get home safely.”

  She bit her lip as she stared at all the hateful messages that’d been spray-painted on the walls.

  “Go back to Boston.”

  “Pretentious bitch.”

  “You’re not gonna change our town.”

  And those were the nice ones, the ones without so much profanity.

  She drew a deep breath. “Then, sure. Why not? I can do it.”

  A puzzled expression claimed his face. “You’re acting as if you’re about to step into a boxing ring where you’ll get your ass kicked. Is it going to be that difficult for you?”

  She straightened her jacket. “No.”

  “Great. Let’s go,” he said, but she stopped him.

  “Wait. Do I look okay? I’ve been on a plane all day. Maybe I should find a mirror—”

  “All you need to do is change. Do you have anything that makes you look more...approachable than that suit?”

  She gazed down at her clothes. “You don’t like what I’m wearing?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, no one in Hilltop wears a suit—especially to the bar on a Friday night.”

  Her mind raced through what she’d put in her suitcase: two more suits and a pair of sweats for when she was alone and hanging out at her bungalow. “I don’t have anything that might be appropriate,” she admitted.

  “You don’t have a pair of jeans?”

  “Not...not with me.”


  He rolled his eyes as if he’d never met anyone quite so socially deficient. And he probably hadn’t. What’d happened to her at sixteen had ruined her ability to form meaningful connections with other people. Since she’d lost her best friends—in the worst possible way—she’d been afraid to get too close to anyone else for fear that person would somehow be taken from her too.

  She didn’t care to suffer more loss. It was easier to devote herself to her work and find meaning and purpose there. So she didn’t have “friends”; she had “professional associates.” And she didn’t buy a lot of casual clothing—other than the sweats she wore when she was home alone—because she rarely went anywhere that required jeans and blouses.

  “Then we’ll make do with what you’ve got,” he said. “But once we get inside, where it’s warm, at least lose the jacket.”

  “Okay,” she said and followed him back to town.

  Chapter 6

  Amarok sat at the bar with Evelyn and bought her a drink. He wasn’t sure why he was trying to help her mitigate the hostility the folks in Hilltop felt toward her. He was pissed that she’d managed to get that monstrosity of a prison built so close to his town. But, from the news reports, he had a small inkling of what she’d been through in the past. He felt bad about that. And, if he was being honest, there was just...something about her—besides the fact that she was beautiful. When she quit acting so formal and let down her guard, just a little because it never went down much, it was almost as if he could see the sixteen year old girl who’d been so terribly hurt staring back at him...

  That made him angry. Protective.

  She’d essentially admitted that she couldn’t make love, which was a damn shame. Not only was she beautiful, she was smart, accomplished, dynamic. And now that she’d had a drink and was laughing and talking more freely, he was starting to like her—probably more than he cared to. It wasn’t fair that she would be denied such an important and fulfilling part of life.

  “So this is the best you can do?” She was talking to Shorty, who owned The Moosehead and had just handed her a new drink. A small, wiry man in his late fifties, he was one of Amarok’s favorite people and had been since Amarok was a kid. He’d started flirting with Evelyn the moment she sat down, but he was going about it so outrageously that Amarok could tell she wasn’t feeling threatened.