In Your Dreams (Blue Heron #4)(91)

“Great,” she said. “I love it.”

“Good. I have another job for you.”

“I’m free, Chief,” Everett volunteered. “Is it dangerous?” Automatically, his hand went to his gun.

Levi gave Everett a long-suffering look. “No, Everett. I need Emmaline. And if I see you fondling that gun one more time this week, I’m taking it away.”

“Roger that, Chief. No gun fondling. Yes, sir.”

“Come into my office, Em.”

She obeyed, snagging a cookie from Carol’s desk. Mmm. Oatmeal raisin. “Take two,” Carol said.

“Will you marry me?” Em said.

“Get in line,” Carol retorted.

Levi sat behind his desk and folded his hands. “I need you to check on something. Seems like someone’s got a grudge against Jack. Mostly mischief, but it’s getting a little nasty. First, someone went into his house, turned on all the lights and left the doors and windows open.”

“The Deiners?”

“I don’t think it’s them, since they’re always at the hospital.”

“His ex-wife, maybe?” She could kind of see Hadley doing something like that as a way to show Jack he needed her back...but no, Hadley seemed more the sort to go for the “rescue me” theme.

“Possibly,” Levi said. “A week ago, he got a note on his windshield that said ‘You better watch yourself.’ Hot pink paper, laser-printed.”

“Did he save it?”

“No.”

Em made a disgusted noise. “Does no one watch NCIS?”

“I know. And then this morning, he found a dead possum in his truck. Neck broken.”

Em jumped a little. “Shit.”

“So.” Levi looked at the wall. “I want you to go up to his place as a security detail.”

“A security detail? What am I, the Secret Service?”

“Don’t get fresh with me, young lady.”

“I’m a year older than you, Levi. Do you really think he’s in danger?”

“It’s our job to make sure he’s not.” Levi picked up a pen and started fiddling with it. He didn’t look at her.

“Chief,” she said. “We have three people on this police force. You think a dead rodent means I should babysit Jack Holl— Oh, my God, you’re matchmaking, aren’t you?”

Levi sighed. “Faith made me do it.”

“You gotta be kidding me.”

“Still, I’m your boss. Please make sure Jack’s tucked in tonight.”

“Levi—”

“That’s Chief Cooper, Officer Neal.”

“Oh, don’t get official on me!” She slumped back in her chair. “Okay, the broken neck thing is creepy.”

“Yes.”

“Can’t Everett do it? You know how he likes to wander around with his hand on his gun.”

“Yes, and he’s going to shoot his foot off one day because of it.” Levi sighed. “You have to admit, a dead possum in someone’s truck is unusual. So get that look off your face and go up there and check on him. Check around his property. And maybe talk to his ex-wife. Faith said she was a little...unstable. If she deliberately sprained her ankle to get Jack’s attention—”

“So you believe me now?”

“—who’s to say she wouldn’t pick up roadkill and put it in his truck? Especially if she’s mad at him for dating you.”

“He’s not dating me. He keeps trying to date me, and—”

“Let’s not talk about personal lives, shall we?”

“You’re the one pimping me out here, Levi.”

He crinkled his brow at her. Stared, patiently, slightly bored.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

“Thank you so very much, Officer.”

“Keep this in mind during my annual review.”

“Will do.” He allowed a faint smile, then waved her out of the office.

* * *

EM’S FIRST STOP was the Opera House. She clomped up the stairs and knocked on the door of apartment 3-C. Hadley opened the door, a bright, expectant smile on her face that dropped like a lead hockey puck at the sight of Not Jack. “Hello, Miss Boudreau,” Em said. “Mind if I come in and ask you a few questions?”

“Is Jack all right?” she breathed, peering around the door.

“Interesting you should ask. Any reason he wouldn’t be?” Em asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Um, I...I have no idea!” She flushed.

Guilty, Em thought. She waited.

“Well, do come in!” Hadley said. “Where are my manners?”

She was wearing a dress, a rose-colored sheath kind of thing that Em imagined would make her look as shapely as a pillow but on Hadley looked romantic and delicate. Her long blond hair was caught at the nape of her neck in the type of artless, casual ponytail that Em had never been able to master; her thick, not-straight, not-curly locks were the Houdini of hair and could only be forced into her regulation bun with a combination of the magic slime, a thick supermarket elastic once used to lump the broccoli together and seventeen bobby pins.

Suppressing a sigh—she wasn’t supposed to care about this stuff anymore—she stepped into the dimly lit apartment. It had come furnished, Emmaline knew, but Hadley had put her mark on it. A vase of pink and purple tulips sat on the coffee table, and a soft ivory wrap was artfully draped on the arm of the sofa. Lots of throw pillows, a series of framed mirrors on the brick wall. Two or three candles filled the room with the scent of lavender, clogging Em’s throat.