Sweet Dreams Boxed Set

“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.”

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