In Your Dreams (Blue Heron #4)

In Your Dreams (Blue Heron #4) Page 18

“Oh, sure,” she said. “Um, a four-year-old got a blueberry stuck in his nose, and I helped with that...” Okay, it had been more fun than it sounded. Little Flynn Maloney had been quite thrilled with the attention and rightfully proud of the effort it had taken to wedge the berry up so high. “Well, the other day, I had to unhandcuff a guy from his bed. His wife had dropped the key in the chocolate sauce and thought she might’ve swallowed—oh, uh, never mind, actually.”

The frisky couple in question had been Prudence and Carl Vanderbeek. Jack’s sister and husband. Whoopsy.

“Sounds like something my sister and Carl would do,” he said.

“Bingo.”

He smiled.

He smiled.

Oh, he smiled.

Yep, that was some mighty good mojo. His eyes were unbelievably pretty, and that smile was balm for the battered soul. His eyes crinkled at the corners, too! Damn and blast, Jack Holland’s face was just...it was just...

“You two make a lovely couple,” Angela said.

“No! No, no. We’re just friends,” Em said, jerking her gaze away from Jack.

“We play hockey together,” Jack added. “She has the best wrist shot on the team.” He put his arm around the back of her chair, doing that boyfriendy thing again. “But she looks pretty exhausted, so if you don’t mind, we’ll get back to our rooms.”

“Of course! A well-rested body is the foundation of good mental health,” Dad said, leaping up to hug her. “You’re wonderful, sweetheart. Daddy loves you very much.”

“Love you, too, Daddy,” she said.

“And I love you just as much. If not more,” Mom added.

“Good to know. Ange? You want to chime in?”

Angela laughed. “And I love you more than these two combined, plus infinity.”

Emmaline smiled, hugged her sister and mom, and she and Jack headed back to their rooms.

“What a nice family,” he said.

Not the word she’d use, but they were hers, and she did love them. “Thanks. They liked you a lot.”

“Everyone does.” He grinned, taking away any conceit that might’ve been associated with the smile. After all, it was true. What was not to like? To love? Who wouldn’t want to rub up against him and—

“You want to hang out or something?” he asked.

“Um...I should get to bed. I mean, do you?”

He hesitated. “No. I’m pretty whipped, too.”

“In the morning, if you walk down to the beach, you might see some otters. They’re really cute.”

“I’ll keep a lookout.”

“There’s a hot yoga class at five-thirty,” she said. “It’s on our schedule of events.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” he answered, sliding his keycard into the slot. “Sleep well, Emmaline.”

She went into her room, as well. Double-locked the door. Washed up, got in her jammies and got into bed. Very comfortable. She flapped her arms and legs as if making a snow angel. Big bed. Plenty of room for Sarge. She wondered how he was doing. Shelayne, who had an unhealthy love of dogs, had him for the weekend. Em would be lucky if she got her puppy back, given how Shelayne had promised to spoil him.

Yep. Big bed. Very big. Very comfy.

Crap. She was wired. Exhausted but wired.

She closed her eyes and tried to relax. Pictured being on the ocean in a gently drifting boat. (Why was she drifting? What if she got caught on the Gulf Stream and ended up like Pi, minus the tiger? Or even worse, with the tiger?) Pictured the blue, blue ocean. (Note to self: warn Jack to check the shark report before he went swimming. Then again, the water would only be about sixty degrees. Then again, he was from the Finger Lakes. He knew cold water. And then again, maybe he wouldn’t want to go swimming because of the rescue, but she kind of did, except that she’d have to wear a wet suit, and whose ass looked good in a wet suit? Naomi’s and no one else’s, that’s whose.)

“Okay, this isn’t working,” she said aloud, flinging back the covers. Time for a little fresh air.

She went out onto the balcony, which was teeny but adorable, red trumpet vine curling up through the post. A small iron table, two tiny chairs. She breathed in the cool salty air. Maybe she’d have coffee out here in the morning. But wait...no. The ranch was also caffeine-free. Horrible place.

She glanced over at Jack’s balcony, which was identical to hers. He’d left the slider open, and his curtain fluttered out in the breeze. She hoped he’d enjoy the weekend, being out of Manningsport in the land of sunshine and ocean. He really was an awfully good guy.

The lawns of Rancho de la Luna spread out before her, dark and green. The whip-poor-will called again, lonely in the quiet. The breeze was jasmine scented, a fragrance Em well remembered from her childhood, and she thought she could catch the sound of the gentle Pacific lapping at the sandy shore. Or maybe those were cars down on the Pacific Coast Highway. Either way, Rancho de la Luna certainly had a prime location. God only knew what this wedding would cost. The place itself had to be top dollar, let alone the food, band, flowers and activities.

Em’s wedding was going to have been in her parents’ house. Mom and Dad had worked side by side in silence each weekend for a year, getting the yard ready. Dad had even built a trellised archway, an adorably crooked little structure.

Boo-hoo-hoo. There were worse things in the world than being jilted by a fiancé. She knew that. She’d made a nice life for herself in Manningsport. Loved her job. Loved her boss, loved Carol, even loved the dopey Everett. She had friends. She had a dog.

It was just that feeling of being alone. Coming home to an empty, dark house night after night. Week after week after month of not finding anyone she could picture spending a lifetime with.

Seemed like Kevin had been the love of her life. Old Kevin, that was.

She sighed and looked at her watch. She’d been awake for an hour already. Well, the Kindle hadn’t been invented for nothing. “Elmore Leonard, here we come,” she muttered.

She jumped at the sound of a thud from Jack’s room. A really loud thud. “Jack? You okay?” she called.

He didn’t answer.

“Jack?”

Emmaline went back inside. A door joined their rooms, and she knocked. “Jack? You okay?”

Nada.

Then there was another crash and some glass breaking.

The door was locked. “Jack! Open the door, buddy.”

She didn’t hear any movement inside.

She knocked again, more loudly this time. “Jack, it’s Emmaline. Open up, okay?”

Five seconds, and no answer.

Okay. Time for some police work.

HE HAD JOSH DEINER by the arm now, and he was pulling him up. And really, this wasn’t so hard after all; why had he been dreading going down here? It wasn’t even cold, which was weird, because Anderson Cooper was on the shore narrating the action, and he kept saying how cold it was.

The car was deeper than Jack remembered, but that was okay, because it was warm and there were sea otters and the Deiner kid was even smiling a little, as if this was almost a joke between him and Jack. He wouldn’t open his eyes, though. The other boys had. They’d swum as gracefully as the otters, but Josh was pretending to be unconscious, probably because he wanted to be an actor. Jack knew that because Anderson Cooper had said so.

Then all the sea otters darted away, like fish do when the shark is coming.

But it was cold, all of a sudden, and Jack looked up. Maybe he shouldn’t have swum so far down, because the surface was far, far away. Weird that he could hold his breath this long. Actually, he couldn’t, could he?

Suddenly, his lungs felt like chunks of coal, and it was getting dark; oh, shit, the ice was closing over them, a solid ceiling of ice blocking out the purple and red sunset, and Jack heard it close, it closed with a crash like glass, and he really, really needed to breathe now. He looked at Josh, and Josh’s eyes were open now, and he was smiling, but it wasn’t a nice smile. He grabbed Jack’s arm and started sinking, pulling Jack down because Josh was already dead and furious that Jack hadn’t saved him, and he wasn’t going to be dead alone. Jack tried to pull free, tried to hit Josh in the face, but his arms were too heavy and slow, so he pinned the boy against the car—

“Jack! Jack! You’re okay. You’re dreaming, that’s all.”

There was a woman here. Underneath him.

“Hi,” she said. “Wake up, buddy.”

Right. Emmaline. He was gripping her wrists, the sheets twisted around him, and had her half pinned. The small lamp on the desk had been turned on.

He jerked back, releasing her wrists. “I’m sorry,” he said, and his voice was hoarse. He ran a hand through his hair and found that it was sweaty. He was sweaty, in fact. All of him.

“Want a drink of water?” she asked, oddly calm for a woman who’d just been grabbed by a na**d sweaty man.

Oh, yeah. He was naked, too. He always slept that way.

She didn’t wait for an answer, just got up and went into the bathroom. He sat against the headboard and straightened the covers. Looked around, his breath still coming hard.

Actually, he had a glass of water somewhere. Ah. There it was, shattered on the floor, alongside the lamp.

Fourth time this week he’d had the same dream, more or less. The sea otters had been new.

“How did you get in here?” he asked when she came back in the room.

“I did knock,” she said, handing him the glass. “You didn’t answer, so I climbed onto your balcony. Very cat burglar of me. By the way, you should lock your doors at night.”

“Figured the odds of an intruder would be low.”

“Not low enough,” she said with a grin. She bent down and picked up the lamp, turned it on, then started picking up the pieces of glass.

“I’ll get that,” he said.

“You stay in that bed,” she said. “I bet you sleep na**d as a frog, and I don’t want a show just now.”

He would’ve made a joke, except Josh’s face was still burned in his mind, that unforgiving, ruthless smile.

Emmaline put the fragments of the glass on the table. “Do you have nightmares a lot?” she asked.

“No. Not really.”

“Sounded like a doozy.”

“I don’t remember what it was about.”

She gave him a look as if she knew he was lying. Better that than having her go all Dr. Freud on him.

He should be over this by now. The accident had taken place twenty days ago. Three of the kids were as right as rain.

Josh Deiner was holding his own.

If you could call a coma holding your own.

“Move over,” she said, and he did.

She sat next to him, on top of the covers, and took one of the many pillows the hotel provided, holding it on her lap. Looked at him. Pushed her hair off her face. It was a utilitarian gesture—hair is obscuring vision: fix. So different from Hadley’s sex-kitteny moves.

But Emmaline had something going on nonetheless. Her hair was dark and thick, and she had on sock-monkey pajama bottoms and a tank top. Nice rack. He tried not to notice.

He sensed he was about to be lectured on the importance of getting counseling, maybe something on post-traumatic stress disorder, or a pat on the shoulder and a reminder that all four kids would’ve drowned without him, not just Josh, and even Josh was holding his own, and he couldn’t beat himself up.

“Want some chocolate?” she asked. “I’m starving.”

Without waiting, she got up, unlocked the door that apparently connected their rooms—Jack had hardly noticed it—and came back a second later with a Hershey bar. With almonds, no less. She plunked herself down next to him and unwrapped the candy bar. “I brought a stash. Don’t tell on me, or they’ll make me do sit-ups or something.” She broke the bar in half and handed him his chunk.