“I thought it was a sex offender,” Everett said, his hands shaking.

“It wasn’t. You’re safe now, buddy,” she said, patting his arm. “Come on. Back to the station.”

* * *

“YOU SHOT A CAT?” Chief Cooper said fifteen minutes later, staring at Everett.

“I’m sorry.” Ev stood there like a chastened kid.

“He missed,” Emmaline said. Now that the ringing in her ears had faded, it was hard not to laugh. “The suspect was quite fast.” Levi gave her a look.

“File the report, Everett. The incident is under review, which means you just increased my workload.”

“Sorry, Chief. Um, Bobby McIntosh attacked me.”

“Because you shot at his pet.”

“In self-defense.”

“Not really,” Emmaline said. “The cat was the one acting in self-defense.”

Levi bit down on a grin. “Your mother won’t be happy about this, Ev.”

“Do you have to tell her?”

“She’s the mayor. So, yes.”

“Shit.” Everett heaved a sigh. “Anything else, Chief?”

“No. Fill out the report and get out of here.”

Everett left the office and swiped a cookie from the desk of Carol Robinson, their newly hired administrative assistant, who’d been shamelessly eavesdropping.

“Thanks for not letting Bobby kill Everett,” Levi said to Emmaline.

“I was kind of hoping to use the Taser.”

“Could’ve used it on Everett,” he said. “But good to see cooler heads prevailed.”

It was about as high praise as the police chief gave, and Emmaline felt a small rush of pride. Granted, it had been an idiotic call in the first place, but still.

Levi, who’d been a year behind her in high school, stood and picked up a bouquet of red roses wrapped in green florist paper and tied with a white ribbon. His look warned her not to say anything.

“Aw,” she said. “Flowers for the wife? You’re such a snuggly teddy bear, Levi.”

“Inappropriate, Officer Neal,” he said, giving her his famous “I tolerate you because I have to” look. “By the way, about that crisis negotiations class. I got you a grant. You start in two weeks.”

“You did? Oh, you’re the best! I take back every complaint I ever filed about you.”

“Very funny,” her boss said. “I’m going home. Maybe I’ll see you at O’Rourke’s later.”

“Maybe. Tell Pregnita I said hi.”

He smiled and left the office, stopping to say something to Carol before he left the station.

It was hard not to feel a little jealous. Levi and Faith had been married a little over a year and had a baby on the way. Seemed like everyone was getting married these days; Em had been to three weddings over the summer. In fact, she was considering marrying herself, just so she could register for the fun housewares.

Well. Time for her to go home, too. The O’Keefe Emergency Services Building, which housed the fire, police and ambulance departments, was about five minutes from town. Em drove past Hastings Farm, past the high school and into the Village part of Manningsport, three blocks around a small green at the edge of Keuka Lake.

Emmaline lived on Water Street, right next to the library, and often parked the cruiser along the green where the good people of Manningsport could see it and reconsider any bad decisions, like driving under the influence. O’Rourke’s Tavern, the only place in town open year-round, glowed warm and bright. Maybe she’d eat there tonight, since she didn’t have any plans. But first, home to the Wonder Pup—Sarge, her recently acquired German shepherd puppy, who’d need a walk and some exercise, despite his doggy door to the backyard.

She got out of the cruiser, her breath fogging in the cold, clean air.

“Hey, Em!” called a voice. Lorelei Buzzetta and Gerard Chartier waved as they went into O’Rourke’s, and Em waved back. Gerard was a firefighter and paramedic. Em saw him nearly every day at work (and also saw Lorelei, who owned the bakery and could make the angels weep with her chocolate croissants). The two had started dating a while back.

Through the windows, she could see Colleen O’Rourke, now Colleen Campbell, kissing her gorgeous husband, Lucas. There was Honor Holland and her husband, the lovely Tom Barlow. Paulie Petrosinsky and Bryce, who ran the animal shelter and had fixed her up with her puppy just two weeks ago.

Seemed like couples’ night at the pub.

Maybe she’d stay in tonight. She and Sarge could watch YouTube videos of hostage negotiators, eat Kraft Mac & Cheese (don’t judge, it was delicious). Maybe binge-watch The Walking Dead. She had a stack of books from the library, too. Or she could call around the Bitter Betrayeds, the name her book club had given itself, and see who else was climbing the walls.

Suddenly, the weekend spread vast and empty in front of her. No shifts till Monday. No plans other than a hockey game on Sunday—she played in the town league. She could do laundry and clean. Um...maybe buy some new towels. Go to the shooting range. That’d be fun, if solitary.

Her feet were getting numb. Time to get moving. Still, she stood there on the tiny town green, looking into the cheerful pub.

Maybe she’d drive to Penn Yan and see a movie, but it was a half an hour away, and there was more snow in the forecast. And after the big accident, everyone was feeling a little wary about winter driving.

Speaking of that, there was Jack Holland.

He stood outside O’Rourke’s, staring at the building as if he’d never seen it before. Maybe she should check on him. They played hockey together, and he was her boss’s brother-in-law and an EMT, so it wasn’t as though she didn’t know him.

He didn’t move, seeming to be trying to decide whether or not to go inside the bar.

Em crossed the street. “Hey, Jack,” she said.

He didn’t answer.

“Hi, Jack,” she said again. He jerked, then looked at her.

“Hey, Emmaline,” he said, forcing a smile.

“How you doing?”

“Great.”

He was so not great that her heart ached, looking at him stalled there, dead in the water.

Poor choice of words.

But he was clearly not great.

“You going in?” he asked, aware perhaps that too long a pause had elapsed.

“No. I’m headed home. I just got a puppy. Sarge. He’s a German shepherd. Very cute. Hopefully he hasn’t pooped on the floor.”

Oh, yeah, the babbling thing. See, in addition to all the above, Jack Holland was ridiculously gorgeous. As in, Hi, I’ve just dropped down from Mount Olympus. How you doin’? Tall and blond with eyes that were so clear and perfect and pure that they made a person think of all sorts of ridiculous synonyms for blue—azure and cerulean and aqua. His smile stopped traffic and made trees burst into flower and all that crap.

So yes, he rendered women stupid. Even women who were slightly prejudiced against very, very good-looking men. But everyone, including Emmaline, also knew that Jack was a tremendously nice guy.

“Jack? You okay?”

“Yeah!” he said too quickly. “Sorry. Just a little tired. You take care, Emma.”

No one called her that. More than likely, Jack Holland had just forgotten her name. He opened the door to the pub. There was a roar of “Jack!” and “Hey! The hero!” and general cheering. The iron bell behind the bar clanged; the O’Rourke twins rang it in times of celebration.