Meghan's Wish (Love and Danger)

by Gamet, Amy

  “Even if I clean up all the computers, I’m afraid I’d need a fleet of tiny reindeer to pull my sleigh and get me out of the city. What’s your weather like?”

  “A little snow, I think. We have a few inches already.”

  Julie knew that ‘a little snow’ to her aunt might well be enough to put the entire northeast into a state of emergency. Aunt Gwen was pushing hard for Julie to make it out to Vermont this year, and had extended an open invitation for the long weekend. It was a solid three-hour drive in good weather, and this was anything but.

  “I don’t know. Let me run and see what progress I can make on this mess. I’ll give you a call in a couple of hours,” she said, instantly regretting that she hadn’t simply said no.

  “Alright, Jules. Best of luck. I can’t wait to see you.”

  Julie cringed into the receiver. “Bye, Gwen.”

  She turned her attention to the computer in front of her and sighed at the work ahead. Firewalls and anti-virus software could only do so much. Someone was always out to make a better virus that could slip in under the radar and wreak havoc on a stranger’s computer. Or in this case, more than eighty of Systex Corporation’s desktops.

  Her morning had been spent identifying the virus and downloading the fix. Now she needed to spend ten minutes on each machine to get it working again. Picking up the phone, she dialed Becky’s extension.

  “Becky’s House of Beauty.”

  “I need help cleaning up a virus. It’s going to kill the rest of the day.”

  “Yee haw! I’ll be right in.”

  Julie shook her head and smiled as she replaced the receiver. Becky had been her roommate at MIT, where they both majored in computer science—Julie with a double major in math, Becky with a minor in social work. Becky was good enough at what she did to have Julie’s job, but she lacked the finesse necessary to climb the corporate ladder.

  If it bothered Becky that she worked for Julie, she didn’t let on.

  “Okay, what are we up against?” asked Becky, walking into Julie’s office without knocking.

  “Eighty-one machines, ten minutes to fix each one.”

  Becky’s eyes lit and she smiled widely. “I’d say the company should buy us lunch.”

  “Deal.” Julie checked her watch. “Let’s get through two-thirds of them before we break, though.”

  ~~~

  The crime scene was easy to find.

  The Orange Palm Motel had a turquoise pool, white lounge chairs, and a string of tangerine doors—the overly bright pattern now violently interrupted by a swath of blackened siding. The fire had buckled the roof shingles, blown out the window, and left gray swirling murals of soot and ash on neighboring units.

  Hotel guests stood in the parking lot or sat on cars, watching the drama being played out before them like theatergoers staring at a stage. Police milled about behind yellow tape as firemen and EMTs packed up their gear.

  There was no one to rescue here.

  Hank ducked under the tape and strode toward the charred motel room, flipping open his badge as he was approached by a uniformed officer. Hank shook his head when the other man raised his hand and walked away, knowing the cop hadn’t gotten a good look at Hank’s badge.

  That was too easy.

  He replaced it in his pocket and withdrew a pair of vinyl gloves, pulling them on before confidently slipping into the room.

  The darkness was near complete, the smells of burned wood and plastic clinging to the wet air. There was another odor as well, and Hank knew at once the room had been occupied. He withdrew a slim flashlight from his pocket and began searching for the body.

  A beam of light shined on him.

  “Detective Johnson, Jacksonville P.D.”

  He turned. “U.S. Navy Lieutenant Hank Jared.”

  “Navy?”

  “Navy.”

  Johnson lowered his beam to Hank’s chest. “Is our victim military?”

  “The Navy has an interest in this case.”

  “An interest in this case,” Johnson repeated. “Is that a no?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “The victim’s in the bathtub,” said Johnson. “Unidentified male, unless you’re going to tell me who he is.” He shined the light back at Hank. “You going to tell me?”

  “What makes you think I know?”

  “You’re here. There must be a reason for that. I wouldn’t even know who to call, but the U.S. Navy is here, and I’m trying to figure out why.”

  “Let me know if you come up with anything.”

  Hank headed for the bathroom, carefully making his way through the debris and pooled water on the floor.

  The body was terribly burned. “He die in the fire?”

  “Coroner’s on his way.”

  Hank shined his beam in Johnson’s eyes, and the other man sighed heavily.

  “He was shot.”

  “Accelerant?”

  “The arson dog caught a whiff of something.”

  “Anything else interesting?”

  Johnson nodded. “A key to a safe deposit box near the body. A ring. No other personal items or identification, though they might have been fuel for the fire. Every car in the lot is accounted for. The room was rented to one Mark Smith. Clerk doesn’t remember him—checked in three days ago.”

  “You wouldn’t mind if I came with you to check out that safe deposit box.”

  “Of course not, officer.”

  ~~~

  “I swear, he had to be six foot eight. Just massive,” Becky stood up and mimed what looked like King Kong tromping over tiny buildings. “His shoulders barely fit through the door. Biceps like that guy on the Energy Pump commercial.” She flexed her own shapely arms and flung her red hair backwards as she admired her small muscles.

  “And so he walks up to me and says, ‘Have dinner with me.’ Just like that. Can you believe the arrogance?”

  “I’m guessing you said yes.”

  “Heck yeah, I said yes! I practically threw myself at his feet and begged for him to be the father of my children right there in the bar! Then I decided I should wait until after our date just in case he was psychotic.”

  “Just in case.”

  “Right.” The waiter appeared to refill their drinks.

  “And?”

  “And, what?”

  “Did you go to dinner with him?”

  “Gino’s Via Abruzzi.” She smacked her lips.

  “And the man?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Too much baggage.”

  Julie turned to her Cobb salad, arranging one forkful with a tiny piece of chicken, a leaf of lettuce, bacon, and avocado.

  “You’re eating that salad like it’s the last thing on earth you can control.”

  “Very insightful, Dr. Phil,” said Julie as she dipped the tip of her concoction in blue cheese dressing. “Anything else you’d like to analyze today?”

  “How about your love life?”

  Julie gave her a warning look.

  “How is Greg?” Becky asked in an overly bright tone.

  “He’s good. Fine.”

  “Good. Fine.”

  Julie glared at her. “He asked me to go on a trip with him for Christmas.” She knew better than to tell Becky that Gwen had invited her for the holiday, too.

  “Really? Where to?”

  “He didn’t tell me.” Julie hesitated before adding, “He bought the tickets as a surprise.”

  Becky slammed down the iced tea she’d been drinking. “Without asking you first?”

  “Yes.”

  “You hate surprises! Doesn’t he know how much you hate surprises?”

  “I don’t hate surprises!” Julie began making another perfect Cobb salad forkful as she spoke. “It’s romantic. It’s thoughtful.”

  “It’s fan-tastic!”

  Julie put down her fork with a loud clink on the table. “Say it.”

  “Nope. Everything’s good. Fine.”

  “Just say it.”


  “Say what? That you’re pretending to like the idea of a mystery trip when we both know you’d rather have all the hair on your body pulled out by the root? Or that you’re dating the most unappealing bachelor this side of the Mississippi because you don’t want to be alone for Christmas?”

  “Christmas doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Ah, but you concede my other point. The guy’s a waste of plasma.”

  Julie could feel a headache beginning to throb in her left temple. Why was she having this conversation? “Why do you have such a problem with Greg?”

  Becky took a long sip of her drink before answering. “He gives me the creeps.” She bit down on a piece of ice. “And honestly, Jules? I don’t think you like him any more than I do. Pretend it’s January, sweetie. Let it go.”

  Julie knew she should defend her boyfriend, but nothing came to mind. How come nothing came to mind?

  Because a waste of plasma is an apt description.

  She used her fork to redistribute the chicken evenly over the surface of her salad. When had she decided that it was better to date someone she had no interest in than to be alone? It wasn’t just Greg, he was just the latest in a continuous stream of guys she didn’t even like. The kind of men who had always been attracted to her.

  “You’re right,” said Julie.

  Becky was halfway through a bite of her Philly steak sandwich and talked with her mouth full. “I am?”

  “He’s an ass.”

  Becky slammed the table with her open hand, getting the attention of several other diners. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

  “He annoys the absolute crap out of me.”

  “Amen, sister!”

  “He talks about random, bizarre things. Invasive bamboo and the growth cycle of hair. I can tell you more about asphalt than you would ever want to know.”

  “Let it all out.”

  “When he touches me I want to pat his head and tell him to sit.”

  Becky snorted. “Please tell me you haven’t slept with him.”

  “Ugh,” Julie visibly shuddered. “His hands are wet. Not just damp, Becky. Wet. Always.”

  “Feel better?”

  Julie turned sad eyes to her best friend in the world. “I wanted to like him,” she said quietly.

  “I know, sweetheart.”

  “I wanted to love him.”

  “Let’s not get carried away.”

  Julie pulled out her cell phone and dialed before she could reconsider. “Greg, it’s Julie. I’m not going to make the trip this weekend. We need to talk. Call me when you get this.”

  “I wonder where he was going to take you.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “Oh, relax. You did the right thing.” Becky took another bite, a string of cheese running from her mouth to the bun. “I’m just saying, someplace warm might be nice at Christmastime. Maybe a few palm trees.”

  ~~~

  Marianne Jared was standing in her large country kitchen making Christmas cookies en masse, holiday music playing in the background. With her daughter’s wedding just days away, she was calming her nerves and preparing to feed the hungry crowd that would be descending.

  She had the gingerbread men stacked up on cooling racks, and had just started blending butter and sugar for the next round when the phone rang.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, Ma.”

  She felt her stomach clench at his tone, and walked away from the stand mixer, leaving it running. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not going to be able to make it to the wedding, for real.”

  She brought her hand to her face and pinched the skin between her eyes, counting to five before trusting herself to speak. “Why not?”

  “There’s a case here in Jacksonville. Barstow insisted I handle it.” He sighed heavily. “I’m so sorry, Ma. I can’t get out of this one.”

  “Did you tell him you’re scheduled for vacation? That’s it’s been on the books for months?”

  “Of course I did. I even told him about the wedding.” Hank cursed under his breath. “He was adamant. I’m so angry I could put my fist through a wall. Any of the investigators could handle this. There’s no reason I have to do it.”

  She could hear the pain in his voice, knew it was genuine.

  “Ma, if there’s any way in hell I can make the ceremony, I will.”

  She nodded, staring at her feet. “We miss you.”

  “I miss you, too.”

  ~~~

  “Hank Jared is here to see you.”

  Julie didn’t recognize the name. It was probably a vendor, though it struck her as odd that a sales rep would be doing cold calls the day before a holiday weekend. “I’ll be right out.”

  As the Vice President of Technology for Systex Corporation, Julie was frequently the target of cold calls from salespeople working for computer companies.

  She rounded the corner to the reception area and got her first look him.

  Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

  He was considerably taller than her own five foot ten, with wavy dark brown hair, wide shoulders, and a presence that was totally masculine.

  Julie felt butterflies stirring in her stomach and hoped she didn’t make a fool out of herself. She was always uncomfortable talking to men who were more beautiful than she was. This guy was so far out of her league, she might trip over her own shoes.

  “Mr. Jared. I’m Julie Trueblood. What can I do for you today?” The sweet smile on her face belied the pounding of her heart in her chest. He was even more attractive up close, with honeyed brown eyes and the lightest shadow of a beard on skin that looked tan from the sun.

  “I’d like a few words with you, Ms. Trueblood.”

  “About what, exactly?”

  Hank eyed the receptionist, who stared right back. “It’s a personal matter.”

  She was hoping to skip out a little early today and had no intention of getting stuck with a sales rep for an hour. “What company do you represent?”

  “The U.S. Navy.”

  The world around Julie froze for an instant, with the words hanging between them like the first gunshot of a battle. She remembered to breathe in, then out. She blinked her eyes.

  “Come with me, Mr. Jared.” She led the way from the lobby through a short hallway that connected to a longer corridor, feeling his presence behind her like a shadowy figure stalking her through a maze. Memories of other Navy officers assaulted her, panic rising in her chest with every step.

  Julie motioned for him to enter the room before her, then locked the door and stepped behind her desk. “What can I do for you today?” she asked, her voice flat.

  “I’m not sure.” Hank leaned back in his chair and watched her. “Someone set fire to a motel room in Jacksonville, Florida yesterday morning.”

  Her brows drew together.

  “The room was occupied at the time.”

  She flinched and looked away. “That’s horrible.”

  “I flew up here this morning because I thought you might have some information about the case.”

  “Why would you think that? I don’t even know anyone in Jacksonville.”

  “But you know someone in the Navy.”

  Her eyes slammed into his, and she knew she gave herself away. She raised an eyebrow and smiled at him without humor. “A friend from college is a Navy pilot.”

  “Is he.”

  “Yep. And there’s always Richard Gere.”

  “Zack Mayo.”

  Julie rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  “The actor’s name is Richard Gere, the character he played was Zack Mayo.”

  “You know what I meant.”

  “What I know is that you’re messing with me, and I don’t appreciate it.”

  Julie leaned forward on her desk. “I’m not messing with you. I don’t know anyone in Jacksonville, and I haven’t known anyone in the Navy in almost ten years.”

  “Who did you know in the N
avy?”

  Julie crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I’ll find out eventually, Ms. Trueblood.”

  “But you’ll have to work for it, Mr. Jared. And that will please me immensely.”

  He held up a man’s ring with a flush black stone. “Have you seen this before?”

  Yes. Oh, God, yes. “No.”

  “You’re lying to me.”

  “I’d like you to leave,” she said, standing and crossing to the door.

  “I’m not done yet.” Hank reached for his briefcase. “There was a key to a safe deposit box inside that motel room. Inside, I found this.”

  He held up a single sheet of white paper, “JULIE X. TRUEBLOOD” scrawled in heavy black ink.

  “Funny thing to include your middle initial. There are hundreds of Julie Truebloods in this country, did you know that?” He put the paper back into his briefcase. “Someone wanted to make sure we found you.”

  “How do I know you didn’t make that yourself?”

  “You don’t. But that wasn’t the only thing in the safe deposit box.”

  Hank handed her a yellow lined page torn from a legal pad. Four lines of scrambled text rushed along, without a nod toward spaces or punctuation. They defied interpretation, which hadn’t stopped Hank from staring at them for the past twenty-four hours.

  Julie lifted the paper between shaking hands.

  “The safe deposit box was registered to John McDowell.” Her eyes finally met his, her face contorting into a horrified frown.

  “Do you know him, Julie?”

  Her eyes filled as silent sobs racked her body. “Go. Please go.”

  Hank stepped forward, opening his arms to her, and she was drawn to the comfort he offered. She leaned against him, too distraught to care that he was a stranger, a Navy officer. She wept, inhaling the heady smell of him, his body heat palpable through the fine cotton of his dress shirt.

  “Who is John McDowell?” he asked quietly. “Is that his ring?”

  The pointed question turned the man from comforter to interrogator. She flew out of his arms, ashamed that she had let herself seek solace there.

  “Get out of my office.”

  “Ms. Trueblood…”

  “Get out of here right now or I’ll call security and have you removed!”