Meant for Her

by Amy Gamet

  Meant for Her

  by Amy Gamet

  ~~~

  For Brian, who always believed I could do it.

  ~~~

  Special thanks to Laura Davis, Deyon Waller, Pam Kaptein, Melissa Sharp, Dale Richards, and Paul Richards.

  ~~~

  Copyright © 2012 Amy Gamet

  This book is available in print from Amazon.com.

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Bonus Excerpt: Love's Greatest Gift

  Gwen's Story

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Hank Jared was running.

  Four miles in, he hit his stride. Heavy metal music poured from his headphones, drowning out all but the rhythmic beating of his shoes on the pavement. The neighborhood around him was upscale and well-manicured, with stately rolling lawns and automatic sprinkler systems that wet his dark hair and tan, bronzed skin.

  His physical conditioning was evident in the controlled swish of air in and out of his lungs, the defined muscles of his calves and thighs flexing in synch with the pumping of his arms. He checked his watch. Plenty of time to get back and pack before his flight.

  Five days before Christmas, and it feels like the middle of May.

  He had been in Florida nearly a month, working on a case for Admiral Barstow. While Hank enjoyed the sunshine and novelty of swimming in December, his amusement turned to irritation when he saw his first palm tree covered in Christmas lights.

  He needed a blue spruce, and he needed it quickly.

  By nightfall he’d be in the Adirondacks. His mouth formed an unconscious smile at the thought of his destination. His little sister was getting married on Christmas Eve, and the whole family was gathering at his mother’s house for the event.

  I’ll be walking her down the aisle.

  The thought brought with it the faintest grief, a wave by now so familiar Hank simply accepted its crest. It had been more than five years since their father passed away.

  Ray Jared had been a strong, kind man with a boisterous sense of humor, a love of the outdoors and a deep dedication to family. Kelly’s wedding made their father’s absence as tangible as a shadow where sunlight once shined, and Hank was both honored and saddened to stand in the spot his father should have occupied.

  The residential neighborhood ended in a cul-de-sac, lined on one side with evergreens. The hedges obscured a ten-foot high chain link fence, a small opening in the foliage marking an entrance to another space beyond.

  Hank slowed to a walk, retrieving a plastic card from his running pack. He slid it through a small card reader on a steel post, the gate unlocking with a metallic click.

  Acres of turf surrounded what looked like a business complex. The newest field office of the U.S. Navy was nothing if not discreet. Hank enrolled right after college, having always dreamed of a career in the armed forces.

  The military was his life.

  His breathing slowly returning to normal, he dug in his pack for his cell phone and dialed the familiar numbers.

  “Don’t be mad, mom,” he said when she answered. “But I’m not going to be able to make it.” He sounded devastated to his own ears.

  “Hank William Jared, that wasn’t funny when you were ten, and it sure as hell isn’t funny now.”

  He chuckled. “It’s a little funny.”

  “It might be a little funny if the caterer hadn’t double booked.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. And it would have been downright hilarious if the wedding bands had arrived at the jewelers.”

  Maybe he picked the wrong day to joke with his mother.

  “I can fix this, Mom.”

  “How are you going to fix it?”

  “I’ll treat for pizza.”

  “That’s very helpful, dear.”

  “I am a helper, you know.”

  “Yes, you are. What time does your flight get in? I have a to-do list here with your name on it.”

  Hank was sure she had an actual piece of paper that said HANK across the top. With three children and a family business to run, his mother had a great deal of experience delegating responsibility. “Three-thirty. Who’s picking me up?”

  “Ron. He and Kelly have been playing chauffer all week.” Kelly’s fiancé had seemed like a nice enough guy the few times Hank had met him, but he was happy to hear that Ron was playing taxi driver so they’d have a chance to talk. Without his father, it seemed like his responsibility to give Ron the third degree.

  Kelly met him on an airplane when she was on her way home from college for Christmas break two years ago. Hank got the feeling there was more to that story, and he intended to get the whole truth from Ron before the wedding.

  “No worries, Mom, I’m on my way…” Hank was interrupted by a call waiting beep. He checked the caller ID and frowned.

  “Mom, I have to take this.”

  “Work?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t answer it, Hank. Bad things come in threes and we only have two.”

  “I have to.”

  “I know you do,” she sighed. “Call me later.”

  Hank clicked over to the incoming call.

  “What can I do for you, Admiral?”

  ~~~

  “I’ve got a nasty virus. Almost a third of the company is infected.” Julie Trueblood rested her forehead on her fingers as she leaned over her desk.

  “Are you going to be able to make it for Christmas?”

  Julie never planned on making it to her aunt’s house, though she had plenty of time to fit it in before her trip with Greg. She spun her chair around and watched fat snow flakes falling at an alarming rate over the city of Boston.

  “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 e
ach 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.”