Free Meghan's Wish (Love and Danger) by Amy Gamet Page A

know in the Navy?”
    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!”
    He nodded and raised his hands in surrender, reaching into the pocket of his coat.
    “Call me if you want to talk, or if you need help. Whoever hurt this man is still out there.” He pulled out a business card and pointedly placed it on her desk. “I just want to help you, Julie.”
    Then he was gone.
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 2
     
    The evening landscape glowed blue in the moonlight, as a silent rush of flurries fell in a continuous swirl onto the blanket of white below.
    Inside, a freshly cut pine tree glowed with a single strand of white Christmas lights, its illuminated branches bare of ornamentation. Two dogs slept in front of a crackling fire, one small and gray, the other big and yellow and loudly snoring. Neither was disturbed by the low howling of the wind nor the clink of tools from the kitchen table.
    Gwen Trueblood’s art studio was pristine, with neatly kept wooden drawers and rows of labeled plastic containers. But it was a glorified closet, a staging area where she stored her supplies and prepared her materials. The kitchen was where she engaged her art, whether it be a bold pair of fused glass earrings or a loaf of fresh, crusty artisan bread.
    Granite countertops mixed rich hues of gold with rusty reds and oranges in bold waves and specks. The cupboards were handcrafted of warm cherry with strong lines and careful moldings, their hardware a unique mixture of colored glass and sparkling metal that coordinated with the sunset colors of the granite around them.
    A hefty island was surrounded on three sides by generous work areas, industrial appliances, and two oversized sinks. Pendant lights hung like jewelry, glittering in their display of brightly colored glass and dazzling metal. In the daytime the room would sparkle from the sunshine pouring in from the