Healing Home

by Madden, J. M.

  Healing Home

  J.M. Madden

  Copyright © 2019 by J.M. Madden

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by The Cover Collection

  Editing by Megedits.com

  Created with Vellum

  For my readers… as always. I love that you follow where I lead and fall in love with my characters as thoroughly as I do myself. Thank you!

  Meg and Sandie, thank you so much for being amazing!

  For all my dog lovers…

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Wicked Healing

  Afterword

  Also by J.M. Madden

  Prologue

  Carolina cursed. This was not the best time for a visit from Detective Blackheart. Not that the man cared. It seemed like he showed up at the most inopportune times possible. Whenever the shit hit the fan the detective came knocking. Was there a neon sign outside that she wasn’t aware of? Business owner in need of cosmic slap, now!

  “Fine,” she sighed. “Show him in, Mel.”

  Carolina rocked back in her chair, straightening her white silk blouse. She glanced down at her body, aware that her heartbeat had picked up. Was that in trepidation of the coming meeting? Or because the dogged San Diego detective was the hottest thing she’d seen since Aquaman? No, he was more of a Ryan Reynolds Deadpool type.

  She didn’t have time for a man, though. It seemed like as soon as she got a grip on her life, and a direction, something went haywire. A man would definitely upset her life. Hannah, her younger sister, told her it was because she didn’t listen to her gut and follow through with her plans. In retrospect, maybe she was right.

  No, fuck that. She was following her heart right now, no matter what anyone else said. Why couldn’t she just do her business and help people?

  Over the past six years she’d built a business she was extremely proud of. Helping Hands, Healing Hearts had been a brainchild for many years. She, her four sisters and two brothers were Army brats. Both of their parents were career Army, working project logistics. They’d all been around the world many times in their lives and by the time she’d walked out the door at eighteen, she’d moved more than thirty times. They’d lived the extreme nomadic lifestyle, and she knew exactly where the Army fell short in supporting its forces.

  Then, when Hannah’s husband Oliver- a career Marine- was injured during combat a few years ago she’d seen even more closely exactly how the government was falling short— with medical services and family support in particular. Carolina had pitched in to keep Hannah’s young, struggling family going, and she’d seen firsthand what was needed. It was when she’d come up with her business.

  Helping Hands, Healing Hearts was an all-inclusive concierge service. If a family needed something, they were there, either working through salary or donations. More often than not the company was hired by the service-person’s family to do some task that they weren’t able or didn’t want to do. A contract was signed before the job was undertaken so that both sides knew exactly what was expected. Carolina was very proud of the fact that she had never broken a contract in the entire time she’d been in business, no matter how crazy the request or job.

  Her company did everything except sexual services. If a task became more personal or more difficult, it was up to the concierge and the client to work out the details. There had been a few personal relationships develop, but not very many, and the primary task was always completed.

  Detective Blackheart, though, believed there was something nefarious going on, and for the past few months he’d just been ‘dropping in’.

  There was a knock on her door, but the person didn’t wait for her to respond, just pushed into the room. Then there was six feet of delicious, determined cop blocking the view through her doorway.

  Haven Blackheart was one of the sexiest men Carolina had ever seen. It was obvious he was former military. She had no clue which branch, but he still had the bearing of a long time, career military man. His dark hair was cut close to his scalp, left a little longer on top, then fading down to skin on the back of his neck. Carolina wanted to run her hand down over his head to his neck, just to feel the texture of the close cut on her hand. She didn’t think Mr. By-the-book would appreciate that though. In his deep, dark eyes she was the criminal, and he was here to prove that her company was doing illegal things.

  That was the needed dash of sanity that Carolina needed. “Can I help you, Detective?”

  Without answering her, Blackheart came further into the room, sat on the chair in front of her desk and crossed an ankle over the opposite knee. He gave her a slight smile as if he knew how much his presence needled her. Carolina fought to keep her face expressionless. And she waited.

  “It’s pretty quiet around here today,” he observed finally.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “There are thirty-two military bases in California. People are out on jobs right now. It’s how things work.”

  He nodded his head, smiling at her joke. “True. Want to tell me what kinds of jobs they’re working on?”

  She sighed, crossing her legs and rocking back in her chair. She was gratified to see his gaze flick to her legs, then away. Oh, ho, what have we here? Did he just check her out?

  “You keep stopping in here and you’ve never found anything incriminating, Detective. Why do you think today specifically is any different than any other day?”

  He glanced up at her, a thoughtful look on his face. “No particular reason other than I was curious about the brand new truck in the back parking lot of your building. Still has the tags in the window.”

  “Yes?” She said slowly. “I can’t buy myself a new vehicle?”

  His eyes widened a little and the smile spread his full lips. “You bought yourself a brand spanking new F-150? You seem more the sporty little BMW type.”

  That’s exactly what she was, but she wasn’t telling him what the truck was for. She had a right to keep her clients’ personal information exactly that— personal. A retired colonel had donated that truck in commemoration of his son being killed in combat. It was to be used for a veteran in need, and that was exactly who it was going to, after it was modified and tricked out. “I don’t think you know me well enough to speculate about my,” she hesitated here deliberately, “driving preferences, Detective.”

  Haven Blackheart— who the hell had a name like that?— got a look in his eyes like he was imagining taking her out to dinner or more, then his expression chilled and he was all business again.

  Damn. She’s almost had him.

  “Sure you don’t want to tell me about the truck? And I thought I saw William Klingler pulling out of the lot.”

  Yes, he did, but William preferred to keep his donating anonymous. He was a pillar of the Kansas City community and he was harangued almost constantly for donations to one cause or another. The poor man couldn’t step outside without people chasing him down. Only Carolina knew he had a soft spot in his heart for helping out military. His mother had been a war bride, windowed young. His father had had some savings, but his platoon had pitched in to help the family out when they’d returned to the states.

  Carolina wouldn’t violate William’s trust. She kept a calm smile on
her face.

  The detective pushed up from the chair. “You have me curious, Ms. Jones. I think you’re running a high-end call-girl service out of here, sending women all around the world. And you have rich old men dropping off cash and gifts in appreciation.”

  Carolina shook her head, laughing softly. “You’ve seen the documentation about my company detective. My company helps out the military. Period. There’s no call-girl service here.”

  Blackheart frowned at her tired words.

  “If I could release details about my clients I would,” she said eventually, “but their privacy has to be sacrosanct. Some of the issues are extremely sensitive.”

  “You know I’ll find out eventually,” he warned.

  She laughed with frustration, shaking her head. ‘’I’m flattered that you think I’m this cunning Madam, running a call-girl service out of my building, but you’ve got it all wrong, Detective. My company and I are exactly as we’ve stated to you, many times before.”

  He stared at her a long moment, his eyes unfathomable, before he turned for the door. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Jones.”

  Then he was gone.

  Carolina sagged in her chair, both energized and defeated. The detective was a beautiful man, but obviously hard-headed as all get out. The man couldn’t see what was right in front of him…

  “You okay, Carolina?”

  She looked up at Mel, hanging onto the door jamb. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just don’t understand why the man won’t leave my company alone.”

  Mel grinned, and wiggled her dark brows. “I don’t think it’s the company he’s interested in,” she said before disappearing.

  Carolina sighed. Normally that would get her excited, but it was hard to get excited when her company was under threat. She wondered how long it would be before she saw the detective again.

  It didn’t matter, she told herself firmly. You have a business to run. And now you need to call your older sister and beg her to help out, so get your ass in gear.

  Chapter 1

  BB reached for her cell phone absentmindedly, fumbling a little, then let it be when she didn’t find it. Whoever it was could wait because she needed to get this done. With a calculated rush she made a few swipes of the pen, finishing off the awkward shape of the cartoon. Sonya Sniddlebee was bent over tying her little nephew’s shoe, when her other nephew thought it would be a good idea to poke her in the ass crack. Sonya’s face was turned to the offender and the expression was a cross between horrified and shocked.

  Exactly what BB had been shooting for.

  She sat back in her chair, glad that she’d caught the essence of the incident that had occurred to her last night when she’d been at her brother’s house. George and Harry, her wild nephews, named after the royals, were shits. Plain and simple. There was nothing royal about the two little men, no matter how much her straight-laced brother tried. They always found a way to shock and thrill her. They were endless material for her comic strip, The Mad Socialite, and they loved being a part of it. She knew they bragged to their friends at school and twice now she’d been invited in to speak to the student body about what she did. With Frankie, of course.

  She looked down at the French Bulldog snoring beneath her art table. “Look, Frankie, I got it!”

  Frankie rolled a dark eye her way, obviously hoping to hear the word ‘treat’ somewhere in the sentence, then maneuvered over onto her back, disinterested, when she didn’t hear it.

  Reaching for her phone BB snapped a picture of the cartoon. It was a good one. It would be picked up all across the country, she knew, because it would speak to people.

  She saved the pic in a file for her ‘toons then returned to the home screen to see who’d called. Ah, Carolina. Should have known. Her sister always picked the most inopportune times to reach out.

  Even as she thought that, her phone rang in her hand.

  “I was just thinking that you never call when I’m not busy,” BB laughed.

  Carolina snorted. “That’s because you never stop doing stuff. What did I interrupt today?”

  “I was finishing a ’toon. I’ll send it to you in a minute. Pretty funny, actually.”

  “Cool. Hey, the reason why I called is, I need you to pick up a job for me. It’s out in your direction.”

  BB frowned, rocking back in her chair. “Okay,” she said warily. “Last time you recruited me for a job I ended up with dog shit in the back of my Mercedes. Do you have any idea how hard that was to clean?”

  “Yes,” Carolina laughed. “I paid the exorbitant detailing bill, remember?”

  “But they didn’t get it all. I’ve had it in three more times, on my own dime, and I still smell shit.”

  Her sister chortled, a very unladylike sound. “I think it’s psychological,” she said.

  BB wasn’t sure. Maybe it was all in her head. She certainly wouldn’t agree with her little sister, though.

  “So, you’ll excuse me if I’m a little leery with these little tasks.”

  “Well, this one is a little more in depth.”

  BB sighed, wondering what Carolina was going to get her into this time.

  Carolina had created a pretty ingenious concierge business for herself. Helping Hands, Healing Hearts sounded like a government agency, but it was exactly the opposite. It picked up where the government left off in supporting its servicemen and women. She served all branches of the military and had even taken on jobs for former military. More than thirty people worked at the Quad, as BB liked to call it, plus double that many that worked on a per-job basis like BB did, and they did everything from walk a dog every day while a soldier was deployed to secure apartments on the other side of the world if there was a pending transfer. No job was too big or too small. As long as a family was willing to pay for a service, Carolina would find someone for the job.

  “I have a Navy SEAL coming in to Coronado in a week, and his buddies have pitched in to buy your time for three days. They want you to welcome him home.”

  BB frowned. “That sounds like something his family should do. And how is that in my direction? You’re way closer than I am.”

  “He doesn’t have family. That’s the whole point. Everyone else in his team is settled with family and girlfriends, but this guy is divorced, no kids, and his family is up north. The woman that called me to set this up is one of the wives. They try to do for him what they can, including him in things, but at the end of the day he goes home alone, and just this once, they want to change that.” Her sister sighed. “And I know it’s not in your direction. I’m just maxed out with jobs right now, but this was one I didn’t feel like I could turn down.”

  “Wow,” BB breathed, her heart aching for the unknown man. “That’s a lot to think about.”

  “I know it is, but they read your bio and you were the only one that would jive with him, even at your rates. He needs a light-hearted, pampered few days, and they think you can do that for him.”

  “No pressure, or anything,” BB murmured.

  “I know this is a big commitment on your part, but I thought it might be good to break you out of your routine as well.”

  “I like my routine,” BB said, though even she could hear the defensiveness in her voice.

  “I know you do, hon, but I think this guy needs you. And you’re welcome to take Frankie, they said. This guy loves dogs.”

  Frowning, she swiveled back and forth in the chair. “This seems kind of dirty to me. Welcome him home like a wife then disappear after three days?”

  Carolina sighed as well. “I know. I thought about that, too, but it’s what they want.”

  BB sighed. “I don’t know, Carolina.”

  “Come on. I’ll put an addendum on the contract that you can leave at any time.”

  In the end she decided to do it, because every soldier deserved to come home to someone.

  “Do I have access to his place?”

  “They will overnight you the key. I just needed your agreement for t
he task.”

  “Have them send it. I’ll head out the day before they arrive.”

  “Thanks, BB. I knew you’d be a good fit for this one.”

  Well, they’d see, she supposed.

  * * *

  The day before the client, Lincoln Bezel, was due to arrive, BB let herself into his small house just off base. It was a well-kept little bungalow, furnished in such a way that she knew a single man lived here. There were no frou-frou anythings around, not even a lot of pictures. There was sports equipment and electronic equipment. In the first bedroom there was a massive gun safe, but the bed was made and the majority of the laundry was done. She’d never thought about what she’d need to do to the house if she were to leave for weeks or months on end. Coming home to stacks of unwashed clothes would probably suck, something he’d apparently learned over his tours.

  BB looked into the fridge. Beer, of course, and bottled water. The cupboards held some packages of dry, flavored noodles and some spices, but that was it. Nothing else.

  The mailbox was empty, so the post office must be holding everything for him.

  As she looked around the compact, sterile little space, she could almost see the loneliness of the man.

  She would do what she could for him in the time they had.

  * * *

  Link looked out the grimy window of the plane. Far below him miles upon miles of sea stretched out before him. They had at least an hour before they saw the coastline. Then another half hour before they could land at Coronado.

  He wished he wanted to go home.

  Link rocked his head back against the thrumming metal of the plane, wondering who he needed to shoot to get them to turn it around. They’d been gone for three months, doing hard ops in Afghanistan and Iraq. Cleanup, mostly. Finding a few high-value targets.