Page 1 of Healing Home

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.”

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