Mistletoe Magic by Fern Michaels (44)

 

 

Hannah Ray glanced at the calendar. December already, a month and a holiday she dreaded every year. Christmas. If asked why, and she had been on numerous occasions, she would pause for the briefest of moments, as though she were truly contemplating the question, and then she would give her standard reply: “You know, I’m not really sure.” Friends and colleagues would then look at her as though she were out of her mind, but it was simply the truth.

Growing up in Florida, she’d never really been bitten by the holiday bug. While she honored the religious aspects of the sacred holiday, she personally thought all the hoopla was nothing more than just one more reason for giant corporations to increase their already more-than-insanely-adequate bottom lines with even more in the way of profits, and for their CEOs to line their very deep pockets with even more money. Hannah smiled when she realized that she sounded exactly like her father, who, it just so happened, used to be one of those CEOs of a giant company. But Hannah had always assured him that he had a heart.

When he’d keeled over from a heart attack five years ago, she was shocked. Her father had always been meticulous about his diet. Red meat no more than once a week. Fish only three times, and the other days were vegetarian. An avid runner who ranked high in his class when he was nearing seventy, he’d looked at least ten years younger than most men his age. His sudden death derailed her for a while, but she knew he would want her to continue to pursue her career. After passing the bar, Hannah decided she didn’t want to be confined to a courtroom. So she applied for her Florida private investigator’s license, which she received without a hitch, opened an office in Naples, and one year later was so busy she had hired three full-time agents, two retired police officers as part-timers, and Camden, her best friend and personal assistant, who played a large role in running the office. Hannah didn’t know what she would do without Camden’s excellent organizational skills as she herself wasn’t the most organized in a “paper” kind of way. Her ability to keep details clear in her head was her major talent. While Camden could locate a Post-it in a pile of a thousand, Hannah could tell you what was written on the Post-it and in what color ink.

Less than a month short of thirty-four, Hannah was pretty set in her ways, and again, she had her father to thank for that as well. Her mother had died of breast cancer when Hannah was six, leaving her father to raise her alone. With no family of his own to guide him through the waters of single parenthood, Frederick Ray did the best he could. Hannah had missed her mother after her death, but with the passage of time, and the fading memory of a six-year-old child, she was soon conversing at dinner with her father about all sorts of very adult financial and legal matters. They would discuss the law as it pertained to Ray Enterprises, a conglomerate of manufacturers that produced items ranging from high-end perfumes to plastics. When he died, her father left everything he owned to her, which enabled her to choose what she wanted to do in her professional life. While she was a voting member of the boards of directors of the various companies controlled by Ray Enterprises, she was fortunate that Albert, who had been her father’s right-hand man, continued to perform in that same capacity for her, relieving her of the burden of day-today involvement in the affairs of those companies. Not only was he the one who acted on her behalf at board meetings, but he was like an uncle to her, and she trusted him implicitly.

Of course, Camden came in a close second. They were the same age, shared many of the same interests, and when it was time to close shop, neither she nor Camden had any trouble removing her professional hat for a night out on the town, or often a quiet meal prepared in Hannah’s ultramodern kitchen. Both had taken an avid interest in cooking when they had started packing on a few extra pounds last year. Once a week, if their schedules permitted, they would take turns making dinner. Of course, dinner always included a bottle or two of wine. Comfortable with each other, they would chat about fashion, makeup, anything except work; then, as with most single females, they would discuss their current dating situations. Sadly, more often than not, neither one was having much success in that area. Not because they worked too much, and not because there wasn’t quite a fine selection of available men in southwest Florida, but because both women were extremely finicky about men.

As a result, Hannah and Camden were planning to spend the upcoming holiday together, doing absolutely nothing except lounging on the beach and catching up on their favorite authors’ new books. Both agreed this was the best possible decision, given that neither had close family or any reason to do anything else.

Most of her high-profile cases were coming to an end, and she hadn’t planned to take on any more until after the New Year. She’d given all her employees a two-and-a-half-week paid vacation beginning December 18 and ending Monday, January 5, 2015. They were ecstatic and couldn’t stop talking about her generosity. She liked her team and thought of them as friends first, then coworkers. She was not a “me boss, you employee” employer.

Her father had often told her that in business one accomplished so much more by being kind and generous to one’s employees rather than bossy, demanding, and condescending. To this day, Ray Enterprises, along with H.R. Investigations, had some of the happiest employees around. And Ray Enterprises was among the top five businesses on Fortune Magazine’s list of the best companies to work for.

Two weeks of bliss, she thought, as she pulled up her schedule for the upcoming week. Two weeks of sun, sand, and surf, and, if she was lucky, she could delve into those books she had recently received from Amazon.

Clearing her mind, Hannah scrolled through her iPad mini. The firm had three consultations scheduled that afternoon. One was with an insurance company that suspected an injured employee collecting workman’s compensation was doing so illegally. That would be a breeze to solve. She would have Ed, her number-one part-timer, do the consultation and go out on a surveillance mission, his specialty.

Next was a young woman who suspected that her husband was cheating on her. Hannah detested this part of her work and tried to distance herself from it as much as possible, but sadly, the need for it was a reality in life, and someone had to do it. Marlene would meet with the woman, as she was the expert at anything requiring a telephoto lens and being incognito, plus she was extremely nosy, always an added bonus in the private-investigation business.

The last consultation for the day she would take care of personally since the client had requested that she do so.

Last year, Hannah had been hired to keep tabs on an abusive husband when an ignorant judge had released him on his own recognizance after he had been charged with beating his wife to a pulp. Because the man happened to be from a wealthy family, several members of whom were well-known attorneys, the judge assured his wife’s attorney that she would have nothing to fear from her husband and certainly not his family, even going so far as to imply that she had brought the beating on herself.

Hannah immediately contacted Grace Landry out in Colorado, told her the woman’s story, and personally put Leanne on a plane to Denver. Once the abused spouse was at Hope House, Grace’s shelter for battered families, Hannah breathed a sigh of relief. She’d stayed in contact with Leanne and was saddened when she learned that the woman had recently returned to Fort Myers to make an attempt to reunite with her abusive husband. And it was because of this that she had decided to pull in a few favors at Health Park Hospital. Two days ago, Leanne had been admitted to the hospital with a broken nose and a cracked pelvis. Hannah planned to confront Leanne’s husband, Bruce Wells, and make a special trip to visit Leanne. This wasn’t her usual modus operandi, but she was passionate about those who suffered abuse at the hands of people who were supposed to love them the most and anyone who bullied others. You might say that it was her Achilles’ heel.

Stuffing her iPad in her briefcase, she grabbed her purse and raced out the door, locking it behind her, only to remember the cell phone she’d left in the master bath when she’d been blow-drying her hair. As soon as she inserted her key in the lock, she heard its familiar xylophone ringtone. “Darn,” she muttered as she raced through the condo to the master suite.

She hit the green ANSWER button. “Hello?” she said, a bit winded.

“Hannah?” came a male voice.

“Yes, this is Hannah Ray. How can I help you?” She dropped her briefcase on the floor and plopped down on her vanity stool, staring at the face in the mirror. Straight blond hair, brown eyes. A regular face, she thought, nothing remarkable.

“It’s Max Jorgenson.”

It took a couple of seconds for Hannah to call up the image that went with the voice, but when she did, she was all smiles. Max Jorgenson. The Olympic gold-medal skier. Grace Landry’s husband.

She grinned. “And to what do I owe this honor?” she asked in a teasing tone. She’d been a bit impressed when she’d met Max through Grace.

She could hear him clearing his throat. “I’m not sure you would call this an honor. It’s more of a favor.”

A favor? From her? Hannah hadn’t a clue what Max Jorgenson wanted from her, but if he’d bothered making the phone call personally, then it must be something very urgent and important.

“Anything, Max. Just say the word.”

He chuckled. “Don’t say that just yet. Hear me out.”

“Hey, anything for you and Grace. She really helped me out last year, and as it just so happens, I might need her services again. Same client. A sad situation, but go on. You called me. What gives?”

“I need you to come to Colorado. Mid-December if possible,” Max said.

Hannah visualized all her plans for sun, sand, and surf swirling right down the drain.

In a voice she hoped didn’t relay just how much she did not want to travel out West, she said, “Of course, Max. Just give me the time and place, and I will be there.”

“I knew I could count on you,” Max said, then gave her the details before thanking her again and clicking off.

“No sunning. No reading. No relaxing on the beach. There goes my Christmas vacation.”