Meant for Her Read Online Free

build.
    “What’s wrong, Julie?”
    She choked on the words as they came out of her mouth. “My dad died.”
     ~~~
    There are a lot of freakin’ Julie Truebloods.
    This time, the X wasn’t helping, either. Hank was sitting in a dark hotel room in downtown Boston, a laptop and a beer on the desk in front of him, trying to find the connection between the dead guy in the motel fire and his Julie Trueblood.
    Well, not his exactly.
    “She wanted me to work for it,” he said to himself, trying various combinations of her name and the few facts he had in this case. It wasn’t until he typed “Julie Trueblood Navy” that he was rewarded for his efforts.
    NAVY COMMANDER JOHN MCDOWELL ACCUSED OF ESPIONAGE, VANISHES.
    “Holy shit.”
    Hank’s brow creased as he frantically scrolled down the screen, searching for Julie’s name. What did she have to do with an infamous traitor?
    “Gwen Trueblood, McDowell’s sister-in-law, has been granted temporary guardianship of McDowell’s minor daughter, Julie. The commander’s wife, Mary McDowell, died of cancer ten months ago.”
    Julie Trueblood was Julie McDowell.
    Hank had seen a 60 Minutes piece on the case years ago, though he never would have recognized the woman she had become. John McDowell was a cryptographer for the Navy, who passed the contents of secret messages on to Uzkapostan. He was single-handedly responsible for the sinking of the U.S.S. Dermody that killed eighty-eight soldiers.
    If Systex knew about her background, she’d be fired faster than an arsonist at a fire station. Systex was a major manufacturer of information systems, with several substantial government contracts. No wonder she went by Trueblood.
    He searched for “Julie McDowell Navy” and was rewarded with thousands of hits. Clicking on images, Hank’s screen was transformed into a collage of photos taken around the time of the scandal. One black and white in particular caught his eye, a young Julie trying to get through a mob of reporters, her eyes wet, a backpack strap on her shoulder.
    Hank wanted to throttle that photographer.
    His cell phone rang and he checked the caller ID.
    “Merry Christmas, man.”
    Chip Vandermead had been Hank’s roommate in college. Hank called him occasionally when the Islanders played the Penguins, but Chip’s position as an analyst with the NSA is what kept him on Hank’s speed dial.
    “How’s Melody?”
    “Pregnant.”
    “So you said. That’s great.”
    “Twins.”
    “Oh, crap.”
    “We’re going more with the, ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ approach, but ‘Oh, crap’ has crossed my mind.”
    “Sorry, man. That’s awesome. Congratulations.”
    “She’s due on Valentine’s Day, but she’s never going to make it. She’s as big as a house.” Hank heard a woman yelling in the background. “What? I’m not talking about you.” He chuckled. “So, what’s up? I know you didn’t call just to wish me a Merry Christmas.”
    “I need a favor.”
    “Of course you do.”
    “I have an encrypted message, and I need to know what it says.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    “Four lines of text, Seventy-nine characters all together.”
    “Can’t help you.”
    “What?”
    “It’s too short. Unless someone wanted you to be able to read it, and used a known cipher that’s able to be read with a computer algorithm or something. Who wrote it?”
    “Commander John McDowell.”
    “You’re kidding.”
    “Not kidding.”
    “The man’s a legend. Personally, I thought he was dead.”
    “He is now.”
    “What happened?”
    “Somebody shot him, then set a fire to cover it up.”
    Chip whistled. “Where’d the message come from?”
    “A safe deposit box. The key was at the scene.” Hank looked at the hundreds of pictures of Julie on his computer screen as he talked. “I need to know what that message says, Chip.”
    “I can run it through the computer, but don’t get your hopes up.”
    “Thanks. I owe you one.”
    “You owe me a hell of a lot more