Fleet Hospital. Anne Duquette Marie

      

      The U.S. Navy’s FLEET HOSPITAL—a world unto itself.

      This story takes you into that world and gives you an authentic glimpse of military life.

      Meet Lori Sepanik—aka Jo Marche—one of the most memorable characters in recent romance fiction. Join her as she discovers what Fleet Hospital is all about. And meet Captain Michael McLowery, the man in command….

      They’re both people with secrets. They’re both stubborn and individual and self-possessed. They’re both working—sometimes at cross-purposes—to solve a murder.

      When they fall in love, sit back and watch the excitement!

      “Anne Marie Duquette’s romantic thrillers are truly

       thrilling, full of exciting action and suspense.”

      —Tess Gerritsen, bestselling author of

       Harvest, Life Support and The Surgeon

      I would like to dedicate this book to all those who offered

       medical aid after the 9-11 terrorist attack.

      I also dedicate it to our best friend, Hospital Corpsman

       Second Class (USN Retired) Thomas Anthony Tindall.

       Hugs from all of us at Camp Pendleton and Balboa Naval

       Hospital who were touched by your life and mourn

       your death. You made the world a better place.

       We miss you, Tonyota. Love from Ogre and Row-ger.

      Fleet Hospital

      Anne Marie Duquette

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Dear Reader,

      The tragedy of the destruction of the World Trade Center in New York City has led many media commentators to claim that the U.S. just “wasn’t prepared.” Regarding the deaths, injuries and destruction, this is certainly true. However, our country was prepared in one way—in the readiness and heroism of our rescue personnel.

      The U.S. Navy maintains hospital ships and containerized field hospitals that can be deployed at a moment’s notice. The unfortunate wounded are fortunate in one sense. These ships have the most state-of-the-art medical technology available and some of the best-trained medical personnel in the world. Two of our country’s leading medical institutions, Bethesda Naval Hospital in Maryland and San Diego Naval Hospital in California, along with their support units, train the finest medical caregivers in the military.

      Those who watched the news about 9-11 might remember the U.S. Naval Hospital ship, The Comfort, based out of Maryland, ministering to the New York City wounded. The Navy also maintains The Hope, berthed on the West Coast.

      Another facet of field training for the U.S. Navy Medical Department is the Fleet Hospital, located at Camp Pendleton military base in California. Not only is this the largest military base, in actual land area, in the world, but San Diego County, where it’s located, holds the highest concentration of military and support bases. San Diego is an important place when it comes to the training of our military and medical heroes.

      My own husband, a retired U.S. Navy Hospital Corpsman, spent his last five years in the military at Fleet Hospital. While the story, the characters and the murder mystery in this book are entirely fictitious, Camp Pendleton itself and the training of students to the very highest level of medical preparedness are not.

      Mobile hospitals with skilled staff are a strong tool in the fight against terrorism. Many injured who might have become fatalities owe their lives to the real medical heroes with their caring, compassion and intense training. They save lives under the most harrowing of conditions. I hope you enjoy my portrayal of them.

      Best,

      Anne Marie Duquette

      Contents

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      CHAPTER SIXTEEN

      CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

      CHAPTER NINETEEN

      CHAPTER TWENTY

      CHAPTER ONE

      Pearl Harbor, Hawaii

       Early October 1967, afternoon

      TEN-YEAR-OLD MICHAEL James McLowery yawned, squirmed and scratched at the neckerchief of his Cub Scout uniform. Sweat trickled through his crewcut and down his face, dropping onto the cafeteria table. Where he sat was hot. Hot outside. Hot inside. Hot everywhere. He wished he was at the officers’ pool with his father and baby sister, instead of at school. When they came to pick him up—thank goodness that would be soon—they’d be nice and cool. Not like Michael. Hawaii sure was roasting….

      Not like Boston, Dad’s last duty station. Once more Michael checked his black “Glows in the dark!” Seiko watch, a smaller version of his father’s, and groaned. Half of Saturday was already gone, and where was he? At Navy housing’s elementary school, working on his first-aid merit badge. If that wasn’t bad enough, his mother, in her starched white nurse’s uniform, was teaching the badge class. Dutiful boys filled in the blanks on mimeographed handout sheets.

      His mother was even more boring than his history teacher. He couldn’t believe it. This day was one big gyp. He’d never wanted to be a Scout. He wanted to go out for Little League and become the next Carl Yastrzemski, but Dad said it was too much driving for a family with only one car. Stupid Navy only shipped one car to Hawaii, instead of their two from Boston. No sense buying another, Dad told him. The same rules worked when leaving Hawaii. Stupid Navy.

      The boy sitting next to him, older and looking just as bored, was doodling on his first-aid sheet. Maybe Dennis Klemko was good for a game of hangman or ticktacktoe. Michael, ready to latch on to anything to pass the last ten minutes of the class, leaned over for a quick peek. His breath caught.

      On the handout was a surprisingly lifelike sketch of his mother, complete with big pointy titties, rounded thighs—and no clothes but her nurse’s cap, Navy gold-braid rank bands across the brim.

      Michael promptly delivered a hard sharp elbow to the artist’s ribs and grabbed the paper with its disgusting picture. The other boy grunted and rubbed his side.

      The Scoutmaster’s voice from the front of the room made Michael and Dennis jump. “What’s going on there?”

      Neither boy answered. The Scoutmaster waved at the sheet of paper in Michael’s hands.

      “Do you have something to share with the rest of the troop, young man?”

      Michael’s face burned. “No, sir!” He crumpled the paper into a tiny ball and held both hands behind his back while everyone stopped filling in blanks and stared at him.

      “He’s drawing dirty pictures,” Dennis Klemko said. “I caught him doing it, but he wouldn’t give me the paper.”

      “You turd! Mom, he’s lying! He’s the one who drew it!”