Hard Landing (11 page)

Calling the ER to arrange for a late arrival, she had dawdled at home that morning waiting for the shop to open. At 8:05, she stepped into the cluttered space, setting off a chime that announced her as the day's first visitor. There wasn't a soul in sight. But then a shuffling came from the back room, and a man stepped around a heavy curtain to approach the counter while wiping the traces of a greasy breakfast off his chin.

"Can I help you?"

In less than five minutes and with only a modicum of stammering, she left the shop with Max's laptop tucked under her arm. Her nervousness ticked upward as she darted across the bustling parking lot. But no one waylaid her, and soon she was speeding toward the hospital with a sense of accomplishment.

That wasn't so hard. But would she regret it in the long run? There wasn't any guarantee that Hack could get into the hard drive, let alone find something incriminating on it. And if Max went to collect his laptop and discovered that his wife had confiscated it—my God, she'd have hell to pay!

On a positive note, she had an excuse to contact Bronco again. Deciding she could call him from work this time and forego the pay phone, she hurried to the hospital, only to discover her services in the ER were urgently required. The day wore on, but the number of emergency patients did not abate until long after her lunch hour. It was two fifteen in the afternoon when she finally collapsed in the break room, swallowed down her anticipation, and tapped out his number on the land line.

He answered on the second ring. "Chief Adams."

"Hey, it's Rebecca, calling from a hospital phone."

"Oh, hey." The rich pleasure in his voice made her stomach perform a slow cartwheel.

"Hi," she said, stupidly.

"You sound out of breath."

"I got the laptop," she declared, presenting the circumstances as the reason for her breathlessness. In fact, it was the simple act of talking to him that had galvanized her cardio-pulmonary system. "It's in my car, hopefully not frying in the heat."

"Nah, it's barely seventy degrees today," he assured her. "Beautiful day," he added with gusto that invited her to notice.

She glanced hopefully at the window. "Good day to meet in the park?"

His silence tempered her enthusiasm. "We shouldn't be seen together," he reminded her.

"No, of course not." Her spirits floundered. "Then how do I get it to you? I have to work late because I came in late."

"Go unlock your car," he recommended. "I'll swing by after work and pick it up."

She wouldn't even get to see his face. "Okay." She forced her agreement through a tight throat. "Did you show the article to anyone?"

"Just to Bullfrog. He doesn't think Max is involved."

"I see." She didn't know whether to be relieved or devastated.

"But he could be wrong," Bronco added, causing her breath to hitch. "You know we're headed out of town on Friday, right?"

She hadn't known. Dismay pegged her to her seat. "The whole task unit?"

"Just Echo Platoon. We'll be gone for a week or so."

"Max didn't tell me." He tended to keep her in the dark about the task unit's activities.

"Listen," he said, then paused. "I think you should move out while he's gone."

Her brain short-circuited at the unexpected advice. "But I don't have any grounds for moving out. He'll claim that I deserted him, and I won't get a cent back that I put into that house."

"That's not what matters, Becca." She scarcely recognized his serious tone. "Forget my suspicions and forget finding grounds for divorce. Just leave him this weekend. You need to do it for your safety's sake."

A chill blew through her as she thought of the stranger named Tony and his promise that they'd meet again. Her gut had been telling her exactly what Bronco seemed to be saying—that she wasn't safe staying with Max any longer. "I'll think about it," she promised.

He released a frustrated breath. "Listen, I'll have some cellular reception while I'm gone. Maybe you can get a new cell phone and text me? I'd sure like to hear that you've made steps in breaking away. Think you could do that? For me?"

When he begged like that, it was hard to refuse him. If Max would be gone for a week, that would give her plenty of time to find a place to live and to move her belongings, but could she actually go through with it? He hadn't browbeaten her recently or assigned her with tasks that were meant to teach her a lesson. In fact, he'd been the epitome of politeness, perhaps sensing her dissatisfaction.

"If I leave him, will you—?" She floundered for words, grateful that he couldn't see the blush searing her cheeks.

"Will I what?"

"Hang out with me sometime? As... as a friend, of course," she tacked on. Her pulse beat against her eardrums as she waited for an answer.

"Yeah, sure," he said, but the thread of reservation in his tone left her doubting his word. He was probably thinking it would kill his career to be friends with his CO's ex-wife. She couldn't blame him for being cautious.

An awkward lull fell between them.

She harkened to the reason for her call. "I'll go unlock my car now. It's parked right outside the ER. You'll let me know if Hack finds anything suspicious?"

"I doubt he'll have time before we leave but, yeah, I'll let you know."

"Be safe on the mission," she begged him.

"You be safe, too, Becca." His voice was low, its rasp seeming to resonate inside her.

"Bye." She hung up the phone slowly, warmed by his apparent concern and the way he'd said her name.

Since when had Echo Platoon's playboy become so important to her? The thought of harm befalling him filled her with panic. If not for his friendship and his support, she would be feeling totally lost. And yet Bronco, being a chief who was active in the field, participating in missions so terrifying it would curl her hair to learn the details, could so easily come to harm.

An image of him lying still and cold flashed through her mind. She blinked back tears of terror, then felt silly for letting her emotions run away with her. The mental image brought to mind the homeless man who had looked so much like him. Curious to know if that man's body had been claimed yet, she picked up the receiver once more and dialed down to the basement.

"Hi, this is Rebecca from the ER. I brought you a drug overdose victim over a week ago. Late twenties, with no name. Has anybody claimed him?"

"No, he's still here," said the young tech named TJ.

"I see." She already knew that the body could stay for up to thirty days. Then, if the next of kin still couldn't be found, the state medical examiner would either donate the body to science or hand him over to a funeral home for cremation and a proper burial service. "Don't forget to let me know if someone comes looking for him."

"I won't."

"Thanks." Hanging up, she swallowed the sour taste in her mouth.

Bronco isn't going to die
, she assured herself. SEALs trained long and hard to ensure their own safety in spite of the dangers they faced. He would make it back safe and sound. Question was, when she finally saw him again would she still be living like a prisoner in Max's house? Or would she be free to spend time with him the way she so badly wanted to?

And would he be willing to see her as long as Max was his commander? In any case, nothing could happen until she moved out of her home.

You will rue the day that you mention a divorce to me again.

Max's old threat echoed in her head. What did it mean exactly? Was he capable of inflicting more pain and punishment than he'd ever shown her up to now? All of her life, she'd gone out of her way to avoid conflict—to soothe and help people in distress. By contrast, Max took pleasure in crushing his opponents, in coming out the victor. How far would he go to keep her from leaving him?

And did that matter? After all that Max had put her through and with Bronco cheering her on, she would seem so spineless if she didn't finally defy her husband. All she needed now was a little push.

* * *

Max drew the letter out of his post office box, wondering what the hell had taken it so long to get there. Like the other envelopes from the Scarpas, it was addressed to Rebecca, with no return address. He narrowed his gaze on the circular origination stamp. Virginia Beach, Virginia? The other two letters had come from Bronx, New York. But, then again, Tony Scarpa was probably still in the area, and he'd probably been the one to mail the letter, so that in itself was not suspicious.

The
click-clack
of high heels drew his distracted gaze toward the dark-haired woman walking in from the dusky outdoors. With the service desk closed, she crossed straight to the automated teller. Max would rather have come here on a Sunday, but since he was leaving the country at dawn on Friday, he didn't have much choice. The Scarpas were eager for him to get their next job done. Too bad they would have to wait for him to come back from Cuba. His first allegiance was to Uncle Sam. They had to realize that.

Tucking the letter under his armpit, he secured the box and turned briskly toward the doors, aware that the woman standing in front of the automated teller had glanced his way.

"Max? Is that you?"

He was tempted to ignore the greeting, except that he recognized the voice, and ignoring his neighbor would make their next encounter rather awkward.

He stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. "Susan." He inclined his head briefly.

Dressed in her professional attire—a red silk shirt, black skirt, and four-inch heels—the successful real estate agent exuded sex appeal, especially when she leveled her cat-like gaze on him and smiled a slow, seductive smile.

"How are you?" she purred. The machine beside her spat out a book of stamps, and she leaned way over, thrusting her lush ass behind her while letting her blouse gape.

Max caught a glimpse of her black, satin bra and his blood heated. "Fine," he clipped. While he would love taking her up on her unspoken offer, he wasn't stupid. Fucking his single neighbor wasn't exactly discreet. And it could ruin the reputation he'd fought long and hard to secure. "You?"

"Excellent. You know, it's funny that I should run into you," she mused, fanning herself with the stamps as she sashayed closer. "I ran into Rebecca the other day at Gateway Park. She was there with a man who works for you." She pretended to recollect the name. "Chief Adams, I think it was."

Her announcement hit him squarely in the solar plexus. "You saw them together?"

"Yes," she said with a hard smile. "Good looking man, too, but I wouldn't worry." She laid a consoling hand on his forearm and squeezed it in a silent invitation to take advantage of her consolation. "No one holds a candle to you, Max."

"Thank you. I'll tell her you said hi." Too shaken by her news to manage more small talk, he tugged his arm free and marched out of the post office ahead of her.

Seconds later, he shut himself into his Tahoe, so inflamed by Susan's announcement that he scarcely gave a thought to the letter tucked under his arm. Now that he considered it, Rebecca had come home late from work on both Monday
and
Tuesday evening this past week. She'd told him she'd stayed after for yoga, but was that even true? Or had she been rendezvousing at the park with his chief both evenings?

His blood heated to a simmer, then a rolling boil. My God, was she cheating on him with that cocky playboy? Surely she had more sense than that! He was certain she did, but why had she flagrantly ignored her husband's warning and connected with the chief anyway? She must think herself in love with the man!

That thought engendered an even more awful suspicion—what if she'd relayed her glimpse into Max's Swiss account to Adams? Granted, he'd immediately closed that account, opening a new one with the same company, on the off chance that she'd made a note of his account number. But the thought of his chief even suspecting that he was hoarding money offshore made him queasy. And what if Rebecca mentioned something about their visitor, Tony? Would Adams put two and two together?

Of course not. How could he know who Tony was? Even so, Adams becoming this friendly with his wife was intolerable. He was the CO, God damn it! It had to stop, and it had to stop
now,
before word of Max's erectile dysfunction became common knowledge, making him the laughing stock of the entire team!

He shuddered in dread. Whatever it took, he needed to get that message across to Rebecca, tonight, unequivocally. Her affair with Chief Adams, or whatever the hell she wanted to call it, was
over
.

Reining in his temper, he shifted his thoughts to the letter as he pulled it out from under his arm. A glance through his driver's door showed Susan driving off in her Town Car. Drawing a deep breath, he slit open the envelope. A small newspaper article fluttered into his palm. Somewhere in this article he would learn the identity of his next target. Switching on the interior light, so he could better see it, he read the article with a gathering frown.

By the time he arrived at the end, his skin felt like it had shrunk two sizes.

It was apparent that the homicides being referred to in the article were the two that he had perpetrated. It was also apparent that FBI Special Agent Doug Castle, who'd been pursuing the Scarpas for a decade, suspected they'd hired a sniper with Special Forces training to kill for them. There was no question in Max's mind who his next mark was going to be.