Hard Landing (25 page)

"I understand," she murmured, thoroughly humiliated.

Mrs. Shultz studied her notes a moment then looked up at her again and nodded. "Well, I think that's all I need for now. Thank you for coming in on such short notice."

"Wait." Rebecca gripped the arms of her chair and sat forward. "You
are
going to initiate an Article 32, aren't you?" She suffered the suspicion that, for lack of evidence, NCIS might just wash their hands of the matter.

Ben Metier laid a reassuring hand over hers. "Under normal circumstances, it would have taken place already," he explained. "But then Commander McDougal would be well aware that he was being investigated and, due to the nature of these allegations, we think it best that he remain unapprised while we review the evidence."

They don't believe me.
Her hopes for a future resolution sank, along with her heart.

As if sensing her dismay, Metier added, "I'm sure you're not aware of this, but the military judge doesn't make a final decision whether to dismiss the case or refer it to General Court-Martial. He writes up a recommendation and gives it to your husband's senior commanding officer—Admiral Johansen, leaving the disposition of the case up to him."

Understanding dawned, making Rebecca suddenly queasy. "Max is good friends with the admiral," she whispered. "They play golf together every other week."

Metier sent her a tight smile. "Indeed." He squeezed her hand and let go. "All the more reason to strengthen our case before the hearing."

Rebecca put a hand to her forehead. How long would that take—weeks? Months? Could she survive all that time without Bronco speaking to her?

Maya Schultz stood up, reached across her desk and offered her a brief but firm handshake. "We'll be in touch," she promised, letting her partner usher Rebecca to the door.

Moving down the hall on leaden feet, Rebecca considered the matter from the investigators' standpoint. Max was more than just a Navy SEAL commander. He was a Bronze Star recipient with an impeachable service record, who counted untold members of the upper brass—men like Admiral Johansen—as his friends. With his off shore account gone, it was impossible to prove that she had ever seen it in the first place. Without proof of that account, Maya Schulz had no way of showing to a military judge that Max had been paid by the mob—let alone that he had killed for them. From the outside looking in, the allegations seemed ridiculous.

The nonslip tread on her nurse's shoes squeaked noisily as she made her way to the elevator, her eyes downcast. A figure springing out of the central staircase startled her into looking up. The unexpected sight of Bronco striding toward her in his BDUs sent her heart winging toward the stratosphere, only to falter like a bird with a broken wing.

He had already recognized her, his stride slowing. The mix of longing and regret, so apparent in his face, kept her heart from hitting the earth and breaking into pieces. With a firming of his mouth, he continued doggedly in her direction. She saw right away that the cut on his face was healing nicely, the stitches gone. As soon as they were close enough, he grabbed her with both hands and hauled her into a crushing embrace.

"Becca," he exclaimed on a tortured whisper.

The hurt she had carried around for days evaporated in the face of his warmth. She let it go, encircling his lean waist, dropping her head onto his shoulder, and muffling a whimper of relief against the fabric of his jacket.

Home again
, she thought—at least for as long as he allowed it.

* * *

Brant buried his nose in Rebecca's shiny hair. His voice had gotten stuck somewhere between his fast-beating heart and his dry mouth. He breathed in her peppermint scent until his head spun. In spite of all reason, he couldn't bring himself to loosen his grip. He kept her locked against him, grateful that she was hugging him back and not kicking him in the groin.

"I've missed you so much," he heard himself confess, ignoring the voice that raged,
No, no, no!
You are not supposed to say that.

But the pleasure that lit up her face as she tipped back her head and looked him in the eye kept him from regretting his words.

"I've missed you, too," she said. Tears of happiness and hurt commingled, sparkling on her lower lashes.

He sought some glib excuse for ignoring her since their blissful night together. Nothing came to mind. "I'm so sorry," he ground out.

She blinked to keep her tears from falling. "You don't have to apologize."

"The hell I don't." Her acceptance made him inexplicably furious. "The hell I
don't
," he repeated, hating himself more with every passing second. "You deserve so much better than what I can give you," he managed, hoping she could read between the lines and glean what he really meant—that he wasn't even
boyfriend
material, let alone the steady kind of man she deserved.

"Why do you say that?" she asked earnestly.

"Because it's true."

He longed to explain that he'd spent his entire adult life trying to do the right thing by keeping his distance, only with her it didn't feel like the right thing. But giving her any reason to hope for a future for them would be heartless because from everything he'd learned about himself he was, in fact, the spitting image of his father.

But all of that was way too complicated to explain, and kissing her was so much easier.

Crushing his mouth to hers, he groaned out loud at the bliss that the simple connection of their lips engendered. Her kiss was like the first day of spring after an endless Montana winter, warming and thawing him.

Pulling her soft curves closer, he expected her to resist him, but she didn't. She offered herself up like a flower opening its petals to the sun. Out the corner of his eye, he spotted a petite blonde exiting an office door at the end of the hallway. She took one look at them, turned on her heels, and disappeared back into her office.

Brant didn't care. He drowned in Rebecca's kiss while telling himself,
I'll stop soon
.

The sweet glide of her tongue sparked the memory of their lovemaking. Immediately and forcefully, the blood rushed from his head through his heart to his groin. If they'd been standing by a closet or a private room, he wouldn't have the willpower not to pull her into it and lose himself in her sweetness.

Luckily, she came to her senses before he lost complete control. Breaking off the kiss, she pulled back to regard him. Bright bands of color streaked across her cheeks. Her breasts rose and fell as if she'd run a race, and a light of discovery shone in her wide, chestnut eyes.

"I love you," she declared.

The world went utterly quiet. There were only her words and nothing else, floating into his ears and around his head like doves looking for somewhere to roost.

"No matter what you do or don't do," she continued in a husky but earnest voice, "nothing is going to change that fact. I expect nothing in return." She shook her head. "I just love you. It's that simple, Bronco."

"Okay." His paralyzed brain seemed incapable of firing.

Is that all you have to say to her, shit bird?

Not a single, coherent response leaped to his tongue. It took the roar of a fighter jet taking off in the field out back to recall him to where he was and what he was doing.

Rebecca sent him a slow, poignant smile, went on tiptoe, and pressed a lingering kiss to the cut healing on his cheek. "I'll see you soon," she promised.

Slipping out of his grasp, she walked away, her shoulders back, her head held high. She didn't even sneak a backward glance as she stepped into the elevator, disappearing from his view as the doors closed behind her.

He listened to the pulleys hum as the elevator delivered her to the lower level. And still, he didn't move, could barely remember how to breathe.

I just love you. It's that simple, Bronco.

One summer, when he was nine, he had climbed to the top of Tweedy Mountain all by himself. The sun was shining, and a warm breeze buffeted his face. He'd felt something cold touch his cheek. Looking up, he'd realized it was snowing, in July! Of course, he'd seen it snow in the higher altitudes plenty of times after that, but the amazement he had felt then was the closest thing that came to what he was feeling right now.

I expect nothing in return.

Her addendum drew his eyebrows together. That couldn't be true. All women had expectations—as they very well ought to, especially Rebecca, whose father had taken off when she was a young teen. Of all the women in the world, she deserved to have a man she could rely on, who could promise to love her for the rest of her life. Not a guy like him.

He reached for the wall, needing it to steady himself.

Never once had he envisioned making eternal promises to any woman. What had kept him uninvolved was the certainty that he would break his word and in the process break a woman's heart. But he was too involved now to backpedal. And he had only himself to blame, having spent as much time with her as he had, causing their affections to deepen, and her to conclude that she loved him.

And yet, he could think of nothing more amazing than sweet, giving Rebecca loving a silver-tongued cowboy like himself. Astonishment kept him in a trance. He didn't deserve her kind of love, no more than his father had deserved his mother's. Closing his eyes, he expelled a harsh breath.

You cannot let her down.

Chapter 14

Rebecca stared at the kaleidoscope of light and shadow shifting across the wall closest to her bed. Even though she had volunteered to work over the weekend—anything to keep her mind off her present misery—sleep eluded her again tonight.

Reliving her encounter with Bronco two days earlier, she wondered as she had the previous sleepless night if it had been a mistake to admit her feelings for him. Her confession had so obviously astounded him. He certainly hadn't rushed to reciprocate her feelings, nor had he called or texted her in the hours and days that followed. And, still, her stubborn heart refused to believe he didn't love her in return, not when his feverish kiss had told her that he did. He simply didn't
want
to love her. Or was she only fooling herself into believing that?

With a whimper of longing, she rolled onto her back. The fierceness with which he'd held her, the heat of his kiss, and the unmistakable hardening of his sex had all suggested that he wanted to be with her. Yet he still kept his distance. Granted, there were valid reasons why he ought to, not the least of which was the fact that his commander could destroy his career or even arrange for some terrible accident to befall him.

Fear sliced through her. She sat up abruptly in bed, her heart pounding as the thought crossed her mind again that Max was behaving too passively these days. Aside from the one night he had loitered briefly in the parking lot in front of her apartment, he'd respected her expressed wish for no contact. He'd stayed away from the hospital. He hadn't called her on her cell phone even though he knew her new number. It wasn't like him to be so complacent.

Had she actually succeeded in persuading him that Bronco
wasn't
her lover?

Not likely. Max was suspicious by nature, not gullible. It was far more likely that he'd contrived a plan of his own which consoled him for the time being. He didn't mind giving Rebecca time and space because he was confident that he was going to get her back in the end... by eliminating the competition.

"Oh God." The seemingly paranoid fear which she'd harbored for some time now morphed into a certainty.

Lunging for her cell phone, she noted the time. Bronco was likely asleep at just after midnight. After all, SEALs worked half a day on Saturday, and he wouldn't want to exhaust himself. She dialed his number hoping he would answer regardless of the time.

"Please pick up, please pick up," she canted, but his phone went right to voice mail, letting her know that he'd turned it off. But—wait—that made no sense. Frogmen were on call 24/7. They weren't allowed to turn off their phones.

"Hey, it's me," she said, following the instructions to leave a message. "Is everything okay?" She paused to collect her thoughts. "I can't shake this feeling that Max is going to target you, like he threatened to do once before, remember? Please, tell me he hasn't done it already. Why aren't you answering? If you need to transfer to a different team to get away from him, then do it. Do it before he hurts you." She paused to catch her breath. "I guess that's it. What I told you the other day—it's true, Bronco, and it always will be."