Hard Landing

by Marliss Melton

  He sent her a small smile. For a moment, they regarded each other with silent understanding. Then, knowing the time had come, Rebecca reached into her pocket and pulled out the folded envelope.

  "Max has been using my old post office box without me knowing. I saw him swing by there on Sunday, so yesterday I got a copy of the key and checked the box for myself. I think he was looking for this."

  Curiosity flashed in Brant's eyes as he took her offering, pulled out the article and perused it. She studied his expression with a held breath. A crease appeared between his eyebrows, and her stomach started to churn. She saw him arrive at the end and return to the beginning to read it a second time. He then examined the envelope, noting the lack of return address, her name in the center, and the origination stamp next to the postage. When he finally looked up at her, his eyes appeared darker.

  "Well," she prompted. "Do you think Max could be working for the Scarpas?"

  He gave a short laugh. "No way." He put the article back inside the envelope and shook his head. "That's absurd. He would never do that."

  Now that she'd had a night to think about it, she wasn't so sure. "Not even to get out of debt? We owed forty-five thousand dollars on top of our regular mortgage, and suddenly that's all paid off. How did that happen?"

  "Have you asked him that?"

  She nodded. "Right after the Labor Day party. He told me some great uncle he'd never heard of died and left him fifty thousand dollars, and he immediately used that sum to pay off the equity line."

  "How convenient," Bronco drawled.

  "Isn't it, though? I then asked Max if he had any paperwork showing that the sum was an inheritance so we didn't get taxed on it, and he said he already gave it to our accountant."

  "It's not even close to tax time," Bronco observed.

  "Exactly."

  His troubled gaze fell to the clipping. "You mind if I make a copy of this?" he asked.

  She wondered what for, if he didn't think Max was the shooter. "Go ahead," she agreed. "I've already myself a copy."

  "If you want, I'll put the original in a new envelope and stick it in the mail tonight. That way, Max will get it by tomorrow. Hopefully he won't notice that it was sorted in Virginia Beach and not the Bronx."

  "Okay, thank you," she agreed, more than happy to hand off the task. "Should I show my copy to my lawyer on Monday?"

  He started to shake his head. "This is heavy stuff, Becca. Let me pass it by Bullfrog first—you know, Jeremiah?—and maybe Master Chief Kuzinsky to get their opinions. Do you mind if I do that?"

  Nervousness fizzed in her as she considered the series of events she would be setting into motion if she agreed. She hadn't wanted anyone but Bronco knowing about Max's secrets, but they were looking bigger than either one of them had suspected. And what choice did she have it she wanted Max to get ultimately convicted?

  She nodded slowly. "Okay, then."

  They stood for several seconds contemplating each other. Her senses felt curiously heightened, so much so that she could hear a cricket rubbing its legs together in the grass nearby and smell the faint, sweet fragrance of the leaves sloughing overhead.

  "What if we get Max into trouble and he has nothing to do with what's in the article?" she asked, articulating her biggest fear.

  "It would be nice to know one way or the other wouldn't it, though?" he countered.

  "I guess so."

  His eyes suddenly narrowed. "Hey, didn't you say his laptop got a virus and it's in the shop?"

  "Yes."

  "Is it still there?"

  She wondered where he was going with this. "As far as I know."

  "Think you could get a hold of it?"

  Her stomach lurched at the request. "Why?"

  "Maybe there's something incriminating on it that would give us an answer. I bet, even with a virus, Hack could search the hard drive and find out what kinds of websites Max was visiting."

  She pictured the repair shop situated near her neighborhood. It wouldn't be all that hard to march in and ask to have Max's laptop back. But how long before he did the same thing and found out that she'd taken it? Plus, Hack would have to be brought into their small circle which was growing to the size of a jury.

  "I don't know, Bronco." She wrung her hands as she thought it through.

  "It's up to you," he assured her, but his blue gaze urged her to be brave.

  She couldn't prove that Max was guilty of criminal behavior without evidence. "Fine," she agreed, swallowing her nervousness.

  Some distance away, a stick snapped drawing their attention. Bronco reached for her elbow and pulled her into motion again, and a tingle of pleasure skated up her arm. To her disappointment, he promptly released her.

  Side by side, they continued following the trail which curved back toward the pavilion.

  "I guess you're pretty scared," he guessed, after they'd walked fifty yards or more. "I can imagine what it's like living with Max."

  Glancing over, she found him studying her profile. She nodded and considered her quandary. "How will the task unit function if his own men suspect that he's a crook? I don't want to undermine the team's effectiveness."

  "I promise we'll still consider him our leader unless we find something really incriminating," he assured her. "Just take care of yourself, okay?" Throwing an arm over her shoulders, he caught her off guard as he pulled her into a quick embrace.

  Delight shot to every extremity of Rebecca's body. She found herself embracing him back, while marveling out how neatly she fit beneath his arm and against his side. The warmth and camaraderie sparked a sudden longing for his touch. But then he released her, and she had to avert her face to hide her disappointment. "Thank you," she managed.

  They broke from the tree line at the same time that a fit brunette stepped out from under the gazebo and into the mellow sunlight. Her gaze spanned the open space and recognition lit her sculpted face. Her eyes flickered at once to Brant.

  "It's Susan," Rebecca muttered, dismay slowing her step.

  Bronco kept quiet as they continued their casual progress, intercepting the woman's path. Dressed in spandex running shorts and a halter top, it was apparent Susan was about to go for a jog. She took a detailed inventory of the man in uniform as she approached them.

  "Hello, Rebecca." She came to full stop. "Enjoying a walk after work?"

  "Just catching up with an old friend." With little ability to lie, Rebecca opted for the truth.

  Susan's expectant smile forced her to make an introduction. She gestured to Bronco. "This is Chief Adams, who works with Max." She paused and turned. "My neighbor, Susan."

  "Such a pleasure." Susan clung to the hand Bronco politely offered. "Well." She widened her eyes at Rebecca as she finally let it drop. "Better get in my run. See you." With a waggle of her fingers, she stepped around them and took off down the path.

  "Bye," Rebecca called. She glanced up at Brant's shadowed gaze. "I am so sorry." Her stomach had begun to knot.

  "Not your fault," he assured her, but his tone sounded grim. "Is she a gossip?"

  "The worst," she admitted.

  "Guess we shouldn't meet for a while."

  She nodded, staring anywhere but at him. The thought of not seeing him sat heavy on her heart. Either way, Max was bound to get word of their encounter.

  "Call me when you've got the laptop," he added gently. He chucked her under the chin, surprising her and forcing her head up so she was forced to look him in the eye. "I'm still here," he added and sent her a reassuring wink.

  And then he walked away, vanishing behind a hedge.

  A weak smile lifted the drooping edges of her mouth as she beheld his quick disappearance. How sweet of him to encourage her. But their run-in with Susan had wrecked her afternoon, if not her whole week. The woman thrived on gossip and never bothered to hide her admiration for the Navy SEAL commander. It wouldn't take Susan long to inform Max about his wife's tryst in the park with the handsome chief. If Max had been serious ab
out his threat—and there was no doubt in Rebecca's mind that he was—then Bronco was now in danger.

  After everything else that had happened this past week, Rebecca might be better off packing up and moving out, giving up her quest to find grounds for divorce. Perhaps if she left him, Max would forget about threatening Bronco and come after her instead.

  * * *

  Brant pounded out pushups in the corner of the gym. He'd arrived too late to participate in Bullfrog's Jujitsu class; furthermore, the concentration he needed for the class had been shattered by the article Rebecca had given him. He had dismissed himself from class with a wave and worked on his own routine in the corner.

  Sweat dripped off his forehead into his right eye. He scarcely felt it over the fire raging in his imagination. What, if anything, did the two homicides attributed to the mob have to do with Max? Why had someone sent him that article in the first place? Was it merely a matter of professional interest, or was someone trying to send Max a message?

  Down, up. Down, up.

  He pushed himself to complete fifty Hindu pushups while keeping one eye trained on the television in the lobby. On the Weather Channel, the forecaster predicted the likeliest paths for the hurricane barreling across the Atlantic, headed toward Central America. The favored path showed it passing over Cuba. If that happened, Brant's task force would go wheels up in a day or two to execute a mission for which they'd been training the better part of a year.

  And wouldn't that suck? he thought with a weight in his chest. Not only would he have to leave Rebecca behind, but he'd be working more closely with Max than ever.

  Conversation on the other side of the room signaled the end of Bullfrog's class. Several students lingered, as usual, to ask their sensei questions and to socialize. With a worried glance in Brant's direction, Bullfrog managed to excuse himself and break away. Approaching Brant in his bare feet, he crouched next to him.

  Brant's arms gave out without warning. Collapsing onto his stomach, he turned his head to meet his friend's intent gaze. "Take a look in the side pocket of my gym bag," he requested. "Go ahead and read what's in the envelope."

  He rolled to a seated position, wiping his dripping face with a towel as Bullfrog followed his directions and perused the article. He only read it once, with swiftness that engendered Brant's envy since he already knew his friend hadn't missed a single detail.

  "What is this?" Bullfrog demanded with a quizzical look.

  Brant glanced around. Apart from one remaining student, the dojo stood empty. "Max has been using Rebecca's old post office box without her knowledge. Clearly, someone sent it to him, while addressing it to her. So, what do you think? Why would anyone send that to him in the first place?"

  Trouble brewed in Bullfrog's hazel eyes as he skimmed the article a second time. "Does he know she has this?"

  "Hell, no. I'm going to make a copy tonight and remail the original. But tell me what you think. Why would someone send that to Max?"

  Bullfrog cut Brant a censorial look. "You don't actually think Max is working for the mob," he said, but his statement sounded more like a question.

  "I don't know," Brant replied. "Why does Max own a Swiss investment account with fifty thousand dollars in it?"

  Bullfrog stared back at him, not answering.

  "Why is some creep named Tony paying him unwanted visits at his house? And why is Mad Max using Rebecca's old mailbox, getting anonymous mail that originated in Bronx, New York?"

  Bullfrog examined the envelope more closely, his nostrils flaring. "The CO would have to betray everything we stand for if he's involved in this." He shook his head and looked up. "Max would never risk his reputation."

  That was true. Max's status as a SEAL commander meant everything to him. "Yeah, but we all know he lives above his means. Maybe his debts got so big that they threatened his image as a guy who has it all together, and he compromised his integrity for the sake of the almighty dollar."

  Bullfrog dropped the envelope back in Brant's bag and pushed to his feet. "I know what's wrong with you," he declared suddenly.

  Brant raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

  "You're suffering from a severe case of lackanookie, and it's affecting your reasoning." He held out a dinner-plate-sized hand, helping Brant up alongside him.

  The made-up malady made Brant laugh. Surprisingly, he felt good about the fact that he'd deprived himself, first with Bethany, then with Rebecca's lookalike. "Honestly, I haven't even thought about sex," he retorted, except in his dreams of Rebecca, which were increasing in frequency and had taken on decidedly sexual overtones.

  Bullfrog issued a skeptical grunt. His gaze went past Brant's shoulder to the meteorologist predicting Cuba's utter devastation at the hands of Hurricane Ishmael. "My intuition says we're going wheels up this weekend," he predicted.

  Brant groaned his annoyance. "Fuck your intuition, man."

  Chapter 6

  Butterflies swarmed Rebecca's stomach as she edged into the computer repair shop. It had taken all day yesterday to work up the courage to retrieve Max's old lap top. Peeking into her own post office box was one thing. Giving Max's laptop to Bronco so that Hack could probe its history was tantamount to sabotaging the team's cohesiveness.

  She should never have agreed to this, except she needed to know if her suspicions about Max were completely unfounded. What if, in her desperation to find grounds to leave him, she was just imagining he was up to something illegal?

  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.