Hard Landing Read online

  Forgetting her fear, she crossed the lot to meet him. They met by the fender of his truck, both of them grinning, uncertain whether to hug or not. The line of stitches on his cheek, visible even in the dusk, made her gasp.

  "You were hurt!" She lifted a hand without thinking to catch his jaw and study the injury.

  "It's only a scratch," Bronco insisted.

  Of its own accord, her thumb stroked his bristled cheek, and a current of awareness arced between them.

  "I'm so glad you're back," she admitted.

  He searched her expression. "Is everything okay? You came in here like a bat out of hell."

  Her fears came rushing back and she dropped her hand to peer behind her. "Max was following me. I lost him at the last intersection, but he might still come this way."

  He sent a startled look toward the entrance to the apartments.

  "Come on in," she invited, grabbing his sleeve and leaving him little choice as she pulled him toward her door. "How do you like the apartment complex?" she asked, releasing him to unlock it.

  "It's nice." He sent an uncomfortable glance over his shoulder. "You might want to leave your light on when you go to work, though. It's getting darker earlier."

  The tension in his voice was unmistakable. She could feel it within herself, as well—an unpredictable charge powering her impulses. Was it adrenaline caused by her close brush with Max? Did that make Brant nervous, as well? Or was he merely wary of being alone with her?

  She flicked on the interior lights, and he followed her inside, studying the layout as she closed and locked the door behind them.

  "Roomy," he said, with a wry look around the nearly empty space.

  "I didn't want to take anything that Max could claim was his. I'll buy new furniture."

  She got the impression he was more concerned about her safety, especially when he crossed to the nearest window and tabbed the blind to look outside.

  Conscious of the medicinal odors rising off her scrubs she added, "Do you mind if I change real quick?"

  His back seemed to stiffen. "Go ahead," he said without turning around.

  "There are beverages in the fridge. Please, help yourself. I'll be right out," she added, edging into her room and shutting the door between them.

  She stripped faster than she'd ever undressed in her life. Having waited for what felt like a lifetime for the chance to be alone with Bronco, she didn't want him getting cold feet and leaving. Finally, after all these months, they could talk freely without being interrupted by Max.

  Talk? Is that really what you want to do?

  Of course, she assured herself. She'd already been down that mental path. A fling with Bronco wasn't anything she wanted or needed.

  Opting for a quick shower, she darted into her bathroom to turn on the water. As she waited for it to warm, she glanced critically at her reflection. The bright-eyed woman with her flushed cheeks and taut nipples seemed to have a mind of her own.

  * * *

  Max drove into an apartment complex named Windsor Gardens. Rebecca had to be there somewhere. By the time he'd turned onto Bonnie Road, her vehicle had disappeared, suggesting she had exited either into an office park or into an apartment complex. The very name of this place would have appealed to her, which convinced him she was here.

  How naïve she was, how stupid, to think that she could live on her own when, truth was, she needed his protection now more than ever.

  This game she had chosen to play would only put her into danger. She was a fool for not standing by her husband, especially when everything he had done was for her—to give her what she deserved. What good would it do her to walk away now—or worse, to undermine his hard-won reputation? In her foolishness, she didn't realize that if he went down, she would go with him. And now he was forced to protect her from herself.

  Tall lamps lit the deep parking lot, revealing well-maintained walkways, flower beds filled with blooming chrysanthemums, and midsized, decent looking cars. Oh, yes, she had to be here; he could sense it. Driving slowly past the first few buildings, he searched for her vehicle.

  Deeper and deeper into the complex he drove, rolling over speed bumps. He was just about to admit defeat when Chief Adams' one-of-a-kind classic Bronco had him jamming on the brakes.

  Aghast, he searched his memory for Adams' address. Didn't the chief and the corpsman live in the same apartment building close to the oceanfront? Indeed, they did, in a complex called Sunrise Apartments. So what was Adams doing here?

  Suspicion sliced him with a razor-sharp edge. He cast his gaze about again, and that was when he saw it—Rebecca's Jetta, peeking out from behind a larger Ford on the far side of the lot. They were both here—together.

  He idled, shock rippling through him, causing him to wring his steering wheel until his knuckles ached. The impulse to plow his vehicle into Adams' pride and joy rode him hard. The playboy chief hadn't wasted a minute reacquainting himself with his CO's wife, had he?

  Which unit was hers? Adams had parked in front of one unit, she in front of another.

  Max peered through the windows of each in hopes of catching a glimpse of her. The lights blinked off in one place, stayed lit in the other, but the drawn blinds hampered his view.

  Even in his rage, he realized how unwise it was to confront her when he was angry. What's more, he would have Adams to contend with if he knocked down her door. Jealousy goaded him to unleash the beast inside him. But attacking Adams in front of his wife would only cast doubt onto his character, undermining his own interests.

  But envy gnawed at him, keeping him from motionless. With a nickname like Bronco, Adams clearly didn't need a pill to get hard. He envisioned them in bed together, laughing at Max's impairment. His face burned with humiliation. Had Rebecca already told the chief about her husband's money sitting in a foreign account? Was Adams hoping he might end up getting some of it?

  Damn it! If only the man had died on the last op. Alive, he posed a very serious threat to both Max's marriage and his reputation. On her own, Rebecca wouldn't dare to cast aspersions on her husband, but with Adams egging her on? That was a different story.

  He needed to die.

  The solution popped into Max's head like a clown out of a jack-in-the-box.

  God damn it, he had enough on his plate planning the assassination of the FBI special agent. But what choice had Rebecca left him? The only way to safeguard his reputation was to eliminate Adams once and for all.

  A sneer curled Max's upper lip as he made up his mind.

  Chapter 10

  Brant flicked the light switch, plummeting Becca's living room into darkness. I should never have come over here. Without a doubt, the vehicle idling in the parking lot and spotlighting his Bronco with its headlights was his CO's Tahoe.

  Counting every beat of his heart, he waited for Max to make a move. One thing was certain; if the man got out of his truck, he'd be armed, and Brant had left his Sig Sauer pistol stowed under the seat of his Bronco, out of his immediate reach. He'd be at a serious disadvantage.

  He tensed as the Tahoe's engine revved, but then it backed up, and Max drove away. Brant gave a long exhale, let go of the blind, and swiped a hand over his eyes.

  That was close. The shit hadn't hit the fan tonight, but it was definitely coming.

  Crossing toward the galley-style kitchen, he turned on the light there and looked around. The simple lock on the rear door prompted him to unlock it and take a peek outside. A small patio surrounded by flowerbeds gave way to a grassy alley and a privacy fence separating her apartment building from the office complex behind it. If anyone were going to break in, they'd do it through the back door, running out the same way.

  Relocking the door, he turned toward the cabinets and hunted up an empty glass. Filling it with tap water, he chugged it down while pondering what Max would do next. He'd probably go straight to the repair shop to find and destroy his laptop.

  The thought had him putting down his empty glass with a thud. />
  Given what Hack had told Brant about Max's activities recorded in his user profile, Max would freak when he realized that his Dell was gone.

  The bedroom door gave a sudden squeak, and Rebecca emerged in a pair of jeans that hugged her trim figure and a lace blouse that highlighted her modest breasts. Combing her damp hair with her fingers, she struck him as fresh and clean and uncorrupted. The sweet smile that lit up her face immediately chased away his dark thoughts. She had no idea how close her evening had come to turning ugly.

  "Sorry about that," she apologized. "Someone threw up on me today. I was afraid you'd smell it." As she walked his way, she glanced up at the light he'd extinguished. Stepping over to her mantle, she flicked a switch that caused flames to leap in her fireplace. Amber light licked over her walls finding reflection in the pretty candle holders on the mantle. "This is my favorite thing about the place," she added, keeping the overhead light off.

  Brant found his tongue in knots. The fire's glow made her skin appear translucent. The romantic ambiance both unsettled and hypnotized him.

  "Did you find something to drink?" she inquired, her gaze falling to his empty glass.

  "I had some water."

  She clicked her tongue and eased past him to open the refrigerator. A clean, peppermint scent trailed in her wake, causing his awareness of the environment to shrink to the dimensions of the small kitchen.

  "I can do better than that."

  As she bent to peer into the refrigerator, his gaze slid to the small, firm contours of her heart-shaped bottom, and his mouth went dry. "This bottle of Chardonnay has been chilling for days. Share it with me?" She straightened to send him a guileless look.

  Brant regarded the bottle in her hands. Drinking wine would rob him of his self-control. It might very well lead to what Max already assumed was going on between them.

  "Sure," he heard himself reply.

  Hey, if I'm going to be condemned for something I haven't done, what difference does it make? argued the devil inside him. But concern that he would hurt her in the end made him throttle back his eagerness.

  "How about you open it while I throw some dinner together?" She set the bottle on the counter along with a corkscrew. Turning back to the refrigerator, she produced fresh fish fillets wrapped in plastic and a bag of green beans. "Are you hungry?"

  "Starving." He popped out the cork, found two long-stemmed glasses, and poured them both a glass. It felt like the prelude to a long-awaited date.

  This is not a date. He reminded himself that he had something to tell her.

  "Thank you." Her chestnut gaze met his, keeping the words locked in his throat, as she took the glass he offered her. Then she turned her attention to preparing their meal. "I hope you like fish," she said, freeing tilapia fillets from their plastic wrapping.

  "I like all seafood."

  Her dimples flashed as she snapped on the oven.

  Reluctant to sour her mood by sharing his discovery, he decided his announcement could wait until their dinner was over. He watched her pull out a colander and rinse the green beans. What subject was safe to touch upon? His recent mission was strictly off limits. He doubted she wanted to hear of his failed attempt to get laid last night, so he kept quiet and pondered the sensual yet comfortable undercurrent running between them. It felt good to be here in her home, just hanging out.

  As he savored his first sips of wine, she set the fish in a shallow baking dish and drizzled it with olive oil. The wine—buttery with a perfect balance of sweet and tart—ran in a cool river down his throat, hit his empty stomach, and flooded him with warmth. He felt himself relaxing, enjoying her graceful competence.

  "I'm making this too easy on you," she observed. "Here." She handed him a knife, handle end first. "Cut the ends off the green beans for me, please?"

  "Sure." He'd never done that before, but he could wield a knife with lethal precision.

  She made room at the sink for him. "Drop them into the disposal and put the good pieces in the steamer," she instructed helpfully.

  He followed her directions carefully, pleased with himself when she praised his work.

  "Do you always eat this healthy?" He already figured she did, but he had to say something.

  "Well, I'm not a fanatic about it, but I prefer whole foods over processed ones and, of course, organic, if I can get it."

  Hence her trim little figure, he thought, his sidelong gaze skimming over her curves to her bare feet. At the sight of her hot pink-painted toenails, his heart skipped a beat.

  His elbow brushed hers unintentionally, and awareness licked over him, shortening his breath. As he continued his paring, she garnished the fish with salt and other spices.

  It wasn't until she slipped the fish under the oven's broiler and placed the green beans on the stove to steam that she brought up the reason for her invitation.

  "So," she said, putting her back against the counter and picking up her glass. A sudden frown muted her inner glow. "Something happened last weekend while the task unit was away."

  He braced himself for what she might tell him. It couldn't be any worse than what he had to tell her.

  "Remember that New Yorker I told you about, the one Max had thrown out of the house?"

  A bad feeling rolled through him. "The guy named Tony who said you'd meet again someday," he recalled.

  "Oh, we met again, all right."

  His tension edged suddenly higher. Considering whom Max associated with online, what were the odds that Tony was exactly what he seemed—a mobster?

  "He abducted me by hiding in the back of my car. With a gun to my head, he ordered me to drive to his BMW, which was parked at a dead end in my old neighborhood."

  Brant slammed his glass down nearly breaking the stem. Alarm scorched his nervous system. "Are you okay? What the hell happened?"

  She wrung her hands and kept quiet, causing him to fear the worst.

  "Becca!" he exclaimed.

  "They didn't hurt me. All they did was bind my wrists and ankles and take a picture of me. I had to tell them Max's cell phone number. Then they sent him my picture along with their demands."

  "What were their demands?"

  She shrugged. "I don't know. But he must have agreed to them because they cut me free, put me back in my car, and drove off."

  Oh, honey. He barely caught himself from blurting the endearment. "Did you call the cops?"

  "No." Her head swung back and forth. "No, they said I wouldn't be so lucky next time, and I'd rather not find out what that means."

  "Christ, Becca." He didn't plan on hugging her, but what else could he do? She looked so small and vulnerable that he closed the distance between them and pulled her to his chest. Her soft, scented warmth sank against him; her head fitted so neatly under his chin that he was struck by the thought that she was made for him. But then he felt her trembling.

  Damn Max for mixing her up in his shady business! "You must have been scared to death."

  "I was." She drew away reluctantly. "Here, I'll show you what Tony looks like." Crossing to a kitchen drawer, she withdrew a sheet of paper and handed it to Brant.

  He found himself regarding a detailed portrait of a swarthy, broad-faced male in his thirties. "Wow, this is amazing. You can really draw," he marveled.

  "Thanks."

  "Is this a good likeness of him?"

  "Pretty close," she said with a nod. She looked up at him with wide eyes. "So, what do you think? Max has money in a foreign account, and he knows people who used me to blackmail him for something. Do we have enough evidence to report him to NCIS?"

  Brant drew a tight breath. She'd banished the comfortable, uncomplicated atmosphere with her news. Now it was his turn to share what he'd learned. "Yeah, we have enough."

  He dreaded even bringing it up. From here on out, everything was going to change. He and Rebecca could never go back to simply being friends. For one thing, Max probably already assumed that they were more. For another, it wasn't going to be pleasa
nt trying to pull him off his high-and-mighty pedestal.

  "Hack did find something on Max's laptop," he announced.

  Her face reflected dread. "What was it?"

  He took another fortifying gulp of wine and put the glass down more gently this time. "Max frequented a black market website that goes by the name Silk Road. You can get to it only by going through a dot onion, which is a kind of pseudo domain used by criminals to hide their traffic. Hack tried to explain it to me, but most of it was over my head. Basically, Max was looking for a way to make money."

  Her lips parted in astonishment, but she didn't say a word.

  "Hack says he came across a cached application form that Max had filled out. Someone was looking to hire a bodyguard to perform security detail." He put air quotes around the last two words, giving them emphasis.

  "Oh my God. Then the sniper described in that newspaper clipping—that was Max! He's killed two people for the mob already?"

  "We don't know that," Brant countered, tempering her conclusion. "But we can't discount the possibility."

  "Well, if he did, then the FBI is looking for him. We could take our suspicions to them."

  "We could. Or to NCIS."

  Her eyes glazed over as she lapsed into thought. "That's where all the money came from," she considered out loud. "It wasn't an inheritance. He was paid by the mob, who deposited his payment in an offshore account so the government would never find out."

  "According to Hack, Emile Victor DuPonte isn't considered a legitimate investment firm. The Swiss government doesn't recognize it."

  Her expression hardened. "Because it's used by thugs," she guessed.

  He scratched his healing stitches while thoughts rolled around in his mind. "But why did the mob have to grab you if Max willingly works for them?"

  She shrugged. "I have no idea. Maybe they're asking too much from him. Maybe he's afraid the law is on to him and he wanted to quit. Whatever the reason, he must have agreed to their terms, or they wouldn't have let me go."