Hard Landing (17 page)

Hurry!

She accelerated sharply, weaving around the car in front of her. Was it safe to head straight home? Did she have enough of a lead to get there without being seen?

Her heart hammered against her breast bone. Hoping the trees in the median and the deepening dusk would camouflage her movements, she turned into Windsor Gardens and raced toward the back of the parking lot, flying over speed bumps at a rate she would normally frown upon.

But Max wasn't stupid. If he didn't see her anywhere on Bonnie Road, he would likely double back to search the area. No need to lead him straight to her front door. She zipped into a space several units down. As she clambered from her car and hurried toward her apartment, she realized that the red and white truck parked in front of it was Bronco's. There he was getting out of it, causing her heart to race for an entirely different reason.

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.