Hard Landing (28 page)

The woman touched her fingertips to her lips. "We may need you to make this assertion in a court of law," she warned.

Intrigued, he gave a nod.

"It is imperative that we speak with the patient the minute he regains consciousness."

"
If
he regains consciousness," he corrected her. "I must caution you, too, that he may have suffered brain damage. He may not make a very good witness."

Her mouth firmed. "I understand. Still, we absolutely must speak to him the instant he awakens."

"I'll see to it that Nurse Kelly calls you first," he agreed.

"Thank you," she said, rising in advance of her companion. It was clear that, between the two of them, she was the one who called the shots. "We'll be in touch, doctor."

* * *

Max looked up from his desk at the Spec Ops building. It was all he could do to keep his mind on matters involving the task unit when he had yet to hear whether his effort to eliminate Chief Adams had succeeded. Then, too, the Scarpas were pressuring him via Google chat to hurry up and eliminate his next target.

For the tenth time that day, he checked his silent cell phone, hoping for a message. Chief Adams should be dead already. Nearly five hours had passed since First Class Winters had left a message on his commander's voicemail explaining that Adams had been rushed to the hospital.

Desirous of an update, Max dialed his master chief directly.

Kuzinsky answered right away. "I'm on my way back to Spec Ops now, sir."

Max's heart hammered. "What's the news?"

After a split second's hesitation, the master chief responded, "He's hanging in there."

Trepidation skidded through Max. Adams should be long dead by now. How the hell was he hanging in there considering the concentrated dose he'd been given?

"Has he regained consciousness?" The fear that he'd wake up spewing accusations bathed him in a cold sweat.

"No, sir. Doctor says he's still critical. I'll get a call if anything changes."

"I see. You'll keep me informed?"

"Of course, sir." Kuzinsky hung up on him.

Max lowered his phone with a frown. Were the vibes he'd been getting lately from his right-hand man real or just a product of his imagination? Kuzinsky had no reason to suspect he had anything to do with Adams' overdose. They'd worked together tirelessly for going on two years. But what if Adams had conveyed Rebecca's suspicions to his master chief? Surely her suspicions alone wouldn't sway Kuzinsky's opinion of him.

I'm imagining things
, he assured himself.

Swiping a hand over his clammy brow, he put his phone away. Adams was dead or as good as dead. It had to be that way. Max had bigger fish to fry, but he couldn't even begin working on a plan to off the FBI agent until he knew for certain that his efforts to clean house had succeeded.

Plus, it was hard to strategize while Rebecca had possession of his laptop.

"Not for long," he muttered to himself. The gangsters he had hired on Silk Road had promised to leave the laptop at the drop by midnight, where they'd collect the remainder of their payment.

Clearing his mind, he sought to finish up his work related to the task unit. Retaining his reputation as a top-notch commander meant everything to him—yet, that was becoming increasingly difficult with all these loose ends that needed tying up.

* * *

"You sure you'll be okay? Maybe you should try to sleep."

Bullfrog's concerned expression caused the tears Rebecca had repressed all day to surface suddenly. They'd gone out to a late lunch—early supper, really. Neither of them had eaten much. As weary as she felt, she doubted she'd nap at all, knowing that her
husband
had attempted to murder Bronco.

If he died in ICU—she couldn't stand to even think about it—she would never forgive herself for involving him in Max's secret. Turning toward her kitchen, she forced herself to nod, even as her face crumpled and the tears started to flow.

The door of her apartment closed softly. Sniffing first, she looked over to find Bullfrog locking her door from the inside. He hadn't left, after all. "Bronco would never forgive me if I left you alone right now," he explained. "Do you have any books or a board game?"

Sending him a wan smile, she wiped her face on a dishtowel and went to retrieve a handful of thrillers she had brought with her when she'd left Max.

For the next two hours, they lay on her living room floor, alternately dozing and staring sightlessly at pages that failed to engage them. The sky in the windows went from gold to mauve to black. Rebecca made them both a cup of tea, while stealing a glance at the time on her microwave. In half an hour or so, Nurse Kelly would call them with an update on Bronco's condition.

A knocking at her door had her lowering the mugs onto her kitchen counter and shooting Bullfrog a puzzled glance.

"Expecting someone?" he asked, rolling to his feet. "You want me to answer it?"

The fear that Max had decided to pay her a visit prompted her to nod. "Yes, please."

She edged around the counter as Bullfrog approached the door. He had to stoop in order to peer through the peep hole. "Looks like a woman delivering pizza."

"She must have the wrong unit."

He unlocked the door, pulling it halfway open. Rebecca glimpsed a young, dusky-skinned woman with cornrows in her hair standing beyond him.

"Sorry, we didn't order any pizza," Bullfrog said.

The young woman flung aside the pizza box to point a wicked-looking pistol in Bullfrog's face. "I know that, motherfucker. Back the hell up."

With lightning-quick reflexes, he grasped the weapon, twisting her arm up and back. But then two more men sprang into view—both of them brandishing firearms.

"Let her go!" one of them commanded. "Back inside."

Bullfrog released the weapon and put his hands up. Barrels trained on him, they forced him to retreat into the apartment, and they made their way inside, shutting the door behind them.

Too shocked to move, Rebecca gaped at them.

"How can we help you?" Bullfrog asked them calmly. His taut expression betrayed not a drop of fear.

"You can help us by holdin' still. Don't move." The man with a sawed off shotgun kept it aimed at Bullfrog's chest while his two cronies fanned out searching her apartment.

The woman sauntered up to Rebecca with a sneer of contempt. "Where's all your furniture?" she demanded. "Don't you even got a TV?"

Unable to find her voice, Rebecca shook her head. Her stomach tightened to see the other male stalk into her bedroom.

"Where's your purse?" the woman demanded. Her dark eyes scanned the kitchen. She crossed to a closet and grubbed inside it, coming out with Rebecca's hand bag. Dumping the contents onto the carpet, she dropped to one knee to paw through it.

The man in Rebecca's bedroom leaned out of the door with her jewelry box tucked under one arm. "Where's your computer, bitch?" he demanded.

Bullfrog stood deceptively still, his hands still raised, his gaze focused on no one in particular yet seemingly aware of everything at once. The woman on the floor laid the pistol down as she tore into Rebecca's wallet.

"I... I don't have one." Rebecca's voice quavered, as the woman pocketed her cash.

"Come on, not even a laptop?" the thug scoffed.

"Man, hurry up and find it!" urged the man, holding Bullfrog at bay with his sawed off shotgun.

"No, I don't have a laptop either," Rebecca insisted.

"She's lying," the leader snarled. "Look under the bed, beneath the mattress, in the closet. You got ten seconds!" He shot a wary glance at Bullfrog, whose utter calm clearly disconcerted him.

"I got a cell phone," the woman announced, holding it up with a triumphant smirk.

"No, please!" Rebecca took an involuntary step in her direction. "I need that. I'm waiting for an important phone call."

The ringleader looked her way, and that was all it took. In a flurry of movement too fast for her to make out, Bullfrog kicked the shotgun out of the man's grasp. As it landed at Rebecca's feet, Bullfrog drove the man to his knees, gripping a pressure point on his shoulder. Caught off guard, the woman grabbed for her pistol, but Rebecca had already snatched up the shotgun. She brought it up, adrenaline juggernauting through her veins as she bore down on the woman with a feral growl. "Leave it!" she yelled, before kicking the pistol out of the woman's reach.

By then, the third thief had barreled out of her bedroom holding the jewelry box in one arm, his revolver in the other. As the first man swooned to a faint, Bullfrog seized on the second man's astonishment to deliver a roundhouse kick to his shoulder.

The revolver discharged as it fell to the floor, along with her jewels.
Crack!
A hole appeared in Rebecca's wall where the bullet had imbedded. The second man put up a valiant struggle but, in short order, he joined the first man in the heap on the floor, except that he remained conscious and groaning in agony.

Bullfrog swiped up the fallen weapon. As he patted down the men, collecting another pistol and a switchblade, he looked over at Rebecca, whose death grip on the sawed-off shotgun made her a liability.

"Easy, there," he crooned.

Keeping the revolver trained on the second man, he went to pick up the pistol that Rebecca had kicked to one side. He brought it to her, trading it for the shotgun, which he laid on the kitchen counter. He gestured to the wide-eyed woman still kneeling on the floor.

"Shoot her if she moves," he said to Rebecca. "I'll take that," he added to the woman, who surrendered the cell phone without protest.

Her knees knocking, Rebecca listened to Bullfrog dial 9-1-1 and relay the bizarre episode to the dispatcher. A chilling suspicion splintered her thoughts as she recalled the intruders' determination to find her laptop.

Her gaze strayed over mulish faces. They might seem like ordinary thieves, going after her jewelry, her wallet, and her phone, but finding the laptop had clearly been their chief objective. Was that because electronics were so easy to pawn? Or was it possible that Max had found out that she'd retrieved his Dell from the repair shop, and he had arranged for this robbery to take place?

As they waited for the police to arrive, Rebecca hugged herself to quell her tremors. She sidled up to Bullfrog who stood threateningly over the thugs and whispered, "Why do I think Max was behind this?"

He cut her a speculative glance before considering the thugs at his feet. The one he'd rendered unconscious was just starting to come to. "You want me to find out?" he asked her.

Why not? All SEALs were versed in interrogation techniques. "Go ahead," she invited.

At that instant, her cell phone rang and her heart stopped at the realization that this was the call she'd been waiting for. She took it, withdrawing into the kitchen as Bullfrog began his earnest discussion with the thieves.

"Hi, this is Kelly from ICU at Princess Ann Hospital. Is this Rebecca?"

"Yes." She swallowed against her sudden nausea.

"I'm calling with an update on Mr. Adams. I'm sorry, but there's been no change in his condition. He is still critical but stable."

"No change," Rebecca repeated. She didn't know whether to faint with relief or curse in her frustration.

"I'll call again in four hours," Kelly promised.

Another four torturous hours. "Thank you."

Emerging from the kitchen, Rebecca found Bullfrog straightening away from the thugs with a grim but satisfied expression. He backed to the center of the room, where she joined him to share her news. "Bronco is still the same."

He shook his head, his brow knitting with concern.

"What did they say?" she asked, gesturing at the thieves.

He inclined his mouth to her ear. "Your hunch was right." He nodded at the thug who'd searched her bedroom. "According to him, they picked up the job from an advertisement on a website."

"Silk Road?" she guessed, her fury with Max rekindling.

"He wouldn't say. But he did admit that they were paid to break in and rob you, and if they'd managed to recover a Dell laptop, their pay would be doubled."

"We need to tell Maya Schultz about this," Rebecca determined. Considering what had happened to Bronco, the woman had damn well better believe her story now. She turned away to make her call.

* * *

Maya's phone shrilled, pulling her attention from the documents displayed on her laptop. They'd been sent to her by the renowned FBI Special Agent Doug Castle, to whom she had taken her suspicions and who was now sharing the details of his ongoing investigation.

As she plucked her phone off her bedside table, the late hour on her digital clock caught her by surprise. She'd been studying the special agent's notes for hours. She should have gone to bed ages ago. "Special Investigator Schultz."

"Hi, this is Kelly again with another update."

As she had with the last two calls, Maya braced herself for bad news. "Go ahead."

"The patient has regained consciousness."