Hard Landing (37 page)

Brant gave a grunt as he panned the area around her apartment keeping a sharp eye out for the black BMW. Hopefully, Max wasn't as astute as Bullfrog.

"So, what circle of hell are you in, exactly?" his friend inquired.

There wasn't a single BMW in the parking lot. "I'm sorry, but you lost me there," Brant admitted.

"
Dante's Inferno
," Bullfrog explained. "The second circle of hell is for sins of lust. Maybe you found a place there? The seventh circle is for sins of violence. Given our profession, we might end up there together one day."

"I think I'm just in limbo," Brant muttered. The crosshairs of his scope ran across a black cat skulking from one building to another, but nothing more suspicious than that. "Rebecca's having dinner with Max tonight, at his place."

"What?" It was Bullfrog's turn to be mystified.

"The Feds have tapped into Max's security cameras. They want Rebecca to ask him some pointed questions while his security is up and running. Depending on his answers, they might go ahead and arrest him."

"You'll be keeping an eye on her," his friend guessed.

"Goes without saying."

"Can I help?"

More than anything, Brant wanted to say yes. SEALs worked in pairs. That was the way he'd always operated. But with Max's security system turned on, it would be hard enough for him not to trip it accidentally, and he was a trained tracker. If Bullfrog were caught peeking through Max's windows, it could ruin his career, especially if their commander never went to jail.

"Not this time, buddy," he replied. "But maybe you could do your visualizing trick and bring about a positive resolution. If something happens to Rebecca—" His voice failed him suddenly.

"You got it, my friend," Bullfrog assured him. "I'm a phone call away if you change your mind."

Sudden movement at Rebecca's door had him peering through his scope again. "Hey, I gotta go," he said. A special agent preceded her out of her apartment. Rebecca followed, wearing a pair of dark slacks and a purple top. Even with the distance between them and under the cover of twilight, he could tell that she was terrified.

"I'm right here, honey," he whispered.

Her head came up. As if sensing his scrutiny, she paused and looked around her. Squaring her shoulders, she continued to her car and slipped behind the wheel, while the agents quickly got into their own vehicle.

Chapter 20

"Okay. He's home."

Maya Schultz's hushed voice came through the hands-free system in Rebecca's car, and her heart leaped like a racehorse out of the gate.

"He just pulled into his garage," Maya added from her hiding place in a mid-sized RV. It was parked on Max's street, several houses down, where he wasn't likely to notice it. "Give him a few minutes to prepare for your arrival."

Parked on the same dead-end road where Tony and his thugs had bound and gagged her, Rebecca hugged herself both for warmth and to subdue her shivers. Darkness surrounded her. It was just past seven o'clock, the time when Max had invited her to arrive.

Half an hour earlier, Maya had prepped her for the dreaded date. She'd been invited into the FBI-owned RV, where state-of-the-art surveillance equipment lining three interior walls offered immediate reassurance—that was, until the techs failed to bring up the feed from Max's cameras.

"What's happening?" Maya had demanded. "Why can't we see inside the house?"

The tech had shaken his head. "Apparently, he forgot to arm the system when he went to work this morning."

Maya had shared an incredulous look with Doug Castle. "And we're just now realizing this?"

"He never forgets." Rebecca's assertion had wrought a tense silence in the RV's dim interior.

"But he turns the system off whenever he's home," Maya had insisted, "at least during the day. That's what we've observed."

"Right, but he never forgets to arm it when he leaves the house. At least not when I lived there," Rebecca had amended. "Perhaps he was preoccupied today." He certainly ought to have been, heading to a memorial for a man he had tried to kill.

Maya had crossed her arms and gnawed on a thumbnail. "I don't like this," she'd admitted. She surprised Rebecca by reaching out to touch her arm with concern. "You really don't have to do this if you don't want to."

Rebecca's knees had knocked together. Having dinner with Max was the last thing in the world she wanted to do, but if it led to Max being court-martialed and to her and Bronco getting to see each other, then she had to do it.

"I'm fine," she'd assured the investigator. "I'll just make sure that he arms the system as soon as I get inside. I'll tell him I don't feel safe without it."

Maya had given her arm a squeeze. "Okay. But if, at any time, you feel overwhelmed and you want to leave, just slip away into a restroom and text me the word
Out
. We have a contingency plan in place to get you out of there."

Rebecca had agreed. And after receiving a few more instructions about what sort of incriminating language they needed Max to use, she'd been told to wait on this dead-end street for word on when to approach the house.

"Okay, Rebecca." Maya's soft voice held an edge to it that betrayed her uneasiness. "You can start for the house now. We'll be able to see you enter the front door from here, but until he arms his security system, you'll be out of our sight and hearing."

Sliding her gear shift into drive, Rebecca drove slowly out of the dead-end street. Behind her, her two FBI watchdogs in their sedan crawled along in her wake. Keeping their lights off, they would follow her to within a hundred yards of Max's property, get out of their vehicle, and approach the house—near enough to see into the windows, but not close enough to activate Max's motion-sensing floodlights.

Fear dropped like a cold rock into Rebecca's stomach as she turned onto her old street, her gaze going at once to the familiar outline of her former home. Lights shone brightly in the front windows, making the home look as hospitable as it did when Max hosted his enormous parties.

The closer she drew to the long driveway, the more ragged her breathing became.

"We're right here, Rebecca," Maya reminded her.

The disembodied voice provided momentary comfort, but soon she would be entirely on her own.

Just don't be afraid
. Bronco's words of caution returned to her as she slowed to a stop before the closed garage.
Max is a predator. If he smells your fear, he'll start to suspect
.

Oh God. Her fear was so palpable right now, Max would suspect a ruse right away.

Get yourself together
, she ordered herself.
You can't afford to be afraid.

Implementing a technique she practiced in yoga, she managed to slow her breathing, steady her frantic pulse. Then she settled the mantle of self-imposed calm around her like an invisible cape. That same calmness had seen her through hundreds of life-and-death situations in the ER, and it would see her through this one last evening with her husband. She prepared to turn her car off.

"Okay," she said to the listening occupants of the RV. "I'm going in now."

"Good luck, Rebecca," came Maya's final words.

The hands-free connection ended as she turned off the motor. She swallowed hard and pushed her door open.

Max's silhouette drifted past the window. He'd sensed her arrival. Clutching her purse to her chest, she stepped out of her car. A sense of surrealism accompanied her across the paving stones to the front stoop. When she'd fled the house, just before Tony had abducted her, she had thought she would never again walk up this particular path and enter this house. As she climbed the steps, her gaze fell to the potted plants illumined by the porch light. In her absence, Max had let the geraniums wither and die. The brown blossoms and shriveled stalks struck her as a bad omen.

But then a sound like the twitter of a bird reached her from the periphery of the front yard. It was all she could do not to turn her head toward the cheerful sound.
Bronco
. It had to be him, offering whatever encouragement he could. Straightening her spine, Rebecca reached for the chime just as the broad black door swung open.

There stood Max, filling the threshold with his larger-than-life presence. Just the sight of him inspired another wave of panic, but by sheer force of will, she beat it back, fixed a smile on her face, and approached him with outward confidence.

"Hello, again," she said.

His glittering gaze went from the mulberry colored blouse to her black slacks and matching black boots, back up to her face. "I was hoping you would wear a dress," he said on a sulky note.

"Next time," she promised, leading him to believe that there would be one.

His gaze shot past her toward the dark street. "Where are your bodyguards?"

"They have the night off." He wouldn't mention his relationship with the Scarpas if he thought anyone was skulking about his property. "You said you could protect me," she reminded him.

His expression brightened. "Of course. Come on in." Stepping back, he invited her into her former home.

There was nothing the least bit welcoming about the prison she had spent so many hours redecorating. The familiar smells of leather and lemon wax turned her stomach, even though they were masked by the distinct aroma of Vietnamese food. Max had remembered to pick up dinner on his way home.

"You'll have to forgive my own attire," he said, gesturing to his work khakis. "I didn't want to sully my dress whites by leaving them on at work, and I just got home a minute ago, so I haven't had time to change." He gestured for her to follow him through the great room, where a peek into his office gave her a glimpse of the laptop she'd given back to him, charged up and sitting on the corner of his desk.

Through the wall of windows at the back of the room, she noticed that the swimming pool had been covered by a tarp for the off-season. Without the submerged pool lights glimmering in its depths, she could clearly see the boathouse and the pier, jutting out into the glinting inlet.

"What a lovely night," she said, for lack of anything better to say.

"Perhaps we'll walk out to the water later," he suggested.

His words offered the perfect opportunity to bring up his security system. "Oh, I wouldn't feel safe doing that." She shook her head and shuddered simultaneously. "Not with your friend Tony stalking me constantly."

"He's not a friend," Max retorted shortly. "You should never have spoken to him in the first place. Do me a favor," he added, storming into the kitchen, where she could see the take-out boxes on the granite island and the dinette table set with plates and silverware. "Don't bring him up again."

Dismayed, she trailed him into the kitchen, glancing up by force of habit to see if the camera was on. The absence of the telltale light turned her mouth dry. Maya was still waiting for the security system to be activated.

"Could you at least turn on the alarm?" she requested, pretending to cast a nervous glance out the window. "I really don't feel safe without it."

Max shot her a penetrating look.

Fighting to keep her expression as neutral as possible, she returned it.

"If it makes you feel safer," he agreed. "Help yourself to a drink." Gesturing to the pair of tumblers he had set out below the liquor cabinet, he strode out of view through the laundry room and into the garage.

Rebecca opened the liquor cabinet to assess its contents. They could both use a stiff drink. Alcohol would keep her panic at bay and hopefully loosen Max's tongue. Selecting a bottle of top-line whisky, she filled their tumblers with ice from the fridge dispenser, then added whisky to the halfway mark.

What was taking Max so long? Cocking an ear toward the garage, she could hear him muttering obscenities.
What now?
she wondered, taking a sip of her drink. It scalded her throat and pooled warmly in her stomach.

Max stormed out of the laundry room, startling her. As he glared up at the camera on the kitchen ceiling, she followed his gaze, noticing with a sinking sensation that the light was still off.

"That inept motherfucker," Max exclaimed.

A shard of fear imbedded itself between her shoulder blades. "What's wrong?"