sandwich.
His friend turned his head and stared straight into Brant's eyes. "We're talking about Mad Max, Bronco. He only cares about what he wants, not the other way around. I'm telling you, from what I know of the man, he's going to make it impossible for her to leave."
Brant forced himself to swallow. "How is it impossible?" he quietly raged. "She goes to a lawyer, tells him about Max's foreign account, and she moves out."
"She can't prove Max has a foreign account. Does she even have an account number?" Bullfrog raised his eyebrows.
Brant took a quick sip of lemonade to clear the lump now stuck in his throat. "Christ, you're right." It was suddenly, horrifyingly apparent to him. "Max is going to make her life a living hell if she tries to leave him." With no more appetite to finish his sandwich, he wrapped up the rest and dropped it back in the bag. "I have to help her find the proof she needs."
Bullfrog groaned as he shook his head. "I have a really bad feeling about this."
"Don't do that." Brant pointed a warning finger at him. Bullfrog's intuitions never failed him. They were always right on target.
"I'm not doing anything. You're the one wanting to help her out."
"Yeah, except she doesn't want my help," he recalled, though he guessed that wasn't exactly the case. She was merely trying to keep his CO off his back. The truth was she was scared and rightly so. Considering the resistance she was bound to face in the form of Max's overwhelming resolve, he didn't envy her situation one bit. "I still need to help her," he insisted.
"Why? Do you plan on taking Max's place?"
The quiet question drew Brant's incredulous gaze. He glared at his friend. "Hell, no. I'm the last man she needs in her life. She deserves to be happy—don't you agree?"
"I agree," Bullfrog admitted with reluctance.
"Can you even think of a nicer, sweeter, more decent woman than Rebecca McDougal?"
A faraway look splintered his friend's hazel gaze. "Just one," he said, so softly Brant wasn't certain he had heard him right.
"I have to help her," he repeated.
"You know you said that three times," Bullfrog pointed out. His mouth quirked at one corner. "That's like a magical number. Now you're committed to it."
"I guess I am," Brant agreed with a tremor of excitement. He'd never walked away from a challenge in his life. As long as Rebecca ended up happy, he didn't care if Max hated him so much that he transferred him to the West Coast. This wasn't about his future; it was about hers.
* * *
Rebecca topped off her gas tank, enjoying the gusty breeze that penetrated the weave of her linen dress and invigorated her spirits. I can do this, she assured herself.
The reading at church that morning, taken from the Book of Jeremiah, had tipped the scales regarding her decision to leave Max. For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future .
She had decided in that inspired moment that she would leave Max soon—as soon as she could prove he was breaking the law. His foreign investment account would be her ticket to freedom. She would pass it by the lawyer she had arranged to meet on her day off.
Screwing the gas cap back on, she gazed over the top of her car just as Max's Tahoe roared past the station. Tension whipped through her, drawing tight the muscles along her back.
Where is he headed on a Sunday at noon? she wondered. He had avoided attending church with her, citing the need to prepare for the coming work week, but Dam Neck Naval Base and the Special Ops building where he worked lay in the opposite direction.
Intuition whispered that he was up to something. Slipping into her car, Rebecca eased onto the road to follow him, keeping his SUV within sight while hanging back a quarter mile. Unlike his lumbering Tahoe, her silver Jetta blended easily into the sparse traffic.
A curve in the road took them north on Princess Anne Boulevard, in the direction of the hospital, but then
His friend turned his head and stared straight into Brant's eyes. "We're talking about Mad Max, Bronco. He only cares about what he wants, not the other way around. I'm telling you, from what I know of the man, he's going to make it impossible for her to leave."
Brant forced himself to swallow. "How is it impossible?" he quietly raged. "She goes to a lawyer, tells him about Max's foreign account, and she moves out."
"She can't prove Max has a foreign account. Does she even have an account number?" Bullfrog raised his eyebrows.
Brant took a quick sip of lemonade to clear the lump now stuck in his throat. "Christ, you're right." It was suddenly, horrifyingly apparent to him. "Max is going to make her life a living hell if she tries to leave him." With no more appetite to finish his sandwich, he wrapped up the rest and dropped it back in the bag. "I have to help her find the proof she needs."
Bullfrog groaned as he shook his head. "I have a really bad feeling about this."
"Don't do that." Brant pointed a warning finger at him. Bullfrog's intuitions never failed him. They were always right on target.
"I'm not doing anything. You're the one wanting to help her out."
"Yeah, except she doesn't want my help," he recalled, though he guessed that wasn't exactly the case. She was merely trying to keep his CO off his back. The truth was she was scared and rightly so. Considering the resistance she was bound to face in the form of Max's overwhelming resolve, he didn't envy her situation one bit. "I still need to help her," he insisted.
"Why? Do you plan on taking Max's place?"
The quiet question drew Brant's incredulous gaze. He glared at his friend. "Hell, no. I'm the last man she needs in her life. She deserves to be happy—don't you agree?"
"I agree," Bullfrog admitted with reluctance.
"Can you even think of a nicer, sweeter, more decent woman than Rebecca McDougal?"
A faraway look splintered his friend's hazel gaze. "Just one," he said, so softly Brant wasn't certain he had heard him right.
"I have to help her," he repeated.
"You know you said that three times," Bullfrog pointed out. His mouth quirked at one corner. "That's like a magical number. Now you're committed to it."
"I guess I am," Brant agreed with a tremor of excitement. He'd never walked away from a challenge in his life. As long as Rebecca ended up happy, he didn't care if Max hated him so much that he transferred him to the West Coast. This wasn't about his future; it was about hers.
* * *
Rebecca topped off her gas tank, enjoying the gusty breeze that penetrated the weave of her linen dress and invigorated her spirits. I can do this, she assured herself.
The reading at church that morning, taken from the Book of Jeremiah, had tipped the scales regarding her decision to leave Max. For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future .
She had decided in that inspired moment that she would leave Max soon—as soon as she could prove he was breaking the law. His foreign investment account would be her ticket to freedom. She would pass it by the lawyer she had arranged to meet on her day off.
Screwing the gas cap back on, she gazed over the top of her car just as Max's Tahoe roared past the station. Tension whipped through her, drawing tight the muscles along her back.
Where is he headed on a Sunday at noon? she wondered. He had avoided attending church with her, citing the need to prepare for the coming work week, but Dam Neck Naval Base and the Special Ops building where he worked lay in the opposite direction.
Intuition whispered that he was up to something. Slipping into her car, Rebecca eased onto the road to follow him, keeping his SUV within sight while hanging back a quarter mile. Unlike his lumbering Tahoe, her silver Jetta blended easily into the sparse traffic.
A curve in the road took them north on Princess Anne Boulevard, in the direction of the hospital, but then
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