Read Online Hard Landing by Marliss Melton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marliss Melton
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trepidation. She had left work early on a Monday to arrive at the post office before closing. The clerk hadn't so much as blinked at her story that she'd lost her key and needed another. Now a copy of the key was in her hand, and she stood at the verge of discovering something else Max might be hiding from her.
It's going to be empty , she told herself. After all, Max would have emptied it on his visit here the day before. Sliding the key into the lock, she opened it with bated breath. Upon seeing an envelope inside, her heart started to pound. With a nervous glance behind her at the patrons rushing to beat the clock, she pulled out the letter, eyes widening to discover that the envelope was addressed to her.
With a sense of unreality, she stared at it. Not only was Max keeping secrets, but he was hiding his dirty deeds under her name. The address had been typed on a label and affixed to the envelope. There was no return address, just an origination stamp next to the postage indicating that the letter had been sorted in Bronx, New York, two days earlier.
Curious to know what lay inside, she slipped it into her purse, closed the box, and left the building, greatly relieved not to run into anyone she knew, particularly Max.
Within the safety of her car, she took the letter out and studied it. Do I open it? How else would she discover what was inside? She could always stick the contents into another envelope, affix an identical label and re-mail it tomorrow. As long as Max paid no heed to where the letter had originated, he might never know the difference.
Checking her peripheral vision to make certain no one watched, she slid her finger under the flap and tore it slowly open. Her heart suspended its beat as she withdrew the contents with a frown. A newspaper clipping? She angled it toward the waning sunlight and read the title.
Sniper with Military Background Kills for the Mob.
Intrigued, she waded through an article summarizing an FBI special agent's hypothesis that two homicides attributed to the organized crime family, the Scarpas, had been perpetrated by an assassin who could only have been trained as a sniper in the U.S. Special Forces. Both victims had been shot from a watercraft anchored half a mile away. The special agent was quoted as saying, " Only an ace sniper could mark a victim from that distance."
A chill ascended Rebecca's spine. Why had someone sent this article to Max? Was it simply an item of interest? Max was in the Special Forces. Plus, he'd been a SEAL sniper for ten years before rising so high in rank that he no longer went into the field to fight. Someone just wanted him to read this story and know the facts.
That had to be it. It couldn't possibly be that he was the sniper that the FBI was looking for. That would be ludicrous.
With stiff fingers, she put the article back inside the envelope, the envelope back into her purse.
For several seconds, all she could do was stare at the brick exterior of the post office. Max's foreign account—all the money in it; where had it come from? Maybe it wasn't so farfetched to think that Max might be working for an organized crime family.
Her chest rose and fell as she thought it through. What do I do? She could show the article to her lawyer at their upcoming appointment. But she didn't want to wait that long. She needed to talk to someone about this now , someone who knew Max, who could tell her if she was out of her mind for thinking such treacherous thoughts about him.
I need to talk to Bronco.
"No," she grated, grinding a palm against her closed eye. Just the other day she had promised she wouldn't involve him any further in her problems. But he had assured her that he didn't mind and that she could call him any time.
Breathing deeply, she sought to slow her rapid heartbeat. The pay phone she had used the other day stood right up the road at the 7-11 near the hospital where she worked. The temptation proved to be too much. Starting up her car, she
It's going to be empty , she told herself. After all, Max would have emptied it on his visit here the day before. Sliding the key into the lock, she opened it with bated breath. Upon seeing an envelope inside, her heart started to pound. With a nervous glance behind her at the patrons rushing to beat the clock, she pulled out the letter, eyes widening to discover that the envelope was addressed to her.
With a sense of unreality, she stared at it. Not only was Max keeping secrets, but he was hiding his dirty deeds under her name. The address had been typed on a label and affixed to the envelope. There was no return address, just an origination stamp next to the postage indicating that the letter had been sorted in Bronx, New York, two days earlier.
Curious to know what lay inside, she slipped it into her purse, closed the box, and left the building, greatly relieved not to run into anyone she knew, particularly Max.
Within the safety of her car, she took the letter out and studied it. Do I open it? How else would she discover what was inside? She could always stick the contents into another envelope, affix an identical label and re-mail it tomorrow. As long as Max paid no heed to where the letter had originated, he might never know the difference.
Checking her peripheral vision to make certain no one watched, she slid her finger under the flap and tore it slowly open. Her heart suspended its beat as she withdrew the contents with a frown. A newspaper clipping? She angled it toward the waning sunlight and read the title.
Sniper with Military Background Kills for the Mob.
Intrigued, she waded through an article summarizing an FBI special agent's hypothesis that two homicides attributed to the organized crime family, the Scarpas, had been perpetrated by an assassin who could only have been trained as a sniper in the U.S. Special Forces. Both victims had been shot from a watercraft anchored half a mile away. The special agent was quoted as saying, " Only an ace sniper could mark a victim from that distance."
A chill ascended Rebecca's spine. Why had someone sent this article to Max? Was it simply an item of interest? Max was in the Special Forces. Plus, he'd been a SEAL sniper for ten years before rising so high in rank that he no longer went into the field to fight. Someone just wanted him to read this story and know the facts.
That had to be it. It couldn't possibly be that he was the sniper that the FBI was looking for. That would be ludicrous.
With stiff fingers, she put the article back inside the envelope, the envelope back into her purse.
For several seconds, all she could do was stare at the brick exterior of the post office. Max's foreign account—all the money in it; where had it come from? Maybe it wasn't so farfetched to think that Max might be working for an organized crime family.
Her chest rose and fell as she thought it through. What do I do? She could show the article to her lawyer at their upcoming appointment. But she didn't want to wait that long. She needed to talk to someone about this now , someone who knew Max, who could tell her if she was out of her mind for thinking such treacherous thoughts about him.
I need to talk to Bronco.
"No," she grated, grinding a palm against her closed eye. Just the other day she had promised she wouldn't involve him any further in her problems. But he had assured her that he didn't mind and that she could call him any time.
Breathing deeply, she sought to slow her rapid heartbeat. The pay phone she had used the other day stood right up the road at the 7-11 near the hospital where she worked. The temptation proved to be too much. Starting up her car, she
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