contents down the drain.
Oh dear, it seems I'd better run out and get some more.
Hastening to the garage, she let her mind catalogue the local shops and restaurants, trying to recollect where she'd seen a pay phone. As much as she regretted having to cut ties with Bronco, it was for the best. She'd had no right to involve him in her marital woes in the first place. For his sake, she hoped that telling him about Max's warning would quell his suspicions and keep him safe from his commander's certain retribution.
* * *
Brant pushed out of the Exchange with a Subway combo meal dangling from one hand and a large cup of iced tea in the other. Sweat still moistened his hairline from the game of rec-league basketball, in which his team had lost 51 to 23. Both teams had walked over to the Exchange afterward for a well-deserved meal, but to avoid the smug stares of the victors who now lounged in the food court making jokes and boasting, he'd left the building to eat outside.
A temperate ocean breeze dried the last traces of moisture from his brow as he turned toward the wooden bench at the far side of the building. He wasn't at all surprised to see that Bullfrog had beaten him to it, his face buried in the last pages of Anna Karenina . Brant thought about the movie they'd watched the previous night and shuddered. Considering the fact that the heroine jumped in front of a moving train at the very end, he couldn't fathom why Bullfrog would want to finish the book when he knew how the story ended.
His ringing cell phone interrupted his trek to the bench. Juggling his lunch to free a hand, he noted the unfamiliar number. "Hello?"
"Hey, it's Rebecca."
He jerked to a stop. The clouds above seemed to part, and a ray of sunshine streamed down, warming his shoulders.
"Well, hi." But then he wondered if creepy Tony had made another appearance and concern edged aside his pleasure. "Is everything okay?"
"Uh, sure. Everything's great."
That sounded a bit forced. "Well, that's good." Why the hell would she risk calling him, then? He continued forward.
"I'm using a pay phone," she said, putting his mind at ease. "You have no idea how hard it was to find one. Listen, I need to tell you something," she added on an anxious note.
Bullfrog glanced up at him as he neared the bench and sat down. "Go ahead."
"Well, first off—" She hesitated, and he could picture her biting her lower lip. "Max kind of mumbled a threat against you the other day. I just thought you should know."
He lowered his lunch onto his lap and balanced his drink on the arm of the bench. "What kind of threat?"
Bullfrog paused in his reading, lowering his book to his lap.
"More of an implied threat, really. He said, 'I wouldn't enjoy his company anymore if I were you. Something bad might just happen to him.'—him being you, of course. I'm so sorry, Bronco. It's my fault for talking to you in the first place."
Frustration heated Brant all over again. "Christ, we were only talking!"
"I know," she said, with lament. "But I should never have involved you in our issues."
"I didn't leave you much choice, remember?" He deliberated telling her then what he'd learned about Max's secret account.
"Yes, but now I've drawn unnecessary attention to you, and I'm truly sorry. I probably shouldn't talk to you anymore, even at a party."
The regret that laced her voice tugged at his heartstrings. "That's bullshit. You've got to talk to somebody. Besides—" He caught himself from relaying his discovery.
"Besides, what?" she pressed.
"Becca, you deserve better than him." He winced. Shoot, he'd made it sound like he was offering himself up in Max's stead. His heart thudded as he waited for her answer.
"I know that. I've pretty much decided that I'm going to leave him."
"You—you what?" He almost dropped the phone on top of his lunch.
"I've decided to leave him. But I can't just leave, or he could claim that I deserted him. What I really need is proof that he's involved in something
Oh dear, it seems I'd better run out and get some more.
Hastening to the garage, she let her mind catalogue the local shops and restaurants, trying to recollect where she'd seen a pay phone. As much as she regretted having to cut ties with Bronco, it was for the best. She'd had no right to involve him in her marital woes in the first place. For his sake, she hoped that telling him about Max's warning would quell his suspicions and keep him safe from his commander's certain retribution.
* * *
Brant pushed out of the Exchange with a Subway combo meal dangling from one hand and a large cup of iced tea in the other. Sweat still moistened his hairline from the game of rec-league basketball, in which his team had lost 51 to 23. Both teams had walked over to the Exchange afterward for a well-deserved meal, but to avoid the smug stares of the victors who now lounged in the food court making jokes and boasting, he'd left the building to eat outside.
A temperate ocean breeze dried the last traces of moisture from his brow as he turned toward the wooden bench at the far side of the building. He wasn't at all surprised to see that Bullfrog had beaten him to it, his face buried in the last pages of Anna Karenina . Brant thought about the movie they'd watched the previous night and shuddered. Considering the fact that the heroine jumped in front of a moving train at the very end, he couldn't fathom why Bullfrog would want to finish the book when he knew how the story ended.
His ringing cell phone interrupted his trek to the bench. Juggling his lunch to free a hand, he noted the unfamiliar number. "Hello?"
"Hey, it's Rebecca."
He jerked to a stop. The clouds above seemed to part, and a ray of sunshine streamed down, warming his shoulders.
"Well, hi." But then he wondered if creepy Tony had made another appearance and concern edged aside his pleasure. "Is everything okay?"
"Uh, sure. Everything's great."
That sounded a bit forced. "Well, that's good." Why the hell would she risk calling him, then? He continued forward.
"I'm using a pay phone," she said, putting his mind at ease. "You have no idea how hard it was to find one. Listen, I need to tell you something," she added on an anxious note.
Bullfrog glanced up at him as he neared the bench and sat down. "Go ahead."
"Well, first off—" She hesitated, and he could picture her biting her lower lip. "Max kind of mumbled a threat against you the other day. I just thought you should know."
He lowered his lunch onto his lap and balanced his drink on the arm of the bench. "What kind of threat?"
Bullfrog paused in his reading, lowering his book to his lap.
"More of an implied threat, really. He said, 'I wouldn't enjoy his company anymore if I were you. Something bad might just happen to him.'—him being you, of course. I'm so sorry, Bronco. It's my fault for talking to you in the first place."
Frustration heated Brant all over again. "Christ, we were only talking!"
"I know," she said, with lament. "But I should never have involved you in our issues."
"I didn't leave you much choice, remember?" He deliberated telling her then what he'd learned about Max's secret account.
"Yes, but now I've drawn unnecessary attention to you, and I'm truly sorry. I probably shouldn't talk to you anymore, even at a party."
The regret that laced her voice tugged at his heartstrings. "That's bullshit. You've got to talk to somebody. Besides—" He caught himself from relaying his discovery.
"Besides, what?" she pressed.
"Becca, you deserve better than him." He winced. Shoot, he'd made it sound like he was offering himself up in Max's stead. His heart thudded as he waited for her answer.
"I know that. I've pretty much decided that I'm going to leave him."
"You—you what?" He almost dropped the phone on top of his lunch.
"I've decided to leave him. But I can't just leave, or he could claim that I deserted him. What I really need is proof that he's involved in something
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