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together and sauntered in her direction.
    "Good evening, madam." He tipped her a nod as he drew up next to her partially open door.
    "Hello. I'll move over so you can pull out," she offered, pulling her foot back into the car.
    "There's no hurry." His dialect came straight off the streets of northern New York City. Dark eyes fastened on her face and glittered with private thoughts. He jutted out a hand comprised of sausage-like fingers. "You must be Max's wife."
    Rebecca ignored the hand. "Yes, I am. And you are?" Curiosity alone prompted her to ask since every instinct warned her to distance herself immediately.
    "You can call me Tony." He dropped his hand with a slight sneer. "We'll meet again," he predicted, sending her a wink.
    She rather hoped not. Shutting the car door between them, she prevented him from saying anymore as she started her engine.
    In the same instant, Max emerged from the house like an enraged bull. He'd finally realized his visitor was still trespassing. Tony sprinted to his car, jumped into the driver's seat, and locked his door before Max could wrench it open.
    Terrified that her husband would smash out the driver's side window and beat the man to a pulp, Rebecca swung out of the way, clearing the path for the BMW to reverse out of their driveway. It exited at top speed before screeching to a halt. Its tires spun as it gained purchase on the smooth asphalt and zipped away. As leery as Tony had been of her husband, he sent him a saucy salute as he drove away.
    Sitting stunned in her Jetta, Rebecca flinched as Max transferred his incredulous gaze from the retreating BMW to her watchful expression. He raised an arm and gestured for her to park her car in the garage, now . She complied, nosing into the quiet garage and cutting off the motor. Max immediately yanked her car door open and demanded, "What did he say to you?"
    "Nothing much." Her heart beat fast and thready. Intuition whispered that the odd visitor had something to do with Max's secret money. "He said his name was Tony and that we'd meet again."
    "The hell you will." A thundercloud settled over Max's scowling face. "Forget about him," he ordered, reaching into the car and pulling her out of it.
    At this point, he usually asked her about work that day. She had learned that, while he asked, he didn't really listen to her reply. He only wanted to get to the part where he talked about himself. But not today.
    Today, he armed the security system located in the garage, tugged her into the house, and shut the door. Then he stood over her, scowling heavily, clearly deciding what to say. "I don't know who that man was," he finally declared.
    It was so obviously a lie.
    "If you see him again, I want you to call me, ASAP."
    Not the police, though. Of course not.
    "Is he dangerous?" she asked.
    "He might be. He says he knows I'm a SEAL and that he resents the military actions taken in the Middle East."
    "So, he's a terrorist." Off the top of her head, she couldn't think of any terrorists with Italian names.
    "Perhaps. Just swear that you'll tell me if you see him again."
    "Okay," she agreed, if only to dissipate his ire.
    "I mean it." He caught her upper arms in a crushing grip and gave her a shake. "You see anything suspicious, you let me know. Got it?"
    She was looking at something suspicious right now.
    "Got it." She sent him a forced smile that resulted in her release. As he spun away and stalked across the living areas to the office, she rubbed her abused arms and knew without a doubt that her happily-ever-after was over—if it had ever existed at all.
    But then, deep within the darkness of her heart, one bright hope flared to life. If Max was convicted of criminal behavior—and it was starting to look that way—then she would have grounds for divorce.

Chapter 3

    Brant browsed the wine selection in the back of the Exchange on Oceana Naval Air Station. There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to the display. Nor had he thought to look up what