It turned out that she had overestimated the thickness and therefore the sound dampening capabilities of these walls, so when the first man spoke his voice boomed in her ears and she snatched the earpieces away from her head before she was struck deaf.  She grimaced and made adjustments to the sensitivity, then placed the microphone back against the aging plaster once again.

This time the voices carried through the air at a more reasonable level, "How much time do we have?"  This was the deep voice.  Becca had no idea to whom it belonged.

The other voice sounded harried, nervous.  Mark was young and handsome, so Becca assumed it belonged to him, but she couldn't be sure.  Nonetheless she pictured him pacing around the room, his navy suit coat flaring at his hips when he walked, probably with his hands stuffed into his pockets, "I don't know.  It could be any day now.  I've been doing everything in my power to finagle her away but she's so goddamned persistent.  She might have the truth already and we don't even know it."

Becca scowled, What the hell?  This certainly didn't sound like a secret lover's tryst.  And who was "She?"  Donna?  Becca's mind reeled to catch up to the situation.  She had entered this dilapidated old structure with the singular goal of nabbing a cheater, but suddenly the aspect had changed and she felt as if she were swimming against the current to catch up.  Was Donna digging into something personal that she ought not?  Something dangerous?  Had contacting Mrs. Harman perhaps put her into serious danger?

Damn it!  Sweat broke out on Becca's neck which had nothing to do with the hot, stale air inside that room.  She felt way over her head at this point.  So much for simply snapping a few incriminating pics of a scumbag philanderer; Becca needed to get a hold of Mrs. Harmon.  She needed help.

She needed to pass the buck, too.  Becca honestly didn't welcome this kind of responsibility.

On the other end of her stethoscope, the deeper voice queried, "So what do we do now?"  It was a simple open-ended question, but Becca shivered nonetheless because it suddenly carried with it a heavy threat of menace.

Had these men been engaged in something illegal, perhaps wildly lucrative?  And was poor Donna close to discovering the truth about the nefarious activities of these two men?  They had already said so, that she was close to the truth.  Although the analytical part of Becca's mind was coldly checking off pros and cons and plans of action, the part of her which had read far too many thriller mysteries was driving up her blood pressure and making her think about the Witness Protection  Program.

"I don't know," said Mark, who, in Becca's mind's eye, was sorrowfully shaking his head, "but I think we're about to lose her."

The other man sighed heavily.  His deep voice growled, "I will contact McManus tonight and see what he wants to do."

The End

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