Black Ops 03 - Deadly Games (21 page)

“Let me make you a cup of tea,” he offered.

“I tried. Can’t keep it down.”

He eased away. Crap, if she had the flu— “Are you running any fever?”

“I’m not contagious. I’m just … stupid.” More tears. “I feel like such a fool, Harry.”

“Hey now, none of that kind of talk!” He sat in the chair that was positioned at a right angle to the sofa, ready to hear confession and offer advice. “You’re one of the sweetest, brightest people I know. Look, we’ve been pals long enough that I think I know what the problem is. Something to do with your boyfriend, right?”

“Ex-boyfriend. We … we had a fight last week, but I thought—” She withdrew with a shake of her head.

“You thought what? That you’ve fought before and always patched things up? I’m sure you will again.”

“We’ve never really fought before.”

“That’s because you keep your feelings to yourself,” Harry said.

“But he already has lots of stress.”

“Who doesn’t? Look at how stressed you are. You quit your job, Gena!”

She grabbed another tissue. “There are things you don’t know about.”

Like the e-mail and photographs you received two days ago?
“What kinds of things? I can’t help you, honey, unless you let me.” Harry snapped his fingers. “Wait. Don’t tell me you’ve heard more rumors. I told you not to pay attention to those jealous bitches.” The jealous bitches whom Harry could count on to torment Gena with snippets of vicious gossip.

She shook her head. “What they said is true, Harry. A woman named Brandy e-mailed me pictures of her and Rocco. Along with copies of phone texts. She accused me of being the other woman. Said she’s been with Rocco three years. That’s a year before I met him!”

Harry sat back as if dismayed. “God, Gena, I feel awful. How many times did you tell me about the things you heard? And to think I defended that son of a bitch! I’ve got a good mind to kick his—”

“No, Harry.” She met his gaze and shook her head. “Let it go. I got myself into this mess, and I’ll … deal with it.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a mess. If you’re worried about your job, heck, I can get you on in my department. Or recommend you to a friend who’d appreciate someone with your special talents.”
And who’d love to ogle your tits.

“
I’m pregnant, Harry.” Gena started to cry again, in earnest. “And … and I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

The news stunned Harry. He did a mental backup. Okay, so she wasn’t drinking because she was pregnant. And she couldn’t hold food down because of
morning sickness, which from what he’d heard, could last all day.

Add to that the fact Harry knew Rocco had probably given her the standard spies-like-us-can’t-have-families excuse when they’d first started dating. Of course, Harry also knew Rocco must be rethinking certain issues because Harry had overheard him talking marriage with Dante Johnson.

Time to think fast, act faster. “Does Rocco know you’re pregnant?” he asked.

“No! And I have no intention of telling him.”

“I understand your position. But, honey, he does have a right to know. We’re talking about a baby here. A life the two of you created. Your romantic relationship may be irretrievably broken now that you know about this Brandy creature, but then again, impending fatherhood may be the wakeup call Rocco needs. How about we try to reach him?”

“Now? I … I can’t talk to him. Not when I’m upset like this.”

You couldn’t call him before this, either.
Oh, yeah, Harry knew all about her idiosyncrasies.

“Then I’ll call him,” Harry said. “I’ll step outside, or go in the kitchen so you don’t feel a part of it, but, honey, you can’t possibly keep this to yourself.”

“I’m not sure if that’s the right thing to do.”

That wasn’t a
no
. Harry stood. “Let me handle it. You just lie down and try to relax. I’ll go in the kitchen and, um, make you a cup of tea. You’ve got tea bags, right?”

In the kitchen, Harry filled the teakettle and set it on the stove, then poked through her cabinets and found tea and sugar. The longer he postponed making the call, the more anxious she’d be.

Finally, he opened his phone and began pressing a long string of numbers, followed by END. Then he held the phone to his ear.

“Yo! Rocco. It’s me.” He raised his voice. “It’s Harry. Yeah, lousy connection.”

He took a deep breath. “Look, I just talked to Gena. And, man, you need to call her. ASAP.”

Harry paused. “I’m serious, dude. Yeah, I know what the problem is, but you need to hear it from her.”

Another pause. “Fine. Let me spell it out. Gena’s pregnant. And she needs your help. What? Of course it’s yours, you big dumb fuck! Gena would never lie about— Tell whoever’s yelling to be quiet. Oh, Jesus, you’re with Brandy right now?”

The teakettle started whistling. Harry plucked it off the stove. “Hell no, I’m not going to tell her you said that! I know for a fact Gena’s never been with anyone but you. You know what? Forget I called. In fact, forget we’re friends!”

Harry closed his phone with a snap and tossed it on the counter. Gena’s sobs drifted in from the other room. She’d heard every word. Perfect. He poured hot water over the tea bag.

Then he pulled his wallet out and extracted a small paper envelope. He dumped the powder from it into the teacup and brewed a weak but sweet tea. The powder, similar to a date-rape drug, worked better with alcohol. He’d need to increase the dose to achieve the same effect.

The drug shared most of Rohypnol’s amnesia-inducing qualities with one important difference. The last thing said to a victim stayed with the person, making it excellent for persuasion.

He carried the tea in to Gena and sat beside her on the couch. “Here.”

She ignored the cup. “He … was with her?”

Harry nodded. “How much did you overhear?”

“Enough to know Rocco doesn’t believe it’s his baby.” She swiped her eyes. “Is that what he said?”

“He said, ‘It’s not mine,’ but that may have been for Brandy’s benefit. Once he’s away from her, he’ll probably call and—”

“I don’t want to speak with him. Ever.” Gena straightened her shoulders. “I’ve changed my mind about going home. In fact, the sooner I get to Texas, the better. My father won’t be pleased, but he’ll certainly take the news better than—” Her voice cracked.

“Here. Try a sip of this.” Harry held the cup to her mouth.

Gena’s father would have a cow to learn his daughter was pregnant outside of marriage. Armstrong women didn’t do that. Especially not when Daddy hoped to hook her up with the rich heir one ranch over. Armstrong women married well, and then hired nannies to raise their young. Gena wouldn’t know how to care for a cat, let alone a baby. No, Jefferson Armstrong would likely bully her into an abortion. End of story.

And if Rocco got word she’d fled to Texas and went after her, Harry would have an even harder time interfering.

No, Harry needed to keep Gena here. He watched her sip the tea as he toyed with a new idea.

“Why don’t you come and stay at my place a while? Give yourself a chance to think it over. I’m gone a lot, so you’ll have the place to yourself most of the time.
And it won’t cost a thing. In fact, I’d pay you what I pay the house sitter who usually stays there.”

“That’s sweet, Harry. But I don’t know….” She set the tea down, pushed it away.

Harry picked it up and placed it back in her hands. “Come on. Don’t insult my tea making now.”

He cajoled her into drinking more. When she emptied the cup, he took it from her. “For what it’s worth—and you might not believe me right now— I bet you’ll meet someone who will love you and be proud to give you and the baby a name.”

She shook her head and leaned back, eyes closed.

“Someone like me, Gena,” Harry said.

He smiled. If he could keep Rocco out of town for a few months, let Gena’s belly get nice and fat … Rocco could come back and learn she was married to Harry. And just to watch Rocco squirm, Harry would touch her stomach in front of him and talk about how excited they were.

Granted, it wouldn’t even the score between them, but it would be a start.

East of Monterrey, Mexico
October 5, 8:17 P.M.

Something wasn’t right.

Rocco closed his eyes but the drone of the plane’s engine interfered with his ability to concentrate. Listening to his gut, his instincts, had saved his life innumerable times. It was that edge, that difference that made him successful as an agent for justice.

At least it usually did. Right now the sensation was similar to free-floating anxiety. Unable to define what was off-key, he back-burnered the feeling and shifted in his seat.

Gena hadn’t relaxed either, was still staring out the window at the dark sky. He debated taking her hand in his, something a normal, concerned husband would do. Except he wasn’t her husband, and the circumstances weren’t normal.

Something was eating at her, too. Earlier, when he’d asked, “What’s wrong?” she’d snapped, “Nothing.” His favorite nonanswer.

Certainly nothing about the circumstances was pleasant. But the sooner they both put their grudges aside—past and present grudges—the sooner they’d find common ground.

Rocco had thought they were making progress at dinner. Gena’s frankness about why she’d moved to Texas had encouraged him. In the past, the topic of her drinking had been a touchy one. He was also curious about her decision to return to school, but he hadn’t had a chance to ask where. Or why.

Then Rocco had received the news about Maddy. That Maddy was alive gave him hope, even as the other news—Maddy was pregnant—increased his apprehension. That Minh Tran had threatened Maddy’s child shook Rocco to the core.

Had Minh Tran’s new threat against an innocent baby made Gena realize just how ruthless Rocco’s enemies could be? Was she now even more concerned about her own safety? About Rocco leaving her with a virtual stranger?

Rocco couldn’t imagine what Travis Franks was feeling right now. Forty-eight hours wasn’t much time, yet compared to Tran’s previous ten-hour deadline, it was huge.

Rocco and Dante felt certain that Travis was in Southeast Asia right now. Perhaps Travis even knew where Maddy was being held. God, Rocco hoped so. He wanted Maddy free.

Same with Erin Houston. Max was in the same boat as Travis right now. The woman Max loved was in the clutches of a potential madman.

Rocco recalled those moments back in Texas when Gena had been snatched by the man in the black truck. The urge to kill had been strong. The truth
was, Rocco had been damn lucky to get Gena back. Which was why it bothered him to consider leaving her again.

Rocco eyed Clay Watkins through slitted eyes. Despite the fact Clay had come highly recommended, Rocco didn’t trust him. When it came to Gena, he didn’t trust anyone except himself.

Yeah, right.
Was Rocco really more trustworthy after waking up with Gena half naked and nearly losing control with her?

Outside the window the sky flashed with an intense burst of lightning. Gena gripped the armrest more tightly as the plane bounced with the thunder.

Rocco wasn’t a huge fan of small planes. He’d ridden in some scary Russian cargo planes that ferried supplies in and out of the Middle East. Compared to those, this wasn’t bad.

They hit a particularly rough patch of turbulence and Gena let out a squeal.

This time Rocco did take her hand. “Easy, Jill.”

It took her a moment to recall her alias. “It looks like we’re flying straight into the storm.”

“It probably overtook us,” Rocco said.

Clay cleared his throat. “Tell your wife not to worry. The pilot flies this route all the time.”

Rocco shifted closer to Gena. He knew by the death grip she kept on his hand that Clay’s words offered little consolation. “I’m sure we’ll be through it soon,” Rocco said.

The plane bumped again, harder than before, and this time the turbulence didn’t let up.

Rocco could hear the pilot talking agitatedly in Spanish on the radio. “Why don’t you check with him? See what’s up.” Rocco said to Clay.

“Sure.” Clay stood but was immediately tossed back into his seat as the plane began shaking in earnest.

Thunder crashed all around the plane. Rocco heard the engines surge and suspected the pilot was trying to climb to get above the storm, but the turbulence only grew worse.

Then a bolt of lightning hit, engulfing the plane in a brilliant flash. The cabin lights flickered as the plane dropped for what felt like a minute.

The pilot shouted at them in English now. “We’ve lost both engines! And the radio! We’re going down!”

Rocco grabbed Gena’s shoulders and shoved her forward. “Crash position,” he said. “Cover your face and eyes.”

“No!” She resisted, trying to climb into his lap.

Rocco forced her to remain in her seat. “You’re safer buckled in. Just do the same thing I do.”

The plane dipped and bucked wildly now. Clay tried to get up again and was slammed to the floor as the plane rotated, angling downward. The lights failed, leaving the cabin in total darkness now.

The plane struck something—trees, Rocco guessed. The plane jerked violently as first one wing, then the other, was ripped away with a horrific screech of metal.

Rocco held on to Gena’s hand, unable to see anything. Wind and rain hit his face and he realized part of the cabin wall had been sheared away.

The plane heaved upward and Gena’s hand was ripped from his. “
Noooo!
” Her scream grew faint.

Rocco felt himself free-fall before slamming to the ground, into a hole of pain. Above him a fireball exploded as the plane burst into flames.

The plane was crashing. Gena’s seat broke loose as the side of the plane buckled and peeled away like a banana skin.

She tried to hold on to Rocco but couldn’t as the bottom of the plane ripped away beneath her.

Tree branches tore at her. Heavy wet leaves slapped her. The rain continued to pummel her as she slammed downward through the treetops.