by Cate Noble
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.
Chapter Twenty-Five
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.
Chapter Twenty-Six
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.
Finally she hit a thicker limb that did not break. But it stopped her with a bone-jarring suddenness that whiplashed her neck and back.
She was still strapped in her seat, which now rocked precariously on the limb. She lunged forward, hugging the trunk. Then she heard a loud boom and saw a fiery explosion above the trees. She turned her face as bits of debris fell around her.
“Rocco!” she screamed his name.
Everything around her was dark now. The storm continued to rage, the wind shrieking. Gena hid her face from the slashing rain and sobbed.
Rocco. Had he fallen from the plane, too? Was he close by?
She screamed his name again but heard nothing above the storm.
She forced herself to look around and spotted the fire a couple hundred yards ahead. The plane. Oh, God, what if the others were still inside? She had to get to them.
Please let him be alive, she prayed.Rocco and the others.
Lightning flashed, helping her to see through the branches below, but giving her no idea how far above the ground she was. Shifting her weight, she felt the soreness in her back and legs but was grateful no bones were broken.
She untangled the seat belt from her waist, then shoved the seat cushion over the edge, hoping to hear it land.
It didn�
��t travel far. The next flash of lightning showed it caught in the leaves below her.
She glanced one last time at the fire, saw that it had already grown dimmer. She had to hurry while she could still make out its location.
Easing her legs down, Gena swung to the next branch. It swayed and dipped, not as sturdy. She stayed close to the trunk, hoping the branch wouldn’t snap. The seat cushion that had been caught fell free and hit the ground with a thud, giving Gena hope that she wasn’t so high up.
She eased down to the next branch, but as soon as her feet hit, it snapped, hurtling her to the ground. She landed on the seat, which did little to protect her.
Pushing to her feet, Gena tried to get her bearings. At ground level the fire was barely visible. Could she get to the plane before the flames went out?
She had to. She had to find Rocco.
The storm continued to rage, though not as fiercely. Damn it, she needed the lightning right now to help her see. She started walking, hugging herself against the rain. Vines caught on her shoes, slowing her.
A flash of lightning once again illuminated her surroundings. The trees weren’t as dense as she’d thought, making it a little easier to navigate. The plane had obviously gone down in the jungle, but how far were they from a town? From help?
Don’t think about that now. Just get to the plane.
In those last seconds before the crash, when she’d known they were going down, she had desperately wanted to ask Rocco for his forgiveness. Would she ever have that chance again?
She’d been angry with him at the Monterrey airport after hearing that Maddy was pregnant. Hearing Rocco say it wasn’t his brought back painful memories from her past. Their past.
She’d never forgiven Rocco for being unfaithful. For denying their child. But were Gena’s own sins any less forgivable?
Shortly after marrying Harry, Gena had fallen down a staircase and miscarried. Harry had claimed she’d done it on purpose, to get back at Rocco.
She had told Harry he was wrong, but the bottom line was she’d lost the baby. Even if Rocco hadn’t wanted the child, he’d given Gena a most precious gift. It had been her responsibility to cherish and care for his child. And she’d failed. At everything.
There had even been a point in her marriage when she’d seriously considered forsaking her vows to Harry in order to be with Rocco. In the end, she hadn’t.
But for how many years had she clung self-righteously to the thought that she hadn’t cheated on Harry, when in truth she would have if Harry hadn’t caught her. Threatened her. Beaten her. The memory of that particular night, unlike so many others, was crystal clear.
The lightning flashes were less frequent now, but as Gena drew closer, she saw the glow of the smoldering plane. She tried to run but lost her footing in the slippery mud.
“Rocco!” she called out as she reached the clearing.
What was left of the plane was unrecognizable. The wings were gone, along with the back half of the plane. The passenger cabin was gone. Rocco! Clay! Had they fallen free as she had?
The cockpit was crumpled in on itself. Smoke bellowed from it. Gena tried to get closer, but the acrid smoke burned her nose, pushing her back.
With the next flash of lightning, she saw a body and rushed to it. It was the pilot.
“Can you hear me?” She dropped to her knees beside him.
He was on his stomach, but his neck and legs were twisted at odd angles. He didn’t respond, didn’t move, and Gena sensed he was dead even before she placed a shaking hand to his neck to check for a pulse.
She backed away and buried her face in her hands, giving in to her tears.
God, what should she do now? The rain fell steadily, which would put the fire out soon.
She needed to find Rocco and Clay. What if they had survived and were searching for her? Would they return here?
But what if Rocco was injured and needed help?
She pushed to her feet and surveyed the wreckage, then turned in a circle to get her bearings. Where had she come in? If Rocco and Clay had fallen from the plane after her, they had to be somewhere between here and where she’d landed.
“I’ll find you, Rocco!” she shouted. Then she trudged back toward the dark jungle.
Rocco had landed in a mud bog, his legs trapped beneath a tree. He didn’t think they were broken, thanks to the mud, but he was still pinned.
Gena! God, where was she? Was she alive?
In those last few seconds he had tried to grab her, to hold on, but she’d disappeared. And then he’d been falling, too.
And what about Clay and the pilot? Had they made it out alive?
He tried to shove his way free but lost traction. The rain fell in torrents now, the wind gusting as lightning flashed.
“Hello!”
Rocco heard someone yelling. A man, not Gena.
“Over here!” Rocco shouted. “Clay? Is that you?”
“Yeah! Keep hollering! I can’t see a damn thing!”
“I’m trapped under a tree! Have you see Gena?”
“Who? You mean your wife?”
His wife. The words gouged Rocco’s heart. Clay thought they were married.
How many times had Rocco dreamed a happier ending to their story? Gena as his wife, not Harry’s. Gena waiting at the door to greet him after a hard day’s work. Gena caring for their children. In his dreams, they’d had several. In his dreams, their love had multiplied with each one.
“Where are you, buddy?” Clay shouted.
“You’re getting closer!”
Lightning flashed. Rocco and Clay spotted each other at the same time.
Clay pushed closer, limping. “Mike! How bad you hurt?”
This time Rocco had to remember his own alias. “Don’t think anything’s broken, but I can’t get loose,” Rocco said. “Have you seen any sign of my wife?”
“No. But the plane—what’s left of it—is burning about a hundred yards from here.” Clay grabbed a branch of the tree and shoved it. “I think the three of us dropped out together. We were already pretty low.”
“The pilot?”
Clay shrugged. “Let’s concentrate on getting you out. This tree’s damn heavy.”
Rocco twisted. “I think I’ve worked one leg free from the mud.”
“If you can free the other one, maybe I can drag you out.”
Once again lightning cracked, illuminating the area. Clay ducked and moved around to Rocco’s head.
“I’m going to grab you under the arms and pull,” Clay said. “On three.”
Rocco dug in his heels as best he could and pushed. “Almost. Once more.”
Clay grunted, pulling Rocco again. This time Rocco slid far enough that he was able to turn and crawl free.
Rocco stood and held out a hand to Clay. “I owe you one.”
Clay shook his hand. “No problem.”
“Now let’s find my wife. Where’s the plane?”
“This way.” Clay skirted the fallen tree and pointed. “See the flames through the branches?”
Rocco nodded. Except for the lightning, the jungle was dark. But if Gena was out there, injured and scared, he had to find her.
“Jill”—Gena—“dropped a few seconds before I did,” Rocco said. “If the plane is there, she probably fell more to the south.”
Clay shook his head. “The plane was banking. We could have come in from any direction. If your wife is able to walk and spots the fire, would she go toward it?”
“Most likely. But what if she can’t walk?”
Thunder rumbled. “I say we check the plane first,” Clay said. “This rain will extinguish the flames fast. We’ve got to find the pilot, too. If he went down with the plane, he may be in more dire need than your wife.”
Rocco rubbed his chest. He hadn’t forgotten about the pilot, but Gena was definitely more on his mind.
“Let’s go. The thought of my wife out there alone— I’ve got to find her.”
Clay touched Rocc
o’s shoulder briefly. “Come on. We’ll find her. She knows you really love her, right? Try to think about the last time you were together, I mean before this mess. Focus on the good times.”
Rocco didn’t say anything as he trudged toward the glow of fire.
Try to think of the last time you were together—before this mess.
Clay’s remark was well intended but the last time Rocco and Gena were together was four years ago.
Back then, she’d been married to Harry. And it had been far from happy.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Four Years Earlier
Arlington, VA
“Crappy weather.” Matches my mood, Rocco thought as he backed his gray SUV out of his garage.
Heavy rain clouds were visible as far as he could see, which in the current downpour wasn’t far. Traffic would be a nightmare and the inclement weather would snarl departures.
He shifted the car into drive, frowning at the high-pitched squeal. The noise had gotten worse since the last time he was home, four weeks ago. But back-to-back assignments left no time for Rocco to play shade tree mechanic. Maybe he’d leave it at Jimbo’s garage and catch a cab to the airport. Jimbo knew the drill and would keep the SUV until Rocco returned.
The noise disappeared as he accelerated. Good. He’d gotten damn little sleep, which hadn’t helped his headache. Why he even bothered coming home anymore was beyond him. Last time, he’d gotten in and out of town in less than twenty-four hours, without seeing Gena or Harry. Time before that, too.
These days it seemed his return trips were like a game of emotional Russian roulette. Would Rocco run into the blissful couple or not? So far not. And that’s what kept him on edge, wasn’t it?
This housing development wasn’t that damn big, even with the golf course. Harry had bought a house on the ninth fairway, less than a mile as the crow flew. Of course, given the maze of streets, it was longer than a mile to drive, not that Rocco had tried. But since everyone had to pass in and out of the front guard gates, the odds were good they’d pass one another on the main esplanade.
