Black Ops 03 - Deadly Games

by Cate Noble

  Part of him wanted to see Gena, to ask her if she’d ever really cared. But another part didn’t want to know.

  He’d been stunned—no, devastated—this summer to hear through the grapevine that Gena had married Harry Gambrel two weeks after Rocco had left. Two weeks!

  Sure, he and Gena had had a fight. At the time it seemed like that was all they did. But Rocco hadn’t considered it over, hadn’t even considered them on “break.” He’d gone over the argument a hundred times. She’d been pissed he was being sent off on another top-secret assignment. Assignments she claimed to hate and had even asked him to give up.

  And what was so fucking different about Harry going off on assignment?

  Rocco stopped at the four-way at the end of his cul-de-sac and waved the other car through. He needed to get a grip. Let bygones be. And if he couldn’t, then maybe he needed to put the town house up for sale. Or lease it out and rent himself something closer to the airport.

  He kicked his wipers up to high and hit the gas. Almost immediately he had to brake. The car in front of him had slowed to a crawl, leaving him no choice but to follow suit.

  “Come on,” he muttered, eager to get to the main road, where he could at least pass Grandma Molasses here. Yeah, it was raining, but doing eight miles an hour in a fifteen-mile zone?

  He swerved to the left, to peer around the car. Which must have gotten Grandma’s attention because she suddenly sped up. But just as suddenly she slammed on her brakes, sending her car fishtailing into a spin.

  Rocco stopped completely and watched as the small sedan spun in circles before jumping the median and sliding off the opposite side of the road.

  That no other traffic had been coming was a miracle. It also meant no one else was around to check on Grandma. Her car looked okay, but she was probably shook up.

  Damn it.

  Rocco made a U-turn and pulled up behind her, then dashed out in the rain.

  That she didn’t automatically lower her window when Rocco came up concerned him. He rapped on the tinted glass, then opened the door.

  “Gena!” He saw the blood trickling down from her nose. “Easy, princess. I mean—”

  She cut him off. “Go away! I’m fine.”

  “Like hell. You’re hurt.”

  “I … I must have hit the steering wheel.”

  “Here. Tip your head back.” He grabbed one of the tissues on her lap and gently pressed it against her nostril.

  “Ouch!” She flinched and pushed his hand away.

  “You hold it then. You weren’t wearing this, were you?” He tugged on the seat belt resting against the side brace.

  “I— No.” She started crying, which made Rocco feel like a heel. It also wouldn’t help her nose, which already looked swollen.

  “Maybe I should call an ambulance.” He tried to shield her from the rain falling into the car.

  “Please! Don’t call anyone.”

  “You might be smacked up worse than I thought.” He tried to coax her chin toward him, but she twisted away. “Look at me, Gena! I’m not going to bite you.”

  She turned toward him briefly, then hugged her coat close. “I’m fine. A little shook up maybe. I’ll just go home and get cleaned up. Really—” But the harder she tried to make excuses, the more her words slurred.

  Rocco realized what he was dealing with. He pulled away and looked straight up at the sky, half tempted to pull Gena out and let the freezing rain hit her full in the face too. To sober her up.

  He’d heard her little problem wasn’t so little anymore. The grapevine had had a heyday reporting her drunken behavior at a recent office gala.

  “How much have you had to drink this morning, Gena? A couple glasses of chardonnay? Or maybe a pitcher of Bloody Marys?”

  She sat up straight and set her jaw. “Excuse me, but don’t you have someone else you need to go see?”

  He reached for her hand when she tried to restart the car. “I can’t let you drive, Gena. Is there someone I can call? Harry?”

  “No. No one. I’ll walk then.”

  Rocco leaned in close again. She looked like hell. Beautiful hell. Her damp hair, devoid of its usual style, hung around her face. Her make-up was heavier than usual, which didn’t disguise her bloodshot eyes. That it was ten in the morning on a Thursday hinted at the severity of her problem.

  “Does Harry know about the drinking, Gena?”

  She nodded. “And he’ll be furious if he finds out I left the house like this.”

  Rocco sighed. “Call your auto club and tell them to tow the car. As soon as you do that, I’ll give you a ride home.”

  Gena looked around for her purse, which had slid to the floorboard. “They can give me a ride.”

  “It might take them a while to get here. On a morning like this they’ll have calls backed up.”

  “I’ll wait.” She tugged her cell phone out.

  “I can’t leave and risk that you’ll try to drive yourself.” He reached for her phone when she started to make another excuse. “I’ve got a plane to catch, Gena. I don’t have all day.”

  She snatched the phone back. “You haven’t changed. Always rushing off to catch a plane.”

  “Oh, and it’s different with Harry,” Rocco snapped. “Bet he’s home all the time. Oops! What was I thinking? He travels more than I do.”

  “You don’t understand.” Gena’s voice rose.

  He held up a hand. “That was uncalled for. I apologize. Look, just get in my car. You can make arrangements for this one from your house.”

  Gena nodded stiffly and climbed out of the car, hugging her coat around her. Rocco had to steady her elbow when they reached his car.

  “Buckle up,” he said after opening the passenger door.

  Rocco bit his tongue as she grabbed the seat belt, then lost her grip on it. She was in even worse shape than he’d thought.

  “Here.” He grabbed the buckle and pulled it out, before leaning across her to fasten it.

  “Don’t be mad at me,” she sniffed. “Please.”

  Please. Rocco paused, his face inches from hers. “I wish it were that easy to forget, Gena. If it’s any comfort, I’m madder at myself.”

  She touched his cheek, preventing him from pulling away. “Mad at yourself for what?”

  He shut his eyes. Every night he dreamed of this moment, of this conversation. Why, Gena? Why? “I’m angry for letting you get away. For not being a better— Ah, hell, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “It’s always mattered. To me.”

  Rocco studied her expression, looking for guile, finding none. And then he did a really stupid thing.

  He kissed her. Full on the mouth.

  God, he still loved her. He still wanted her.

  Hearing a car, he broke away and froze, half expecting it to be Harry. But the car, a pharmacy delivery van, kept going.

  Rocco needed to do the same. He shut her door and moved around the car.

  “I’m sorry,” she said as soon as he climbed behind the wheel.

  “Me too. But not for the kiss.”You married the wrong man. “I’m sorry you’re married.”

  She laughed. “Oh, that’s right! How could I forget? You’re on your way to the airport.” Her voice took on a bitter edge. “Would you have preferred a fast fuck before you ran off—like you used to?”

  “That is not how it was!”

  “No? Obviously you don’t remember the last three times we were together.”

  Rocco opened and closed his mouth. The last three times he and Gena had been together, he’d sneaked away from his assignment because he’d been desperate to see her. Even for just a few hours. Yeah, they had always ended up in bed because he couldn’t not want her. Just thinking of her set him on fire. Then and now.

  “I can see how you’d think that,” he began. “And if I could go backward in time, I’d—”

  “You’d what?”

  Another car approached, this one slowing to look at them. Rocco started his SUV
and pulled away.

  “Never mind, don’t answer that,” she said. “Turn left at Willow, then take your first right into Brandy Aire.”

  “I would have explained myself better,” he said. “Made sure you knew how much I cared and how hard it was to be away from you.”None of which matters now.

  “Do you still care?”

  Rocco hesitated again. Not because he didn’t know the answer, but because he wanted to know how she felt first. Why set himself up for more torment?

  She sighed. “I shouldn’t have asked that.”

  “So why did you? Do you still care, Gena? About me? About us? Are you happy with Harry?”

  They were at her house now. Rocco pulled in the drive and turned toward her. That she was crying again made him feel like a heel.

  “Let’s just drop it, okay?” he said.

  “Oh, I forgot again! You’re late.” She worked to unlatch her seat belt. “No time to talk!”

  “If I stayed, would you even remember what we talked about once you sobered up?”

  Gena opened her door and didn’t look back. “Thank you for the lift. Good-bye.”

  Rocco climbed out. “Gena, wait! I’m sorry. I’m behaving like a jackass. I wish we could talk. Just the two of us, but not here. Not like this. Meet me later.”

  “Today? I thought you had a flight?”

  “I’ll postpone my trip if you’ll go in and sleep it off. We can meet somewhere public, later this afternoon. What do you say? I think we owe each other that small courtesy.”

  At first Rocco didn’t think she’d respond. She took three steps away, then turned. And for the first time her eyes looked focused.

  “There’s a small café at Blue Mountain Square. Melita’s. They have private booths. I’ll meet you there at four.”

  By four-fifteen, Rocco was pissed. He’d been at Melita’s thirty minutes, arriving early to get a corner booth. And to mentally rehearse his words one more time. Now he wondered if he’d get the chance to say them.

  Was she coming? It hadn’t occurred to him that he no longer had Gena’s cell phone number. Since he and Harry worked together, he had Harry’s home phone number, but he didn’t want to call it.

  If she didn’t show up in the next ten minutes, that would be his sign.

  He sipped his coffee, willing her to walk through the doors. But with each passing minute his hopes sank. Finally, he stood and signaled for the waitress.

  What exactly had he hoped to accomplish with this little meeting? An understanding? Of what? Of her drinking problem? Of why she’d married Harry instead of giving him a second chance?

  Outside, Rocco headed west, toward his car. A familiar voice called out his name. “Taylor!”

  It was Harry Gambrel.

  Rocco turned as Harry and Gena approached. She had a fur coat wrapped tightly around her as if she was freezing.

  “Hey, buddy! Weather screwed up your flight schedule too, eh?” Harry thrust out his hand.

  Rocco shook it and then greeted Gena.

  “Nice to see you, again,” she murmured.

  She was dressed up and looked more like her old self except for the lack of a smile. And though she appeared sober, no recognition lit her eyes. Had she been too drunk this morning to even remember their conversation?

  “Gena told me you helped her out this morning. I appreciate it, buddy. She said she was pretty shaken up.”

  “It had been raining and her car hydroplaned.”

  “Yeah, well, come in and let me buy you a drink,” Harry said. “This is our new favorite place. Gena loves to come here.”

  Rocco shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ve got another meeting.”

  “That’s code for a hot date,” Harry said to Gena. He stepped back. “And you don’t want to keep a hottie waiting. See you tomorrow. Come on, honey.”

  Gena nodded a farewell and fell in beside Harry.

  As Rocco watched them leave, he realized he had the answer he’d been seeking.

  Gena would never be his. Period.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Morgantown, West Virginia

  October 5, 9:45 P.M.

  Taz watched Erin sleep. They were still in the car but hidden behind a couple trailers in the back lot of an all-night truck station.

  After leaving Springfield last night, they had driven a few hours, but stopped before sunrise. Erin had wanted to continue, denying that she needed rest.

  Taz had refused to go farther, not wanting to be on the road during daylight hours when the police were more alert. His will prevailed, of course, and once they were settled, he’d induced her to sleep, which allowed him to rest too.

  Now, however, he needed her awake. He wanted to be on the road again. He nudged her shoulder and waited.

  Taz knew the moment Erin awakened. Her dreams stopped. Their connection allowed him to voyeuristi-cally watch her dreams.

  One moment she was thinking of Hades, imagining herself in his arms, the next she was confused. Taz let the disorientation begin to seep into her consciousness. He felt the lingering kiss Erin’s dream self gave Hades as she reluctantly released her imagined grasp on Hades’ body.

  The bond between Hades and this woman amazed Taz. Hades should be dead for daring to risk true love, but instead, he seemed … more alive.

  The deep emotional healing Hades experienced with Erin defied logic. And yet Taz felt its truth. How amazing that while Taz’s own memories of love could cripple him, observing another’s didn’t.

  Taz’s head started to ache. He urged Erin to open her eyes.

  The heat of Hades’ disdain blasted through.

  In order to establish an independent bond of his own with Erin, Taz had been forced to temporarily deepen his connection with Hades, the host. Hades wasn’t pleased. If you harm her, I’ll kill you, Hades threatened.The mission will never be complete then.

  To keep her safe, stay out of my head, Taz shot back before cutting the connection completely.

  From here on, Taz’s skills were going to be tested as he juggled the task of maintaining a link to Erin while simultaneously blocking Hades.

  Erin was fully awake now, no more pleased than Hades. She met Taz’s gaze, her recall perfect. “How do you do that? Get inside my head?”

  He straightened. Beneath her anger over feeling mentally violated—her term, not his—she was curious both personally and professionally. She wondered how he could read thoughts. If she knew he could manipulate her as well, she’d really be pissed.

  “What you’re really asking is how to block it,” Taz said. “Which I can’t tell you.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Take your pick.”

  “Where are we?”

  Taz realized that Erin changed the subject to mask her frustration. While Hades was ready to kill him, she had no wish to see Taz harmed even though he’d abducted her.

  Intrigued, Taz probed her sense of compassion. Part of it was her nature, but another part was born of her conviction that she understood Taz. She had talked with Dr. Rufin about him and Hades. About what had been done—

  His headache spiked.

  Erin leaned forward, concerned. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Peachy. Do you need to use the facilities?”

  “Yes.”

  Taz climbed out and came around to her door. The restrooms by the truck wash were deserted since it was closed.

  “Two minutes, then I’m coming in.” He’d given her the same warning before and she had honored it.

  Two minutes later, they headed back to the car. Taz’s headache had worsened and just as he opened her door, a blinding pain took him down to his knees.

  Erin knelt beside him, her warm fingers sliding to his wrist. For a moment he remembered another woman’s touch. Somewhere beneath the stars. Whom was he thinking of?

  Taz struggled to maintain an awareness of Erin. If she tried to run right now, he could do little to stop her.

  As she checked his pulse, h
e caught her thoughts. She was concerned by the way his heart thundered. He had an image of her helping Hades in a similar situation. Seizure.

  “Relax, breathe. I’m here.” Sympathy laced her words.

  The pain subsided so that he was able to stand.

  Erin held his arm. “You need to see a doctor.”

  No one can help me. “I’ve got you.”

  Taz shrugged away her excuse that she wasn’t a medical doctor. Rufin wasn’t either, but he’d helped Taz before.

  Or had he?

  A vision of being shocked and put in a dark chamber flashed in Taz’s mind. “Don’t fight the pain!” Rufin had shouted. “Surrender to me or die.”

  He cut off the thought as the pain threatened to rob his vision. Taz wanted to jam the ice pick into his knee, but he knew it would upset her. And for some reason that bothered him. Great! Her bloody compassion was contagious.

  “Get me inside the car,” he croaked. “You drive.”

  He leaned heavily on Erin as she helped him into the car. Then she hurried around and climbed behind the wheel.

  He knew only a portion of her acquiescence was due to his influence right now. A larger part was her naïve belief that she would talk sense into him before they arrived in Washington, D.C. She hoped to convince him to surrender, because another part of her was certain that if Hades forcibly tried to rescue her, Taz might be injured.

  Only in a female mind!

  Erin started the car and swung onto the highway. “How long do I stay on this road?”

  “Until I tell you to turn.” Taz didn’t want her to know too much about their route, just in case Hades did get glimpses of her thoughts.

  “You remind me of someone else,” Erin said. “Too stubborn to ask for help.”Until it kills you.

  It surprised Taz to realize her unspoken thought was about her father, not Hades.

  “Tell me why you worry about your father’s connection to all this,” he said.

  “How do you know about my father? By reading my thoughts?”

  Taz nodded, wanting her to talk while they drove. For some reason, the sound of her voice helped. “I know your father is dead, but in your dreams, you weep that you didn’t do enough.”