Deadly Games Part 11

"After rescuing Max overseas, I apprehended one of the scientists who was conducting some of those human experiments. Unfortunately, other people want this scientist, too, for some very nasty, very illegal reasons. During the course of that mission, I killed the son of a powerful Southeast Asian drug lord by the name of Minh Tran. Tran is now demanding vengeance."

"An eye for an eye? Is that why he's killing people? To avenge his son?"

"It's less about his son and more about that scientist I apprehended, Dr. Rufin. Tran wants him. And Tran figures that since I caught Dr. Rufin I can free him as well. To force my hand, Tran kidnapped the woman I was briefly involved with, and then went after my sister. Now he's after you as well."

"People you care, or used to care, about." Gena's hands were shaking now. "And Tran doesn't give a flip how many innocent people he hurts, does he?"

"I won't let anyone near you, Gena. Please believe that," Rocco went on. "I don't want to stay in one place for long, so for now I suggest we go inside and get what we need to tend your injuries. We'll talk more once we're finished here."

Gena nodded, needing to process what she'd just learned.

Was it the truth? Had the Agency known or suspected all along that their own operatives hadn't actually died?

By the time they exited the drugstore, Gena felt shaky. Her head pounded, and despite her claims to the contrary, her wrist and hip were killing her.

The lack of sleep combined with the horror of the fire, Lupe's death, and the foiled abduction was taking a toll. Then there was the news about Harry.

When they were back in the car, Rocco began ransacking his purchases. He pulled out a bottle of ibuprofen.

He shook out two tablets, then handed her a can of ginger ale. "You could probably use something stronger, but maybe these will help ease the pain. I've got an ice pack for your hand, but I want to clean those cuts first."

Gena swallowed the painkillers. "I can do that."

"Humor me. You might want to eat a cracker while I do this so you don't start barfing when those pills. .h.i.t an empty stomach."

Gena pulled out a pack of peanut b.u.t.ter crackers he'd bought. Food was the last thing she wanted, but the thought of getting sick in front of Rocco was mortifying.

When he finished cleaning and treating her cuts, Rocco started the car and pulled away.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"For now, I think it's best we stay on the move."

"You mean hide out? For how long?"

"I don't know. Tran seems to have ears in places he shouldn't. I want to find a place to check the rest of your injuries. And you need some rest. We might even cross into Mexico. Minh Tran is not popular with the drug lords south of the border. And I have some reliable connections there, ones who can't be traced to the Agency."

"Then we have to go back to Sugar Springs first. I have no ID, no pa.s.sport. No suitcase."

"I have what we need to travel under a.s.sumed ident.i.ties, but we'll have to pose as husband and wife."

Gena felt an urge to cry and laugh at the same time. "Always the Boy Scout; prepared for anything."

"Gena, I-"

She cut him off. "I just hate that I have so little choice in any of this."

Rocco didn't say anything for a few minutes. He finally said, "We'll stop a little later and pick up clothes and whatever toiletries you need. For now, why don't you close your eyes and try to get a little sleep while I drive? Let those ibuprofen kick in."

Gena nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Part of her wanted to get as far from Rocco as possible. But a bigger part wanted to lose herself in Rocco's embrace. To find that part of the past that had been so d.a.m.n good between them. She didn't want to sleep, but closing her eyes and pretending would buy her time to get her emotions under control.

Emotions she thought she'd buried years ago when she was young, naive, and queen of all things stupid.

Chapter Thirteen.

Seven Years Earlier Washington, D.C.

Gena rocked her hips, seeking contact, friction. Needing relief. Release.

Can't. Take. It.

"Easy, princess. I know what you need."

"Kiss me, Rocco." She twined her arms around his neck. She twined her arms around his neck. "Kiss me again." "Kiss me again."

Her alarm blared, shattering the fantasy. Gena groaned and reached to shut it off, tempted to hit SNOOZE to chase sleep. To fall back into the dream, back into Rocco's arms.

Then she felt the wet spot on her pillow.

She pushed up, glaring at the dark circle of moisture. "Eeeew. Tell me I was drooling in my sleep, not French kissing my pillow."

Moving made her aware of moisture elsewhere. Between her legs. Great, she'd probably been humping the sheets, too. Had she talked in her sleep as well?Kiss me, Rocco.

She rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom. If there was one consolation, it was the fact she lived alone.

"Your secret's safe with me, princess."

She shivered. Those had been Rocco Taylor's last words to her. Spoken over three weeks ago. Three weeks.

h.e.l.lo? Time to wake up and smell the double latte. Obviously he'd lost interest.

Or found a new one.

She gripped the counter as icy arrows of despair a.s.saulted her. "Oh my G.o.d. I've been dumped!"

She blinked back tears, uncertain what to do next. This-a broken heart-was one disappointment her mother had never prepared her for. And she had a feeling Millicent Armstrong's usual prescription- "here, take a sip"-wouldn't touch this. So Gena reacted the way her father would have. She got p.i.s.sed.

She squished toothpaste onto her brush and attacked her teeth. She'd been warned not to take anything Rocco said seriously. The man was considered a walking, talking flirt machine. A player, only out for the thrill of the chase.

And he had pursued her relentlessly at first, refusing to take no for an answer. Looking sinfully handsome while barraging her with e-mails, phone calls, and flowers. He'd been so ... intent. How could she not have fallen for him?

Once she'd agreed to have lunch with him, she'd promptly lost her heart. But in the end, he'd lived up to his reputed maxim: Wine 'em, dine 'em, f.u.c.k 'em, drop 'em.

Except in her case it had only been wine 'em, dine 'em, drop 'em. And therein lay the problem.

She rinsed her mouth and stared at her reflection. After she'd frozen twice when things heated up after a date, Rocco had guessed her problem. "You're a virgin."

Gena hadn't wanted to admit her inexperience, not to him anyway. All her mother's lectures about saving herself might have made her think twice in college, but the truth was, until she'd met Rocco, no man had ever made her want to have s.e.x.

In fact, with him, she had the opposite problem. Raging desires that scared her. The things she wanted to do, she had no clue how how to. Those fumbling, first-timer mistakes that her college roommates had sorted out via trial and error seemed like bottomless pits to Gena. to. Those fumbling, first-timer mistakes that her college roommates had sorted out via trial and error seemed like bottomless pits to Gena.

Maybe the friend who'd told her Rocco was out of her league was correct. At twenty-nine, he was worldly. A fair-haired James Bond on steroids. At twenty-three, she was more like Little Miss m.u.f.fet. Fairy Tale Girl.

Their last date had ended disastrously. They had been on the sofa, making out. Rocco's fingers had skimmed the undersides of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, driving her mad for more more.

But when he had started to peel off her shirt, she'd panicked. During her freeze-up, his cell phone had rung. He'd taken the call, which he usually didn't whenever they were together. He'd probably been praying the d.a.m.n thing would ring!

It had been the beginning of the end. "I have to go," he'd said. "But I promise we'll talk about this soon."

Right! Gena turned on the shower and climbed under the spray. That it had taken her this long to figure out there wasn't going to be a next time infuriated her.

She'd been living in denial. First, she'd invented a textbook's worth of excuses for him. He lived in Arlington; she was in D.C. He traveled frequently; she commuted. He was a spy. A man of mystery.

Then worry had set in: What if he'd been captured? Or injured? Was he dying in a hospital, calling out for her? She hadn't let her cell phone out of sight; checked it hourly for messages-all while fighting the temptation to dial his number.

Nice girls don't call boys. Another one of her mother's rules. Another one of her mother's rules.

Gena dried her tears, then wrapped a towel around herself and switched on the blow-dryer. After she finished her make-up, she looked critically at her reflection. Nice girls dress properly. Nice girls speak with modulated tones. Nice girls dress properly. Nice girls speak with modulated tones.

Oh horror! She'd turned into her mother! Milli-cent Armstrong had been dead three years, yet at the first insecurity or doubt, Gena still heard her whining told-you-so voice.

"Enough!"

Time to change, beginning with no ... more ... nice.

Gena went to the kitchen and fixed a cup of coffee, debated whether to add a shot of Irish whisky. For courage. Then her doorbell rang.

She frowned. It was six-thirty. Kimberly next door would just be getting back from a run and was always out of coffee. Or it could be Tyrone in 3C, always out of everything.

Gena adjusted the towel she wore. Kimberly could come in; Tyrone she'd ignore.

She tiptoedto the peephole, peered out, and saw ... Rocco. Rocco. She drew a sharp breath. She drew a sharp breath. He's here! He's here!

"I heard that. I know you're there, Gena." He leaned in close and stared back through the peephole. "I can smell your perfume."

She jumped backward.

His chuckle came through the door. "Come on, princess! I brought you a surprise."

She peeked through the peephole again but this time saw only black. He probably had his thumb over the hole. How unfair!

She debated what to do and what to say. Should she send him away or invite him in and give him the cold shoulder?

"I'm not dressed. Give me a minute," she said.

"Not. Dressed." Rocco's voice sounded deeper. Huskier. "Do you mean naked?"

Could her neighbors hear this? "Not naked naked naked," she hissed. "I'm wearing a towel. I just got out of the shower." naked," she hissed. "I'm wearing a towel. I just got out of the shower."

"Oh, then you can let me in and I'll wait while you get dressed."

Nice girls don't parade half naked in front of men.

That did it!

Gena slipped the chain free and jerked the door open. July's warm, humid air wafted in. Already the day promised to be a scorcher.

Despite her resolve to be indifferent, her eyes widened at the sight of him. Rocco Taylor was the golden Sun G.o.d version of tall, dark, and handsome. His hair was thick and straight-except for a couple ends that curled when it got too long. Like now.

Wherever he'd been, he'd been out of doors. Somewhere tropical, judging by his sun-streaked hair and tan. Tough a.s.signment, she thought jealously.

"Holy G.o.d! You look fabulous!" Rocco's dark blue eyes gave her the once-over. Twice. "You also look p.i.s.sed."

Three weeks, no word. p.i.s.sed didn't come close, but she didn't want him to know it. "I've got to leave for work in fifteen minutes, so ..." p.i.s.sed didn't come close, but she didn't want him to know it. "I've got to leave for work in fifteen minutes, so ..."

He had both hands behind his back, hiding something.

"So hurry up and hand over your surprise!"

He wagged his brows. "Close your eyes first."

"Tsk! Come inside, before my neighbors see us." Come inside, before my neighbors see us."

"Just close your eyes, Gena."

She let out a sigh. And the moment she closed her eyes, she sensed him move closer, felt his lips brush hers. Don't swoon. Don't swoon.

"I missed you, princess." He toyed with her mouth, speaking and kissing in that maddening way of his. "And you have every right to be mad. I would have called if I could, but it was one of those things."

"One of those things" was spy-speak for a cla.s.sified mission. A job hazard common to CIA operatives.

In fact, they'd met six months ago, working "one of those things." Gena had just graduated college and had been hired on as a Spanish linguist with the State Department, after interning with the CIA during the two summers prior. Her second week on the job, she'd been sent to Mexico to replace another linguist who'd gotten sick.

The job had involved translating taped conversations between drug couriers. It was a joint mission with the Mexican government and Rocco had wanted to make sure the translations being provided were accurate.

From the first moment she'd seen him, she'd been aware of Rocco physically and s.e.xually. But he'd been a total pro during that job. So much so that Gena had decided he was already involved. Clearly not interested in her even though some of the other operatives had seemed eager.

But once the job ended and Rocco returned to D.C., he'd been persistent in asking her out.

Right now she moaned as he deepened the kiss. His tongue swept into her mouth. And at the exact moment she turned to warm b.u.t.ter, he stepped away.