Of all the things I might have imagined
.
That didn’t mean he’d been thinking of her. It was a figure of speech. Every time she’d thought of
Rocco, she’d known exactly what he’d been doing. Being a field operative was in his blood.
Gena started to give him the same standard no-big-deal reply that she gave anyone who expressed surprise that a woman did what many still considered “a man’s job.” Except Rocco’s question was based on the Gena Armstrong he’d known a long time ago.
“It was no secret that I was in pretty bad shape when I left Harry,” Gena began. By that time, her battle with alcohol had been common knowledge. “On top of that, my father had been diagnosed with terminal cancer, so returning to Texas seemed like my only option. Unfortunately, he died before I got there, in a pauper’s hospital. I didn’t know he’d lost everything.”
“That had to be hard.”
She shrugged. “A childhood friend of mine came to his funeral. Vianca and I had been like sisters from kindergarten through high school. We’d planned to go to college together, except she married and stayed behind. We lost touch for several years. Her marriage failed and she decided to take over her husband’s construction business after he ran off with his secretary. Vianca pushed me into rehab, and then she took me under her wing and put me through a very physical crash course in construction. Vi believed hard work and fresh air could cure anything.”
“She sounds like an amazing friend. How did she die?”
“A construction accident. A crane malfunctioned and dropped a roof truss on her.” Gena blinked away tears. Vi had died instantly. That she hadn’t suffered meant little.
“You’ve lost a lot. I’m sorry.” Rocco ordered two
coffees when their waitress drifted close, then asked Gena, “Would you prefertotalk about something else?”
“No.” Vianca was a safe subject.
“Did you take over her business at her death?”
“Not really. I’m not licensed, though I can do almost anything a contractor can, thanks to Vi. Her cousin stepped in. He’s a contractor, too, and lent his name to Vi’s incomplete projects. I pretty much handled the shelter job. I knew how much it meant to Vianca.”
“What was her connection? Had she stayed at the shelter?”
“As an adult, no. Her parents were alcoholics. Vi spent time at the shelter during her teen years when her parents battled violently. The acceptance Vi felt there had a profound impact on her.”
“Will you return to Sugar Springs and rebuild the shelter?”
His question surprised her. “I don’t think I could do it again. I had planned to leave Sugar Springs once it was complete, to go back to school. I may make a donation and let someone else rebuild it.”
Rocco touched her hand but just as quickly withdrew it. “I’ll help financially too.”
“I had initially considered donating the proceeds from Harry’s father’s estate, but if Harry is alive, the estate should go to him.”
The waitress delivered their coffee just then. When they were alone, Rocco cleared his throat, then said, “I really can’t comment on that. I’m sure you remember that there was no love lost between Harry and me.”
Rocco’s phone vibrated then. Gena concentrated on doctoring her coffee as he answered.
For a moment when they’d talked, it had been easy. Until he’d mentioned Harry. Rocco and Harry’s dislike of each other had always been apparent, even back when she’d thought Harry was her friend. In retrospect, she realized she never knew the reason for the two men’s animosity.
“When did Travis receive this?” Rocco said.
Rocco’s tone caught Gena’s attention, but at his next words, she dropped her spoon. It clattered against her ceramic mug.
“No, it’s not mine! But Minh Tran can’t know that,” he said.
It’s not mine
. Gena had heard those words before, was stunned by the sting that memory still held.
I’m taking it out of context,
she reminded herself. Rocco could be denying a lot of different things.
“Keep me posted.” He disconnected but almost immediately his phone rang again. “Taylor,” he snapped. “Fine. We’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.”
When Rocco ended that call, he signaled the waitress to bring their tab.
Gena waited until they’d left the restaurant to speak. “Are you going to tell me what that phone call was about?”
“We’re meeting our contact at a corporate hangar. He’s arranged a private plane to ferry us to Acapulco. The safe house is a small villa near the ocean, comfortable but private. Remember our cover story?”
“Executive wife who knows little about what her spouse does.” Gena increased her stride to keep pace with him. “I meant the other call you got. The one that upset you.”
Rocco slowed. “A new demand has been received for Maddy. And her unborn child.”
No, it’s not mine.
“Maddy is pregnant?” Gena asked.
He nodded. “It’s quite a surprise. No one, including Travis, knew she was pregnant. I’m guessing she’s not very far along. Minh Tran, of course, believes I’m the father, and that sick bastard has threatened to take Maddy’s child as recompense for the loss of his son. We’ve got less than forty-eight hours to find her.”
His phone rang again and he motioned for Gena to keep walking as he answered it.
A knife twisted in Gena’s heart for Madison Kohl-meyer. For two people who had never met, they had surprising commonalities. Both women had loved Rocco Taylor. Both had moved on.
And Gena knew exactly what it felt like to be pregnant and all alone.
Five Years Earlier
Washington, D.C.
Gena checked the dining room with a critical eye. Fresh flowers. Candles. Table linens, pressed. Silver, polished.
She couldn’t cook, but her mother had made certain Gena knew the proper way to set a table.
“How else can you correct the staff, darling?”
Gena moved a plate a fraction of an inch and nodded. Not bad for two hours’ notice and no staff.
She plucked the empty wineglass from her place setting and then retreated to the kitchen before she changed her mind again. Would Rocco notice she wasn’t drinking before they sat down to eat?
She rechecked her menu. The entree she’d ordered from The Crusader was ready to pop in the microwave alongside the asparagus and new potatoes. Salads were in the fridge, along with two slices of chocolate mousse cake, though the thought of chocolate, or any food for that matter, nauseated her.
There really wasn’t anything else to do until Rocco arrived. Except relax. Ha! Fat chance that.
She hadn’t seen him or talked with him in six weeks. A month and a half with only the occasional “Jesus, I miss you, princess” missives from throwaway e-mail addresses that were never used twice.
Gena had known from the beginning that life with a covert operative would never be normal. They couldn’t always go and do like a normal couple. Rocco kept irregular hours, irregular weeks. He frequently disappeared, more and more often, without warning; working on assignments they rarely discussed—though she could make an educated guess.
Everything he did was fraught with danger. His enemies outnumbered his friends. And he saw things no one should. Fighting the good fight took a toll, even on a warrior.
Which was why Gena always tried to make their moments together special.
She thought Rocco appreciated her efforts, but lately … She wasn’t sure of anything these days. And this time it was more than the vague but troubling rumors that percolated through the office.
“You know how men are. Think they’re safe dallying in foreign countries. Talk sweet to their girlfriends, while texting their whores.”
Her friend Harry had told her to ignore the grapevine. “Go with your heart,” he’d advised.
Gena touched her abdomen. She needed to listen to Harry more and tune out Rumor Central.
Last time, Rocco had been gone more than six weeks and had seemed overjoyed to see her. Granted, he’d only been home two days before disappearing again. Two days that had been a blur of lovemaking.
Would this be a repeat? Wham. Bam. Bye. She
looked down at her sundress. She’d selected the strapless dress because it called attention to her cleavage— Rocco’s favorite body part, even if he wouldn’t admit it.
“There’s not one part of you that I don’t love, princess.”
She hoped he’d notice her breasts were bigger and ask why. But now she worried the dress would inflame his libido, which would in turn inflame her. And then they’d fall into bed and—
They had to talk
first
.
Gena went to her bedroom closet and found a short lacy jacket to slip on. It made her look more dressed up, but this was a celebration. A double celebration.
That Rocco had obviously made a special effort to be there today, for their two-year anniversary, made her feel less apprehensive. Two years.
Where had the time gone? It seemed like yesterday she was fretting over her lack of sexual experience. Three days on that private island had changed her life forever. After that they’d agreed to be monogamous and Rocco had declared his undying love shortly thereafter.
Of course, that was before she’d discovered she was pregnant. Before she’d started letting the gossip weigh her down.
It was also before her disastrous trip to Texas the first of June. Her father had never approved of her job at the State Department, and since Gena rarely went home anymore it was easy to ignore her father’s verbal jabs about cocky CIA agents and his advice to find a rich, single senator.
So when her father announced in all seriousness that it was time for Gena to return to Sugar Springs and fulfill her family duty, she’d nearly choked.
Family duty meant marrying the boy next door, who just happened to be the son of the wealthiest rancher in South Texas.
The same rancher who’d apparently loaned her father large sums, due soon. “As long as you marry before Christmas, I’ll be fine,” her father had said.
Gena had refused, tried to tell her father about Rocco. “I’m in love with someone else, Daddy.”
“Who? This mysterious man you’ve supposedly dated for two years, but is never around,” her father had said. “How convenient for him.”
But her father’s tirades grew nastier. And when he threatened to cut her off financially and emotionally, she’d fled Texas, certain her father would come to his senses.
He didn’t. Instead he’d rescinded her credit cards. And last week, when her monthly trust transfer was typically made, there had been nothing.
Gena had talked with the bank officer, who had been sympathetic while explaining that her father controlled the trust fund her mother had left and could basically do as he chose with the funds.
In the end, the officer told Gena to cut her expenses and move. “You can’t afford to live in the city on your salary.”
One option, to get a roommate, was unacceptable; when Rocco was in town they hung out at her place. But maybe they’d have to start going to his place more. He had a town house in the suburbs that she’d visited once. “A place to store clothes,” Rocco had joked.
Would Rocco consider a roommate? Like
her
for example?
“Men don’t marry women they can sleep with for free. Or the ones they have to pay,” her mother had
once warned. “They marry the ones who play hard to get.”
Marriage. She and Rocco had never discussed the subject, but Gena assumed it would be the next logical step. Certainly before having babies.
God, she really didn’t need to deal with this right now. Not with everything else. Maybe she should wait a week and retake the test. Those drugstore kits weren’t infallible. But neither was birth control.
When her gynecologist had switched her pill prescription, Gena had been warned to use condoms during the first month, which they had. But when the new prescription made her drier than usual, she’d bought a sexy lubricant. Only to learn later that that particular lubricant wasn’t safe to use with latex.
She checked her appearance one last time, then returned to the living room. Rocco was ten minutes late. Restless, she inventoried the kitchen once more, her eyes lingering on the bottle of wine. Of all the times she could really use a drink!
She wandered through the dining room. Panic set in as she eyed the table.
“The flowers!” Rocco always brought her flowers! How could she forget that? She grabbed the arrangement and carried it into her guest room.
Just in time. The doorbell rang.
Rocco.
She looked out the peephole and felt a smile lift her mouth. No matter what came between them, or how long they were apart, her heart would always belong to this man. She opened the door wide.
“Miss me, princess?” he asked.
Gena leaped into his arms and began to kiss him.
“I take that as a yes,” Rocco said between kisses.
“I always miss you.”
He carried her inside, pausing long enough to shut and lock the door. Then he pressed his lips to the side of her neck. “God, you smell delicious.”
“Define delicious. I’m the French Jasmine. Steak tips in a portobello sauce is dinner.”
“I pick jasmine. Always.” He grasped her wrist, brought it to his mouth and spread a line of kisses to her elbow. “Who needs food when I’ve got you?”
Gena’s eyes grew moist.
It’s going to be okay.
“I’ll get you a drink while you put your bag in the bedroom.”
As soon as she said it, she realized he’d come in empty-handed.
“About that.” Rocco’s smile faded and he caught both of her hands in his and squeezed them. “I can’t stay. I shouldn’t be here to begin with. I’ve got less than two hours to get back to Dulles.”
She shook her head. “But I haven’t seen you in six weeks.”
“I know. It sucks for me, too. Unfortunately, it’s going to suck another six to eight weeks. Hey! What’s with the tears? Please understand, this mission is important, or I’d never leave you.”
“And yet you do.” Gena dashed her tears aside, hating that her voice sounded wobbly. Hating the lack of time. “I’m tired of always being left behind. I’m tired of dropping everything and rearranging my life to fit yours.”