Savage Secrets (Titan #6) (37 page)

“Roc—”

“I’ll call you later.”

“Rocco—”

“What goddamn it? You wanna tell me to give her space? To be her friend? Whatever you want to say, shove it. I’m going to find her, and she can say it to my face. She’s pissed I killed the fucker. Fine. She can say it. She hates me for ruining some lifelong dream of murder. Whatever. It’s true. She was gonna die. So I don’t give a fuck. Bye.”

He walked into his room—
their room
—and grabbed a bag. He wasn’t coming home without her. A promise. A vow, and damn, he sounded like a crazy stalker, but that was what had to happen. She loved him. He knew deep down in his soul that she loved him. And he would talk her ear off until she remembered, then he make love to her until she screamed his name—well, soon as she’d wrapped her head around the idea of sex again. That was his plan. Getting from their relationship’s point A to point B had a lot of logistical questions, but those could be figured out along the way.

Bag packed with a few changes of clothes, he grabbed a box of granola bars and his passport on the way to his truck. He had no freakin’ idea where he was going. Rocco jumped into his truck, threw the gear shifter in drive, and peeled down the driveway. First up, call Parker. He reached for his phone. Wasn’t in his pocket or on the dash. Not in his bag. He remembered throwing it aside to pack. Hell, he wasn’t turning around for a phone. If he needed one, he’d buy a burner.

Before he knew it, Rocco had parked at Dulles International Airport and was staring at the listing of out bound flights. London. London. London. Several options. He needed the quickest one.

Standing in line took forever, and no doubt, scratched the earliest flight off the list of possibilities. Commercial flights were a nightmare. Finally, he made it to the top of the line and was directed to a kiosk. He punched the buttons. Check-in flights. Change flights. Where was
departing flights
? He looked up at the girl manning the counter, advising a dozen kiosks on where their gates were and strapping baggage claim stickers on suitcases.

“Excuse me? Emergency over here.”

Kiosk Lady put up a finger, and Rocco cursed. He wouldn’t make any of these flights. He’d memorized every flight to London by the time she waltzed over, smile painted on and flirting a bit too much.

“I need to get to London, ASAP.”

“You don’t have a ticket?” Confusion slowed her flirtation.

Come on, already
. “No ticket.” He waved his passport and a wad of cash and credit cards. “But I do have this, so make it happen.”

Looking at his hand, then him, a saccharine look crossed her face like this was some romantic movie, and he was the hero chasing down the girl. “Is this about a girl?”

For Christ’s sake…Well, that was kind of true, and Kiosk Lady seemed happy about it. “Yes. Help me.”

He’d go along with her delusion of what might be happening, no need to mention killing off a terrorist who’d raped his woman.
Fuck
. The urge to maim tore through his veins again. He breathed it out, trying like crazy to keep his head.

She typed on her computer. “Hmmm….”

Hmm? He was about to jump the security line and board a plane by force. He could fly almost anything. A commercial plane wouldn't be a problem. “Tell me you got something.” Otherwise, he would carjack a jetliner. Titan would make the news. Jared would be pissed after trying to help Rocco get out of that little problem. “It’s really important.”

“I’m sorry. Nothing available until—”

He rubbed his forehead. “I’ve got to get to my girl.
Have to
.”

A few more types and clicks. “I really want to help. There just aren’t any seats until tomorrow.”

“I’ll try another—”

“I checked all carriers leaving here today.” Her sweet smile made him want to punch the screen. “But tomorrow—”

His head lowered, his shoulders slouched, and defeat mocked him. Rocco turned, ready to kick his negative thoughts and find another plan of attack. How hard could it be to get a plane to Europe? How sure was he she was going home?

Home.

Home… wasn’t London.

He raced back to the front of the line, cutting in front of a much older couple dripping in money. The man mumbled something about diamond-platinum status.
Whatever
. “Spain. Can you get me to Spain?”

The airline woman’s smile faltered as she silently apologized to the couple he’d stepped in front of. “Sir—”

“Get me to Spain. Today.”

“I was helping our
premier
guests.” She all but curtsied, trying to make her apology stretch on his behalf.

“I have to get to her.”

Another curtsey, apology thing to the premier people, and she focused on him, if for no other reason than to get rid of him. He knew that and didn’t care.

“Um, do you have a particular city?”

Shit. Geography would kick his ass today. Where had Titan worked? Where did she say she’d lived? He was going to—what—wander around a country until he spotted her?

Think
…

Southeastern Spain. Near Algeria. “Grenada. Murcia. Valencia. Just get me in that neck of the woods.” He closed his eyes for a second, praying to God whatever she typed would give him a shot at finding Caterina. “Please. Just…” He cracked his knuckles and realized how quiet it was around him. Rocco looked over his shoulder. Dozens of people watched him. “I have to get there.”

“Murcia?”

“Done. I’ll take it.”

She frowned, looking at her wrist watch. “You’ll be cutting it close.”

The hoity-toity premier woman butted in, her gray hair coiffed but her eyes dancing with the thrill of his moment. “Look at him. This boy can run. Get him that ticket.”

Rocco heard murmuring beside him, behind him. This was turning into a spectacle, but who the hell cared. “I can run.”

More clacking on the keyboard. “Baggage?”

“No.”
Come on, come on, come on
. He pulled out his wallet. “How much time do I have?”

“Not much. Passport, ID?”

“Here.”

“This computer system is taking forever. Sorry about this.” She tapped the side of the screen a few times. “Um, I think it froze. There’s another flight… um, give me a minute to find it.”

The woman next to him elbowed her hoity-toity husband, who grumbled. “What?”

She raised penciled eye brows at him, tilting her unmoving, styled hairdo his way.

“How much time?” Rocco asked again.

“I’m working as fast as I can. Soon as it reboots, we’ll get you paid up. There we go—”

“Oh, fiddle-sticks.” The older woman next to him blew out. “Print him a boarding pass.” She nudged her husband. “Honey, get his ticket.”

“Get his ticket?” Kiosk Lady gaped.

Rocco gaped. “
Get my ticket
?” Somewhere in the back of his head, he heard Caterina talking about coincidence and everything happening for a reason.

“Yes.” She smiled, nudging her very much less than enthusiastic husband. “Get your ticket.”

“I can’t—” Rocco stuttered, not exactly knowing why she offered or what to say. A last minute international ticket was some serious cash.

“You won’t make it through security and the shuttles. This old beau had to chase me down. All the way to Paris. I’ve waited fifty years to pay it forward. Go.”

“I don’t need a free ride. This should cover it.” Rocco handed her a wad of cash and a business card that simply had Titan’s logo and a phone number on it. “If you ever need anything, it’s on the house.”

The woman nodded. Gold and diamonds sparkled on her. “Go.”

From behind the counter, Kiosk Lady picked up the phone. “Hey, I’ve got a VIP coming your way. Get him through security.” She handed him a hand-punched ticket, pointing down the terminal. “Good luck.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

The tide was pulling out. Cold water lapped up to Rocco’s ankles, and his feet made a rhythmic slapping-sucking noise as he walked in the rushing water. He’d arrived in Murcia, Spain that morning with little in the way of a plan. As he walked through the terminal, advertisements for tourist hot spots and transportation flashed at him.
The resorts at Dehesa de Campoamor
? He picked up a brochure filled with pictures of white, sandy beaches. Her hometown had been the alias she used? His plan immediately clicked into place, and he had a good idea of where to track Caterina down once he found Dehesa de Campoamor.

A sun-bleached fence was ahead at the top of the sand dunes. Behind it stood a one-room church with a steeple that had seen better days. The building was whitewashed, and everything looked as he’d thought it would. His eyes followed along the fence line to the open gate.

It only took a moment to reach the opening, and when he did, he dropped the shoes he’d been carrying and slipped them on. Grass surrounded the church and the small graveyard behind it. Above him, an old church bell began its angsty tolling, one loud clang after another. The hollow noise floated toward the sea and disappeared.

He scanned the grass, the graves, until he spotted her, sitting in front of a nondescript marker. Caterina’s hair was down, floating in the breeze. She looked content talking to the gravestones, almost serene, and not at all how he normally felt when walking toward graves. Hands in his pockets, he silently crossed closer and watched her.

Whatever she was saying, it looked important. He remembered that Caterina had made a vow not to go home until vengeance had been exacted. Even now, his actions pained his heart, but he wouldn’t have risked a do-over. He never would have risked her life. So here he was to explain that, and she could either take it or kick him back to America.

He held his breath and waited.

“Hi.” She didn’t turn around.

Her gauzy dress softened her. The white of the fabric stood out against her olive skin and dark hair. He could stare at her all day. Even now, she looked more beautiful than he’d ever seen her, cloaked in white and glowing.

“Kitten.” He didn’t move forward, letting her stay with her family and do what she needed to do. Then he’d bring her home, and they could start a new life.

Silent minutes later, she looked over her shoulder, pushing the loose hair away. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you think?” His words floated in the wind.

She dropped her chin, but then raised it to look at him again. “How did you know where I was?”

The distant sadness in her voice made his heart ache and arms hurt for wanting to hold her. “Wasn’t that hard to find you, Cat.”

“I would’ve come back. Eventually.”

“Eventually would’ve been too long.”

“Want to sit?” She patted the ground next to her, gathering the skirt around her knees. “My parents, my brothers.”

“I know.” He nodded, watching her stare at their graves.

“You would have liked them.”

Slowly stepping closer, he dropped next to her on the grass. The graves were white and worn, the lettering of the names and dates weather-beaten. “Bet I would have.”

“Rocco, I’m not the same person I was even a few weeks ago.”

He inclined his head toward her. “I can say the same thing about me after meeting you.”

“No. It’s different. It’s…” She bit her bottom lip and looked over the graves.

Damn. Something wasn’t right. “Cat?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“What?” The word just fell out. All shocked and… shocked. That couldn’t be right. “But I thought…” He felt funny. Overwhelmed. Overjoyed. Damn, his head swam. “So… I’m going to be—”

“No.” Her eyes welled. “I don’t know.”

“What?”

“I don’t know.” Pain flooded her words.

She wasn’t pregnant? What?

“The same day, we didn’t…” She sniffled. “The day I trusted my birth control was the same day I was attacked.”

He didn’t understand because there was no way she could be possibly saying—

“The baby, it might not—” Her voice cracked. She turned back to the graves and let her hair cover her face.

His windpipe squeezed. The baby wasn’t his. Or maybe it was. Holy shit. He couldn’t breathe. “It’s…” He had nothing. “This… You… Are you okay?”

“Yes. No.” She rubbed her temples. “This is not the way it was supposed to be.”

“And you’re going to k—”

“Yes,” she hissed at him.

His stomach churned, not sure what he wanted the answer to be. Hell, this wasn’t fair. Just—goddamn—wasn’t fair. He inhaled and adrenaline rushed his system. “Okay.” But that sounded forced. It felt forced.

His insides shook, muscles vibrating, teeth gnashing, shaking to the point of sickness, yet he looked down at his hands, and nothing moved. Nothing, and thank God because enough had come down on the woman he wanted to be his wife, and if he gave her an ounce more burden to carry, he might as well just walk away. It’d be better for them both.