by Cate Noble
Harry agreed. Anything to keep Wally relaxed for now.
As soon as they touched down in Acapulco, Ed-guardo and a couple buddies would surround the plane. Gena would be removed while Harry instructed Rocco on what was needed to secure her freedom: Rufin’s formula for SugarCane and another as yet unproven drug nicknamed JumpJuice. Wally’s death would be made to look like a drug deal gone bad.
Harry grinned. Yeah, Ian Brown had earned his Krugerrands today. First Ian had managed to intercept a communiqué between two of Minh Tran’s top aides. Tran had changed his game plan, demanding the formula for SugarCane in exchange for a pregnant Maddy Kohlmeyer.
Then in a stunning one-two follow-up, Ian had also detected Catalina Dion’s incursion into a low-security Agency database. It didn’t take much to figure out that she was doing so on Rocco’s behalf.
Rocco was apparently seeking help from an old INTERPOL connection. It had also been easy to learn what arrangements the connection had made for Rocco. Everything was for sale in Mexico. Loyalty was a commodity here. Bought and sold like pork bellies on the Chicago Mercantile Exchange.
Rocco had wanted an enforcer and a safe house, someone who worked freelance. A dependable, private mercenary who operated outside of INTERPOL to avoid the exact traceability problems Ian had exploited inside the CIA.
It had taken some serious cash, but Harry had learned who the enforcer was and intercepted him. Then Harry had assumed Clay Watkins’s identity and assignment. Clay had Rocco’s cell phone numbers, so they could speak directly. Using a nasal-pitched drawl to disguise his voice had become second nature for Harry, and Rocco showed no hesitation.
Taking Gena from Rocco here in Monterrey had been deemed too risky since Rocco’s INTERPOL connection was nearby. Better to get them in an environment Harry controlled.
The door to the hangar opened as Rocco and Gena entered, each carrying one bag. This was it. Harry peeled off his sunglasses and extended his hand confidently.
Harry had had a new face for long enough to know he looked unrecognizable. Chin implants, nose job, new cheeks. A little peroxide and colored contacts had him blond and blue-eyed.
Just like Rocco. Better than Rocco.
“You must be Mr. and Mrs. Swanson. I’m Clay Watkins,” Harry said.
Rocco nodded, moving slightly closer to Gena, who edged away. The hostility between these two was tangible even after all these years.
“This is my wife, Jill. I’m Mike.” Rocco shook hands after introducing Gena.
Don’t call her by her real name, Harry reminded himself.
“The pilot says we should take off before that storm front moves in,” Harry said. “Let me stow your luggage.”
While Harry loaded their suitcases, Rocco helped Gena into the twin-engine Cessna. It seemed she couldn’t get away fast enough.
Then Rocco walked back to Harry. “You’re supposed to have something for me.”
Harry nodded and grabbed the holstered Beretta nine millimeter from the cargo hold. Rocco hadn’t risked crossing the border with a firearm and had asked that a piece be supplied.
Rocco had always hated Berettas, but Harry couldn’t let on that he knew. Rocco frowned at the nylon clip-on holster, but didn’t complain. Harry watched as Rocco slipped the gun’s magazine free and verified that it was fully loaded.
Harry held out two additional clips. “If you need more when we land, no problem.”
Rocco clipped the holster at his waist beneath his shirt and pocketed the extra magazines. “This will do for now.”
It would do fine until he tried to shoot someone, Harry thought. The bullets were blanks.
“Thanks,” Rocco said. “We’re ready to go.”
“I’ll tell the pilot.”
A few minutes later, the plane left the hangar and meandered through the maze of runways.
The Cessna’s four passenger seats faced each other. Harry sat directly across from Gena. Wouldn’t they both shit to know who he was?
Outside the small window lightning flashed on the horizon, which elicited a sharp intake of breath from Gena. Rocco took her hand. “We’ll be fine, Jill. Try closing your eyes and relaxing.”
“Jill” gritted her teeth and looked out the window instead.
Oh, yeah, this was going to be fun to watch. Harry sat back and flipped through a newspaper.
Clearly distracted, Gena continued gazing out the window. Harry wondered what Rocco thought of this Gena. Harry preferred the beauty queen Gena. The dependent Gena. Or his favorite, the guilt-ridden Gena who believed she needed to be punished.
Rocco, however, seemed more smitten than ever. The idiot had never gotten over her.
Rocco touched her knee, drawing her attention. “Headache still bothering you?” he asked.
“It’s tension.” Gena glanced apologetically at Harry as if just now realizing her behavior was less than cordial. No recognition flashed on her face. She truly believed she was speaking to Clay Watkins. “Small planes make me nervous,” she explained.
Harry shrugged. “You get used to it, ma’am.”
“We’ll be fine, sweetheart.” Rocco leaned close and pressed a kiss to her temple, the act of a caring husband.
Except Gena flinched again. Harry found tremendous satisfaction in knowing the two of them hadn’t gotten beyond their past obstacles. Obstacles Harry had gone to great length to craft.
“Here’s some water.” Rocco cracked open a bottle and handed it to her.
Gena looked at it, then at Rocco, and for a brief moment Harry saw a change in her expression. Harry recognized that look. She still wanted Rocco so bad she didn’t know what to do.
The satisfaction Harry had felt moments before morphed into a smoldering resentment.
It had never bothered Harry that Gena didn’t love him until he saw her weeping for Rocco. Falling-down drunk and begging Harry to call Rocco.
Oh how Harry wished Rocco could have seen that Gena.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Five Years Earlier
Washington, D.C.
Harry Gambrel tipped the cab driver an extra twenty for him to wait. “Just let me knock on the door, see if my friend answers. I’m really worried about her, you know? Besides, if she’s not here, I’ll need a ride back.”
And if she’d done something stupid he wanted a witness.
He knew things had been rocky between Gena Armstrong and Rocco Taylor. Hell, Harry had worked his ass off these last twelve months promoting that rift from behind the scenes. But her quitting her job had not been part of the plan. Neither was running back to Daddy.
Gena had already told Harry how her father had cut off her funds. She honestly had no clue about how to survive on less. Likewise, she was clueless that her father’s action was more than a bid to force her to return to Texas for what amounted to an arranged marriage. Harry had done a little checking and found that Jefferson Armstrong had plundered Gena’s trust fund to cover gambling debts. Daddy’s issues were a lot bigger than he’d let on. She’d need to marry triplets to fix all of Jefferson’s problems.
Damn it, Harry had wanted Gena to run to him. He’d been grooming her bad habits for this very moment. So what had gone wrong? Had he underestimated her limits? Had those e-mails and photographs of Rocco pushed her over the edge?
Yes, Gena was young and naïve. Spoiled and gullible. But Harry hadn’t pegged her for the type who would commit suicide over a broken heart. However, the fact she wasn’t answering her phone while her car was parked in its assigned spot hinted at trouble.
Harry leaned on the doorbell as he knocked, pausing just a second before repeating. No answer. Should he go to the leasing office and flash his credentials to get a key? Or continue playing the worried-sick friend and let them check on her?
He heard a faint noise on the other side of the door and knocked again. “Hey, Gena. It’s me. Harry.”
“Go … away.” Her voice sounded slurred.
Ah-ha. Gena had been lubricating her built
-in self-destruct mechanism. How fortunate. Harry was Drunk Gena’s best friend forever.
He backed away just long enough to signal the cabbie to go on.
“You don’t sound good, honey. Are you sick? Do you need me to call an ambulance or the police?”
“No! Don’t call anyone!” she yelled. “I’m … I’m fine.”
“Come on, Gena. I’m not leaving. Friends look out for friends, remember? God knows you’ve been there for me.”
When Harry had returned from the Mexican job and learned that Rocco Taylor was already screwing Gena, he’d been furious. Rocco had been so blasted sanctimonious, declaring Gena “off limits” during her brief appearance at that assignment. Rocco should have just called dibs like anyone else.
But instead of calling Rocco out over it, Harry had channeled that anger into something useful. Harry struck up a platonic friendship with Gena by pretending to have a girlfriend who lived overseas. Then he’d sought Gena’s advice whenever he and his girlfriend “fought.”
Once Gena felt safe with him, she began confiding some of her own dating woes. Like how Rocco was gone on assignments more and more frequently. She didn’t realize that as the senior agent, Harry had been able to manipulate schedules, especially where manpower was sorely needed, like in the Middle East.
The sound of the security chain being released had Harry shuffling closer. A moment later Gena opened the door. He was careful to hide his reaction to her appearance. Going to the Monsters’ Ball, are we?
She looked frightening, like she hadn’t slept in days. She wore no make-up and her hair was wrecked, à la Rat’s Nest Barbie. The oversized men’s T-shirt— a castoff of Rocco’s, no doubt—looked sloppy with the plaid pajama bottoms she wore. Quite frankly, Harry wouldn’t have guessed the little beauty queen was capable of this.
“I went by your office to take you to lunch and was shocked to learn you’d resigned.” Harry reached out to steady her as he reassessed her condition. She wasn’t drunk after all, but something else was damn sure wrong. “You sure you’re not sick?”
She nodded, then immediately started crying projectile tears.
Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the sofa. Judging by the crumpled tissues overflowing the wastebasket, he guessed she’d been on the sofa all night. Her normally spotless apartment was trashed, a testament to her loss of maid service.
“Let me make you a cup of tea,” he offered.
“I tried. Can’t keep it down.”
He eased away. Crap, if she had the flu— “Are you running any fever?”
“I’m not contagious. I’m just … stupid.” More tears. “I feel like such a fool, Harry.”
“Hey now, none of that kind of talk!” He sat in the chair that was positioned at a right angle to the sofa, ready to hear confession and offer advice. “You’re one of the sweetest, brightest people I know. Look, we’ve been pals long enough that I think I know what the problem is. Something to do with your boyfriend, right?”
“Ex-boyfriend. We … we had a fight last week, but I thought—” She withdrew with a shake of her head.
“You thought what? That you’ve fought before and always patched things up? I’m sure you will again.”
“We’ve never really fought before.”
“That’s because you keep your feelings to yourself,” Harry said.
“But he already has lots of stress.”
“Who doesn’t? Look at how stressed you are. You quit your job, Gena!”
She grabbed another tissue. “There are things you don’t know about.”
Like the e-mail and photographs you received two days ago? “What kinds of things? I can’t help you, honey, unless you let me.” Harry snapped his fingers. “Wait. Don’t tell me you’ve heard more rumors. I told you not to pay attention to those jealous bitches.” The jealous bitches whom Harry could count on to torment Gena with snippets of vicious gossip.
She shook her head. “What they said is true, Harry. A woman named Brandy e-mailed me pictures of her and Rocco. Along with copies of phone texts. She accused me of being the other woman. Said she’s been with Rocco three years. That’s a year before I met him!”
Harry sat back as if dismayed. “God, Gena, I feel awful. How many times did you tell me about the things you heard? And to think I defended that son of a bitch! I’ve got a good mind to kick his—”
“No, Harry.” She met his gaze and shook her head. “Let it go. I got myself into this mess, and I’ll … deal with it.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a mess. If you’re worried about your job, heck, I can get you on in my department. Or recommend you to a friend who’d appreciate someone with your special talents.” And who’d love to ogle your tits.
“I’m pregnant, Harry.” Gena started to cry again, in earnest. “And … and I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
The news stunned Harry. He did a mental backup. Okay, so she wasn’t drinking because she was pregnant. And she couldn’t hold food down because of morning sickness, which from what he’d heard, could last all day.
Add to that the fact Harry knew Rocco had probably given her the standard spies-like-us-can’t-have-families excuse when they’d first started dating. Of course, Harry also knew Rocco must be rethinking certain issues because Harry had overheard him talking marriage with Dante Johnson.
Time to think fast, act faster. “Does Rocco know you’re pregnant?” he asked.
“No! And I have no intention of telling him.”
“I understand your position. But, honey, he does have a right to know. We’re talking about a baby here. A life the two of you created. Your romantic relationship may be irretrievably broken now that you know about this Brandy creature, but then again, impending fatherhood may be the wakeup call Rocco needs. How about we try to reach him?”
“Now? I … I can’t talk to him. Not when I’m upset like this.”
You couldn’t call him before this, either. Oh, yeah, Harry knew all about her idiosyncrasies.
“Then I’ll call him,” Harry said. “I’ll step outside, or go in the kitchen so you don’t feel a part of it, but, honey, you can’t possibly keep this to yourself.”
“I’m not sure if that’s the right thing to do.”
That wasn’t a no. Harry stood. “Let me handle it. You just lie down and try to relax. I’ll go in the kitchen and, um, make you a cup of tea. You’ve got tea bags, right?”
In the kitchen, Harry filled the teakettle and set it on the stove, then poked through her cabinets and found tea and sugar. The longer he postponed making the call, the more anxious she’d be.
Finally, he opened his phone and began pressing a long string of numbers, followed by END. Then he held the phone to his ear.
“Yo! Rocco. It’s me.” He raised his voice. “It’s Harry. Yeah, lousy connection.”
He took a deep breath. “Look, I just talked to Gena. And, man, you need to call her. ASAP.”
Harry paused. “I’m serious, dude. Yeah, I know what the problem is, but you need to hear it from her.”
Another pause. “Fine. Let me spell it out. Gena’s pregnant. And she needs your help. What? Of course it’s yours, you big dumb fuck! Gena would never lie about— Tell whoever’s yelling to be quiet. Oh, Jesus, you’re with Brandy right now?”
The teakettle started whistling. Harry plucked it off the stove. “Hell no, I’m not going to tell her you said that! I know for a fact Gena’s never been with anyone but you. You know what? Forget I called. In fact, forget we’re friends!”
Harry closed his phone with a snap and tossed it on the counter. Gena’s sobs drifted in from the other room. She’d heard every word. Perfect. He poured hot water over the tea bag.
Then he pulled his wallet out and extracted a small paper envelope. He dumped the powder from it into the teacup and brewed a weak but sweet tea. The powder, similar to a date-rape drug, worked better with alcohol. He’d need to increase the dose to achieve the same effect.
The drug shared most of Rohypnol’s amnesia-inducing qualities with one important difference. The last thing said to a victim stayed with the person, making it excellent for persuasion.
He carried the tea in to Gena and sat beside her on the couch. “Here.”
She ignored the cup. “He … was with her?”
Harry nodded. “How much did you overhear?”
“Enough to know Rocco doesn’t believe it’s his baby.” She swiped her eyes. “Is that what he said?”
“He said, ‘It’s not mine,’ but that may have been for Brandy’s benefit. Once he’s away from her, he’ll probably call and—”
“I don’t want to speak with him. Ever.” Gena straightened her shoulders. “I’ve changed my mind about going home. In fact, the sooner I get to Texas, the better. My father won’t be pleased, but he’ll certainly take the news better than—” Her voice cracked.
“Here. Try a sip of this.” Harry held the cup to her mouth.
Gena’s father would have a cow to learn his daughter was pregnant outside of marriage. Armstrong women didn’t do that. Especially not when Daddy hoped to hook her up with the rich heir one ranch over. Armstrong women married well, and then hired nannies to raise their young. Gena wouldn’t know how to care for a cat, let alone a baby. No, Jefferson Armstrong would likely bully her into an abortion. End of story.
And if Rocco got word she’d fled to Texas and went after her, Harry would have an even harder time interfering.
No, Harry needed to keep Gena here. He watched her sip the tea as he toyed with a new idea.
“Why don’t you come and stay at my place a while? Give yourself a chance to think it over. I’m gone a lot, so you’ll have the place to yourself most of the time. And it won’t cost a thing. In fact, I’d pay you what I pay the house sitter who usually stays there.”
“That’s sweet, Harry. But I don’t know….” She set the tea down, pushed it away.
Harry picked it up and placed it back in her hands. “Come on. Don’t insult my tea making now.”