Deadly Games - Cate Noble [27]
She had eyed Rocco with open disdain when he’d walked up and said, “Ms. Newton?”
“This area is off limits to the press.” Helen had responded coldly. “Go away and leave us alone.”
“I’m not a reporter. I’m a friend of Gena Armstrong’s.”
That had gotten Helen’s attention. “How close?”
“Ex-fiancé.” Only a slight lie, but more expeditious than the truth.
The commotion at the nurses’ station drew Helen’s gaze once again.
“Oh, God! Lupe’s dead,” Helen had whispered, crossing herself. “I need to go handle this. Maybe you can get through to Gena. She’s refused to leave.”
Helen had nodded toward the ICU’s doors just as they swept open. A woman had stood inside, her shoulders held too stiffly.
Gena.
Rocco almost hadn’t recognized her. And it was more than the fact that her hair was shorter than when he’d last seen it. Touched it. Four long years ago.
This woman was practically a stranger. She was still drop-him-to-his-knees gorgeous, still blond. A shade of blond anyway. Beneath the soot her hair appeared tawny gold and barely brushed her shoulders.
The Gena he used to know kept her hair middle-of-the-back long and platinum. On rare occasions she’d worn it in a ponytail, but usually Gena Armstrong looked like she’d just stepped off a fashion runway. Her PhD in beauty-pageant training, she’d teased. Even in bed, after gloriously wild sex, she’d looked perfect.
This Gena looked vulnerable. Any make-up she’d had on previously was either cried off or buried under dirt and dried blood. This Gena didn’t even wear earrings, he’d noticed, when she’d tucked her hair behind her ears. Ears she had rarely let show because she thought they stuck out. Ears Rocco had loved to—
Part of him had wanted to shake her and force her to admit wherehis Gena was. But a bigger part wanted to embrace her. Hold her. Protect her.
He listened as the elderly woman repeated the directions Gena had given and then moved away toward the hospital entrance.
Gena turned and faced Rocco. “Now. What are you doing in Texas? You said it was important.”
Rocco noticed that she cradled her left wrist as she talked. In fact, she favored her entire left side. Bruised ribs, he’d bet.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.” Gena tried to cross her arms but grimaced and went back to cradling her wrist. “Just answer my question, Rocco.”
He finished cataloging her injuries. The burns and scrapes visible on her arms looked as if someone had wiped them clean and smeared them with salve, but the dried rivulets of blood on her neck worried him. Scalp laceration? Concussion?
He wanted to march her down to ER and demand a couple X-rays, but he had a feeling she would reject any heavy-handedness. At the moment she was a whirling cyclone of dark emotion that might just kick his ass if she didn’t crumble beneath her own sorrow and pain.
“I’m here because of what happened last night—” Rocco began.
Gena cut him off. “And why would the Agency be interested in that?” She held up a hand to keep him from interrupting. “Look, I know they’re claiming that Lupe was in the country illegally and that Border Patrol is looking for her ex-husband. And I’ll tell you the same thing I told them. I know precious little about Lupe’s past. I don’t even know how to find her grandmother to tell her Lupe’s dead. But when I do, you can bet Uncle Sam’s last gold piece that I’ll find out everything that woman knows about the lousy bastard who’s responsible for Lupe’s death.”
Gena’s voice cracked as tears rolled down her cheeks. She was angry—red hot—and he was fixing to pour gas on the situation.
But the urge to offer comfort first rose strong. “I promise I’ll seek justice for Lupe’s suffering,” he said.
“Why? It’s not your battle!”
“I’m afraid it is.” Rocco exhaled sharply. “What happened last night wasn’t about Lupe or her husband. It’s about you and me. I believe you were targeted