Deadly Games - Cate Noble [48]
“No! No!” She screamed now, thrashing violently.
Rocco leaned over her bed and grasped her shoulders. “Gena! You’re dreaming.”
When she didn’t respond, he shook her more firmly. “Wake up, sweetheart!”
Her eyes opened wide and unfocused. Disoriented, she sucked in a sharp breath of air.
“It’s me,” Rocco soothed. “You’re safe. We’re in a motel. You were dreaming.”
“You mean, Lupe’s not …”
“Lupe’s dead. The fire did happen. But you’re safe.”
She pressed a hand to her mouth. “Oh, God, I remember. It’s all my fault.” Gena tried to climb out of bed. “I have to go, to find her grandmother.”
Rocco gently caught her hands. She was trembling, from grief, from lack of sleep, from trauma.
“None of this is your fault. And it’s too late to go anywhere,” he said.
“But—”
“Shhh.”
Her misery tore at him. Shifting closer, Rocco wrapped her in his arms. She collapsed against him, as if desperate for comfort, and started to sob.
Rocco stroked her hair and let her cry. The urge to charge in, take over, and fix it—anything to make her happy again—rose strong. Except there was no fixing what had been done to her friend Lupe.
When she quieted, he tried to ease her back down to her pillow.
“No!” She struggled to push back up. “The dreams. They’ll start again.”
“Scoot over then.”
“Huh?”
“Scoot over. We’ll lie here and watch television.”
“Together?”
“Sheesh. We’re both adults. And we’re both dressed.” He shook his head. “You know what? Never mind.”
“Wait.” To his surprise, Gena moved to the middle of the bed and began patting the covers. “Where’s the remote?”
“It’s here.” Rocco grabbed it from the nightstand before climbing into her bed. He adjusted the pillow behind his back and began to surf channels. “Good-bye CNN.” Stations flew by, until … “Hello, Homer Simpson.”
“D’oh! Bart!” one of the animated characters screamed.
Gena sat forward, hugging her pillow as she stared at the television screen. The Simpsons was one of those zany shows they’d both liked, but right now Rocco wondered if she was even seeing the on-screen antics.
He pretended to watch the show, but when he glanced at her again, she had her eyes closed. Until her head toppled to one side, causing her to jerk and awaken. Then she looked ready to cry again.
“Come here.” Rocco opened his arms and Gena literally fell onto his chest.
He lay still, letting her fidget, half expecting her to pop back up and flee to her own side of the bed. But within seconds she relaxed. The next time he checked, her eyes were closed, her breathing soft and even.
Unbidden, memories from their past came forth. In sleep, Gena looked innocent. Trusting.
Exactly the way Rocco remembered her. Back when things between them had been perfect …
Chapter Seventeen
Seven Years Earlier
A Private Caribbean Island
The island and the cabana were just as Rocco’s friend Dante had promised. Comfortable and private. No phone. No Internet. No distractions.
Solar panels provided basic electricity and a cistern collected rainwater, and this time of year rain was plentiful. The hot tub out on the back deck ran on bottled gas, which, like food and drink, had to be brought in.
But once here … God! What a paradise! The distant relative of Dante’s who owned the place was putting it on the market, and if it weren’t for the multimillion-dollar price tag, Rocco would have to seriously consider buying it.
Gena had been as eager as Rocco to explore the island. After changing into swimsuits, they’d spent the day in the ocean, swimming, snorkeling. Touching , feeling. Moving real close, then apart, like it was an extended pre-foreplay session.
Just before sunset, he’d grilled steaks and made the salad while Gena sipped wine and made him laugh with her tales of growing up on her father’s ranch in the Rio Grande valley of Texas. She’d been an only child, born to the solitude of wealth and privilege, but raised by a loving nanny. Her