Deadly Games - Cate Noble [65]
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