Black Ops 03 - Deadly Games (22 page)

Finally she hit a thicker limb that did not break. But it stopped her with a bone-jarring suddenness that whiplashed her neck and back.

She was still strapped in her seat, which now rocked precariously on the limb. She lunged forward, hugging the trunk. Then she heard a loud boom and saw a fiery explosion above the trees. She turned her face as bits of debris fell around her.

“Rocco!” she screamed his name.

Everything around her was dark now. The storm continued to rage, the wind shrieking. Gena hid her face from the slashing rain and sobbed.

Rocco.
Had he fallen from the plane, too? Was he close by?

She screamed his name again but heard nothing above the storm.

She forced herself to look around and spotted the fire a couple hundred yards ahead. The plane. Oh, God, what if the others were still inside? She had to get to them.

Please let him be alive,
she prayed.
Rocco and the others.

Lightning flashed, helping her to see through the branches below, but giving her no idea how far above the ground she was. Shifting her weight, she felt the soreness in her back and legs but was grateful no bones were broken.

She untangled the seat belt from her waist, then shoved the seat cushion over the edge, hoping to hear it land.

It didn’t travel far. The next flash of lightning showed it caught in the leaves below her.

She glanced one last time at the fire, saw that it had already grown dimmer. She had to hurry while she could still make out its location.

Easing her legs down, Gena swung to the next branch. It swayed and dipped, not as sturdy. She stayed close to the trunk, hoping the branch wouldn’t snap. The seat cushion that had been caught fell free and hit the ground with a thud, giving Gena hope that she wasn’t so high up.

She eased down to the next branch, but as soon as her feet hit, it snapped, hurtling her to the ground. She landed on the seat, which did little to protect her.

Pushing to her feet, Gena tried to get her bearings.
At ground level the fire was barely visible. Could she get to the plane before the flames went out?

She had to. She had to find Rocco.

The storm continued to rage, though not as fiercely. Damn it, she needed the lightning right now to help her see. She started walking, hugging herself against the rain. Vines caught on her shoes, slowing her.

A flash of lightning once again illuminated her surroundings. The trees weren’t as dense as she’d thought, making it a little easier to navigate. The plane had obviously gone down in the jungle, but how far were they from a town? From help?

Don’t think about that now. Just get to the plane.

In those last seconds before the crash, when she’d known they were going down, she had desperately wanted to ask Rocco for his forgiveness. Would she ever have that chance again?

She’d been angry with him at the Monterrey airport after hearing that Maddy was pregnant. Hearing Rocco say it wasn’t his brought back painful memories from her past. Their past.

She’d never forgiven Rocco for being unfaithful. For denying
their
child. But were Gena’s own sins any less forgivable?

Shortly after marrying Harry, Gena had fallen down a staircase and miscarried. Harry had claimed she’d done it on purpose, to get back at Rocco.

She had told Harry he was wrong, but the bottom line was she’d lost the baby. Even if Rocco hadn’t wanted the child, he’d given Gena a most precious gift. It had been her responsibility to cherish and care for his child. And she’d failed. At everything.

There had even been a point in her marriage when
she’d seriously considered forsaking her vows to Harry in order to be with Rocco. In the end, she hadn’t.

But for how many years had she clung self-righteously to the thought that she hadn’t cheated on Harry, when in truth she would have if Harry hadn’t caught her. Threatened her. Beaten her. The memory of that particular night, unlike so many others, was crystal clear.

The lightning flashes were less frequent now, but as Gena drew closer, she saw the glow of the smoldering plane. She tried to run but lost her footing in the slippery mud.

“Rocco!” she called out as she reached the clearing.

What was left of the plane was unrecognizable. The wings were gone, along with the back half of the plane. The passenger cabin was gone. Rocco! Clay! Had they fallen free as she had?

The cockpit was crumpled in on itself. Smoke bellowed from it. Gena tried to get closer, but the acrid smoke burned her nose, pushing her back.

With the next flash of lightning, she saw a body and rushed to it. It was the pilot.

“Can you hear me?” She dropped to her knees beside him.

He was on his stomach, but his neck and legs were twisted at odd angles. He didn’t respond, didn’t move, and Gena sensed he was dead even before she placed a shaking hand to his neck to check for a pulse.

She backed away and buried her face in her hands, giving in to her tears.

God, what should she do now? The rain fell steadily, which would put the fire out soon.

She needed to find Rocco and Clay. What if they
had survived and were searching for her? Would they return here?

But what if Rocco was injured and needed help?

She pushed to her feet and surveyed the wreckage, then turned in a circle to get her bearings. Where had she come in? If Rocco and Clay had fallen from the plane after her, they had to be somewhere between here and where she’d landed.

“I’ll find you, Rocco!” she shouted. Then she trudged back toward the dark jungle.

Rocco had landed in a mud bog, his legs trapped beneath a tree. He didn’t think they were broken, thanks to the mud, but he was still pinned.

Gena! God, where was she? Was she alive?

In those last few seconds he had tried to grab her, to hold on, but she’d disappeared. And then he’d been falling, too.

And what about Clay and the pilot? Had they made it out alive?

He tried to shove his way free but lost traction. The rain fell in torrents now, the wind gusting as lightning flashed.

“Hello!”

Rocco heard someone yelling. A man, not Gena.

“Over here!” Rocco shouted. “Clay? Is that you?”

“Yeah! Keep hollering! I can’t see a damn thing!”

“I’m trapped under a tree! Have you see Gena?”

“Who? You mean your wife?”

His wife. The words gouged Rocco’s heart. Clay thought they were married.

How many times had Rocco dreamed a happier ending to their story? Gena as
his
wife, not Harry’s.
Gena waiting at the door to greet
him
after a hard day’s work. Gena caring for
their
children. In his dreams, they’d had several. In his dreams, their love had multiplied with each one.

“Where are you, buddy?” Clay shouted.

“You’re getting closer!”

Lightning flashed. Rocco and Clay spotted each other at the same time.

Clay pushed closer, limping. “Mike! How bad you hurt?”

This time Rocco had to remember his own alias. “Don’t think anything’s broken, but I can’t get loose,” Rocco said. “Have you seen any sign of my wife?”

“No. But the plane—what’s left of it—is burning about a hundred yards from here.” Clay grabbed a branch of the tree and shoved it. “I think the three of us dropped out together. We were already pretty low.”

“The pilot?”

Clay shrugged. “Let’s concentrate on getting you out. This tree’s damn heavy.”

Rocco twisted. “I think I’ve worked one leg free from the mud.”

“If you can free the other one, maybe I can drag you out.”

Once again lightning cracked, illuminating the area. Clay ducked and moved around to Rocco’s head.

“I’m going to grab you under the arms and pull,” Clay said. “On three.”

Rocco dug in his heels as best he could and pushed. “Almost. Once more.”

Clay grunted, pulling Rocco again. This time Rocco slid far enough that he was able to turn and crawl free.

Rocco stood and held out a hand to Clay. “I owe you one.”

Clay shook his hand. “No problem.”

“Now let’s find my wife. Where’s the plane?”

“This way.” Clay skirted the fallen tree and pointed. “See the flames through the branches?”

Rocco nodded. Except for the lightning, the jungle was dark. But if Gena was out there, injured and scared, he had to find her.

“Jill”—
Gena
—“dropped a few seconds before I did,” Rocco said. “If the plane is there, she probably fell more to the south.”

Clay shook his head. “The plane was banking. We could have come in from any direction. If your wife is able to walk and spots the fire, would she go toward it?”

“Most likely. But what if she can’t walk?”

Thunder rumbled. “I say we check the plane first,” Clay said. “This rain will extinguish the flames fast. We’ve got to find the pilot, too. If he went down with the plane, he may be in more dire need than your wife.”

Rocco rubbed his chest. He hadn’t forgotten about the pilot, but Gena was definitely more on his mind.

“Let’s go. The thought of my wife out there alone— I’ve got to find her.”

Clay touched Rocco’s shoulder briefly. “Come on. We’ll find her. She knows you really love her, right? Try to think about the last time you were together, I mean before this mess. Focus on the good times.”

Rocco didn’t say anything as he trudged toward the glow of fire.

Try to think of the last time you were together—before this mess.

Clay’s remark was well intended but the last time Rocco and Gena were together was four years ago.

Back then, she’d been married to Harry. And it had been far from happy.

Four Years Earlier
Arlington, VA

“Crappy weather.”
Matches my mood,
Rocco thought as he backed his gray SUV out of his garage.

Heavy rain clouds were visible as far as he could see, which in the current downpour wasn’t far. Traffic would be a nightmare and the inclement weather would snarl departures.

He shifted the car into drive, frowning at the high-pitched squeal. The noise had gotten worse since the last time he was home, four weeks ago. But back-to-back assignments left no time for Rocco to play shade tree mechanic. Maybe he’d leave it at Jimbo’s garage and catch a cab to the airport. Jimbo knew the drill and would keep the SUV until Rocco returned.

The noise disappeared as he accelerated. Good. He’d gotten damn little sleep, which hadn’t helped his headache. Why he even bothered coming home anymore was beyond him. Last time, he’d gotten
in and out of town in less than twenty-four hours, without seeing Gena or Harry. Time before that, too.

These days it seemed his return trips were like a game of emotional Russian roulette. Would Rocco run into the blissful couple or not? So far
not
. And that’s what kept him on edge, wasn’t it?

This housing development wasn’t that damn big, even with the golf course. Harry had bought a house on the ninth fairway, less than a mile as the crow flew. Of course, given the maze of streets, it was longer than a mile to drive, not that Rocco had tried. But since everyone had to pass in and out of the front guard gates, the odds were good they’d pass one another on the main esplanade.

Part of him wanted to see Gena, to ask her if she’d ever really cared. But another part didn’t want to know.

He’d been stunned—no, devastated—this summer to hear through the grapevine that Gena had married Harry Gambrel two weeks after Rocco had left. Two weeks!

Sure, he and Gena had had a fight. At the time it seemed like that was all they did. But Rocco hadn’t considered it over, hadn’t even considered them on “break.” He’d gone over the argument a hundred times. She’d been pissed he was being sent off on another top-secret assignment. Assignments she claimed to hate and had even asked him to give up.

And what was so fucking different about Harry going off on assignment?

Rocco stopped at the four-way at the end of his cul-de-sac and waved the other car through. He needed to get a grip. Let bygones be. And if he couldn’t, then maybe he needed to put the town house up for sale.
Or lease it out and rent himself something closer to the airport.

He kicked his wipers up to high and hit the gas. Almost immediately he had to brake. The car in front of him had slowed to a crawl, leaving him no choice but to follow suit.

“Come on,” he muttered, eager to get to the main road, where he could at least pass Grandma Molasses here. Yeah, it was raining, but doing eight miles an hour in a fifteen-mile zone?

He swerved to the left, to peer around the car. Which must have gotten Grandma’s attention because she suddenly sped up. But just as suddenly she slammed on her brakes, sending her car fishtailing into a spin.

Rocco stopped completely and watched as the small sedan spun in circles before jumping the median and sliding off the opposite side of the road.

That no other traffic had been coming was a miracle. It also meant no one else was around to check on Grandma. Her car looked okay, but she was probably shook up.

Damn it.

Rocco made a U-turn and pulled up behind her, then dashed out in the rain.

That she didn’t automatically lower her window when Rocco came up concerned him. He rapped on the tinted glass, then opened the door.

“Gena!” He saw the blood trickling down from her nose. “Easy, princess. I mean—”

She cut him off. “Go away! I’m fine.”

“Like hell. You’re hurt.”

“I … I must have hit the steering wheel.”

“Here. Tip your head back.” He grabbed one of the tissues on her lap and gently pressed it against her nostril.

“Ouch!” She flinched and pushed his hand away.

“You hold it then. You weren’t wearing this, were you?” He tugged on the seat belt resting against the side brace.

“I— No.” She started crying, which made Rocco feel like a heel. It also wouldn’t help her nose, which already looked swollen.

“Maybe I should call an ambulance.” He tried to shield her from the rain falling into the car.