Page 78 of Rocco

But she wasn’t … okay.

A startled scream erupted from deep within her. Jemma’s lids flew open. Her eyes struggled to adjust to the pitch black surrounding her. The floor beneath her tilted and she slid a few inches across the cold, hard floor.

Where the hell was she?

Her mind fought against the swirling confusion of waking up alone in an unknown place. The fragmented pieces of her last memories emerged slow and fuzzy.

Rocco pinned beneath the storage container door.

Her efforts to free him failing in vain.

No cell service.

She had to get help.

But didn’t want to leave him alone.

The voice, deadly and menacing, stopping her in her tracks.

Nomar.

He’d grabbed her and pinned her against his broad body.

Fighting was futile.

His arm around her neck, squeezing and then darkness.

“Damn it,” Jemma muttered, slamming her fist against the floor. Nomar had kidnapped her. She had no clue what happened to Rocco. If that bastard had hurt the man she loved, there would be no limit to the vengeance she’d rain down on him.

A sob caught in her throat as her hands flew to her mouth.

The man she loved.

Was she in love with Rocco?

It was a foolish question she already knew the answer to.

There was no way she could pinpoint the time or the moment when she’d fallen in love with Rocco but it had become a pure truth in her life. All the time they’d spent with each other had forged a connection between them that couldn’t be denied.

One that had led to love … at least for her.

She hoped she’d have the chance to see Rocco again. To tell him how she felt.

No, hoping wasn’t good enough.

She would get out of this prison Nomar had placed her in and find her way back to Rocco.

Leaning forward, she eased to a standing position as the floor rocked and swayed beneath her. Swinging an arm out, she balanced herself by pressing a hand against the wall. The room was small. Maybe a storage room or closet.

She stood still, listening carefully until she could make out thesoft murmur of waves lapping against steel. The sterile scent of nautical polish was faint in the air.

She was definitely on a boat. It was moving swiftly toward its destination. But Jemma had no plans to be around when it got there. Decades of training as a DEA agent and innate instincts propelled her forward. Frantically, her hands moved along the surface of the walls until she found what she was looking for—a door.

Could she be lucky enough for it to be unlocked? Gripping the knob, she’s turned it hard. It didn’t budge.

A sigh escaped her lips. Nomar knew her well. He wasn’t going to make this easy. But she had extra motivation to regain her freedom. Back pressed against the door, Jemma rummaged through her clothes and hair for something she could use to pick the lock. No surprise that all of her weapons had been confiscated.

But she always had a backup plan.