Whatever the asshole had planned would be his fate. He’d be the one suffering, not Jemma.
Releasing his hold on the man, Rocco shoved him toward a pile of boxes. The man stumbled, hands fumbling to remove the syringe. He spun around and faced Rocco.
“You will pay for this,” the man said, taking a lumbered step toward Rocco. Before he could take a second step, he crashed to the ground in a motionless heap.
Rocco rushed over to Jemma.
She lay unconscious on the floor. A scar dripped blood from the side of her head. Scooping an arm under her neck, he checked her pulse. Strong enough. He wouldn’t waste time trying to wake her now. Who knew how long the drugs would affect that asshole or if he had friends who would come looking for him?
He had to get them out of here. Slipping out of his sports jacket, he placed it onto Jemma, securing the buttons to cover her. He lifted her into his arms and gazed at her face. She looked peaceful and serene. A sleeping beauty. Nothing like a woman who’d almost been assaulted in the back room of a club.
Rocco’s heart seized at the thought of what would’ve happened if he hadn’t followed her. If he’d chosen a different club to go to tonight. Would he have lost her?
What the fuck was he thinking?
He didn’t have Jemma.
They were colleagues. Nothing more.
“Fuck,” Rocco muttered as he carried Jemma through an exit and into the alleyway. Who did he think he was fooling? He wanted to be more than Jemma’s colleague. Thankfully, work would force them to separate in a few days.
A hollowness settled in his chest at the thought.
He ran through the narrow streets of La Placita until he reached his car, parked a few blocks away. Easing Jemma into the backseat, he took back roads to avoid the traffic.
As he barreled through red lights and sped to his condo, his mind kept going back to one thing—the look on Jemma’s face as the man held the syringe to her neck. Her face was calm. She wasn’t trying to fight back. It was as if she was resigned to her fate. Accepted some punishment she believed she deserved.
But maybe he was reading too much into what he thought he’d seen.
The dark purple bruises visible on her deep brown skin proved the fucker had worked her over good. She could’ve been too hurt to fight back.
Slowing as he approached his place, tucked in a row of renovated former warehouses, Rocco pressed his garage door opener and pulled his car inside.
He lifted Jemma from the car, pleased that her pulse and breathing were still strong and steady. He’d take care of her tonight. But in the morning, he wanted answers.
Chapter 15
“Headache?” Rocco asked, growing concerned.
Jemma had regained consciousness as he laid her on his bed, frowning as she glanced around his place. Rocco had to admit, it wasn’t much to look at. A one-room, shotgun-style warehouse space converted into residential living for singles in San Juan. As expected of a bachelor, his furniture was sparse—a king-sized bed covered by a faded cotton black duvet, one bedside table, a desk and a chair that had seen better days, and an eighty-inch flat-screen television mounted on the wall.
“Where is he?” Jemma asked, looking dazed as she scanned the room. “What happened to … the guy?”
“I took care of him. You’re safe, I promise.”
Jemma sat up, her eyes searching his. “What did you do to him?”
“The thing he was planning to do to you,” Rocco said. “Whatever was in that syringe is now in his bloodstream instead of yours.”
“Oh.” Jemma touched a hand gingerly to the cut on herforehead. “Is this your … house? Why did you bring me here? You should have taken me back to my hotel.”
“You didn’t let me walk you back to the hotel, remember? I had no clue where you were staying. Plus, you weren’t speaking much, with being knocked out by that thug,” Rocco said, enjoying her defiant confusion a tad bit too much. But what happened to Jemma at Vieja Nueva was serious. She was a highly trained DEA agent but had still been subdued by her attacker. He didn’t let himself think about what would’ve happened to her if he hadn’t shown up.
“I had everything under control,” Jemma insisted.
“That fucker was about to inject you with some unknown narcotic, and you were in no position to fight back.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Jemma shifted off the bed and stood up. She swayed, taking a few stumbling steps. He reached for her, resting his hands on her hips to help balance her. For the first time, his brain registered how fucking sexy she was standing in front of him, wearing his sports coat. A hint of her lacy bra and the soft curving swell of her breast could be seen through the opening. He had to force himself into doctor mode.
