by Mia Caldwell
No amount of danger or hardship was going to keep her from her son.
The drive to Quint’s hangar on the outskirts of town seemed twice as long as the initial trip Quint had taken her on to show her the route. Only the hum and hiss of the tires on the rain-soaked roads was audible.
The security guard at the field entrance stepped out of his booth to check her credentials, but after laying eyes on her, he recognized her and opened the sliding security gate immediately.
Driving across the empty concrete expanse was a strange experience, with no lines to guide her or signs to direct her. Quint’s hangar was the only one open, and his limo was parked to the side of the wide, front opening.
The jet housed inside wasn’t nearly as large or flashy as the one he’d taken overseas, and it had taken the mechanic crew a few days to get it in working order after sitting in storage. Aside from a little extra care taken to address potential engine issues, Quint didn’t seem to be deterred from flying since the crash.
Amara parked next to the limo and slid from the driver’s seat as one of Quint’s assistants came to the side to collect her keys. She was a young, attractive sort, focused, even as the rising sun shone on her professional, bland expression.
“Thank you for coming, Miss Davis. We’ll unload your luggage, then I’ll take your car to the parking area once your flight has departed. Have a safe trip.” She held her hand out expectantly for the keys, and received them after a moment of hesitation.
Every time Amara brushed the surface of Quint’s professional life, she felt out of place and borderline alien. Even the language and tone he used when taking business calls hardly sounded like the man she knew, and this assistant might as well have been a robot.
Thankfully, the men and women inside the hangar were more welcoming and warm. Quint stood near the rear of the plane, phone pressed to his ear, leaving Amara standing with the skeleton crew of three and the lead mechanic. Every one of them assured her that nothing would go wrong with this flight, as if she had to be told. The cause for the earlier crash had never been determined, but the fact that it happened at all had the maintenance crew on their toes and closely inspecting every part.
Quint turned, quickly ending his call and striding toward her. The sight of him moving with such determined purpose was enough to bring her to tears again, and she threw her arms tightly around him as they came together near the small set of stairs that led up into the jet.
He rubbed her back gently, both arms encircling her in a warm embrace. “Hey, Amara, we’re about ready to take off. Do you have everything you need?”
Without pulling away, she gave a short, soft nod.
“And you’re committed to going? I won’t be able to discourage you this late in the game, will I?”
She shook her head and pulled away enough to look up at him. “Not a chance.”
Quint took her hand and led her aboard. When they were settled in and buckled up, the crew cleared the hangar, and the engines spun up.
In only a few moments, they were rolling smoothly across the perfectly paved airfield and taxiing onto the runway. Amara was unused to the speed with which the jet took off, and found herself squeezing Quint’s hand hard as they gained altitude.
She felt like some sort of astronaut training in the centrifuge, but Quint seemed perfectly at ease. After only a few moments of rapid altitude gain, they began the slow climb to cruising altitude, chatter from the pilots barely audible through the door. The two crew members who sat near the back during take-off stood and began their preparations and checks.
After they leveled off, Amara studied the offered menu and selected a modest breakfast of strawberry oatmeal and a large, peeled orange. The powerful citrus scent that filled the small cabin was evidence of the superior quality of the food offered, and the quickness with which it was prepared was enough to tell Amara that this was the usual way of things.
She stirred the oatmeal and moved the fragrant orange pieces around her plate, but didn’t eat. She’d had no appetite since losing Hampton. And now, the prospect of actually finding her baby had her stomach roiling.
They sat in silence, Amara staring out of the cabin window, watching the clouds below as soft, quiet jazz played over the speakers. Quint stared down at his phone intently, looking more like a college student preparing for a final exam in a class he’d never attended than his usual confident, assured self.
It was a look she’d seen on his face here and there since Hampton’s kidnapping, usually when he was looking at his phone. She’d never worked up the courage to ask him what exactly it was he was so interested in, but the silence between them felt strange.
“Hey, Quint?” she asked.
His eyes immediately darted up from the phone to meet hers, his brow raised. “Yes?”
Her own eyes widened a bit in surprise at how fast he broke away from whatever enrapturing information he was poring over. “Ah, I was wondering, what is it you’re looking at, exactly? You’ve spent a lot of time staring at your phone lately.”
He placed it on the table, leaned back, and waved a hand. “I’m going over the intelligence reports my contacts gathered about Frederik and the Orlandos. I hadn’t expected the family to be as large as it is. Did he ever mention his family to you?”
She shrugged. “He said they were pretty well-off. That smug attitude of his would have been enough to tell me that, but he said something about being from a famous family.”
Quint gave a low hum. “Famous? Mmm. Infamous, maybe. A lot of rumors go around about them, but I’m not paying attention to those. Hearsay runs rampant about wealthy people and families. I’m sure you’ve seen some of the things the tabloids have published about me, both before and after the plane went down?”
“Yeah. It was hard to check out at the grocery store or go into gas stations. Everywhere, the headlines were just … wrong. All of them. They were making things up to sell papers, and it only got worse when they found you.” A slight smile touched her lips. “You know, one of them said you’d been abducted by aliens and dropped in the middle of the desert?”
He shook his head in disbelief. “No, I hadn’t seen that one. Maybe I’ll grab an issue when we get back with Hampton. I should pay more attention to those, if they’re going to be that entertaining. Incredible.”
After placing his untouched sweet roll aside, Quint put an arm around her shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze.
He looked deeply into her eyes. “You know everything’s going to be all right, don’t you? I have all the information I could possibly want on him. I may not know his exact location, but he practically flew directly to his family’s house. There’s no way he’s going to stay hidden for long, Amara. We’ll get Hampton back, go home, and forget about this.”
Amara leaned against him, murmuring that she hoped so. Before she knew it, she’d fallen asleep in his arms, the hum of the jets and the music making her more comfortable than she’d been in a long while.
Chapter Twenty Two
AN HOUR LATER, AMARA WOKE suddenly and sat up. A nightmare about spending years away from home searching for Hampton pulled her sharply from her peaceful sleep.
The jet shuddered, shaking hard enough to snap her head from side to side. Maybe it wasn’t the nightmare that had awoken her. She looked at Quint. He was sitting fully upright, eyes closed tightly, one hand clutching his phone like it was a lifeline, and the other like a claw on the seat’s arm rest, knuckles white.
The jet shook again.
One of the attendants rushed up to them. “I’m sorry. The captain says we’ve hit some turbulence. He doesn’t expect it to last long, but in the meanwhile, we all need to buckle up.”
Quint didn’t move or open his eyes.
“Thank you,” Amara said, reaching for Quint’s belt.
The attendant lowered the table, secured it away, and helped Amara buckle in a tight-lipped Quint. All the while, the plane bucked and heaved, making Amara’s teeth chatter and sending the atten
dant stumbling more than once.
Amara clicked her own seatbelt and turned to Quint after the attendant left.
“We’re going to be okay,” she told him, her tone firm and confident. “You said yourself this guy is the best pilot in the region. It’s only a little turbulence.”
Quint nodded jerkily, reassuring Amara that he was with it enough to hear her.
She managed to pry the phone from his near hand. She laced her small fingers in with his large ones and squeezed. He squeezed back and mumbled something she couldn’t make out.
Outwardly, Amara continued to comfort Quint, telling him every which way she could think of that they were going to be fine. Inside, she cursed the bad luck of hitting turbulence on this day, of all days, and with this man, of all men, present.
It seemed to go on forever, until Amara was getting more than a little worried. Quint began to moan. She hated to imagine what he must be remembering, what he was reliving in that moan. How terrifying must that crash have been? Beyond her ability to comprehend.
He’d seen his friends and employees burning alive in the wreckage. Burning alive. Is that what he was seeing behind those closed eyelids?
That wasn’t going to happen today, she told herself. It wouldn’t. Nothing could happen to them, because they had to find Hampton.
She stroked his hand and began humming softly. Quint’s moaning died away.
Several minutes later, the ride smoothed out. Amara held her breath. Was it over?
The pilot’s voice answered her question. “I think we’re in the clear now, Mr. Forbes. All systems are operating as they should. With any luck, it will be smooth flying the rest of the way in to Montevideo.”
Amara released the breath she’d been holding. Thank God. Quint’s features relaxed, but only slightly.
The attendant bustled up and helped unbuckle Quint. Amara asked for a couple of stiff drinks, and the attendant, with approval in her eyes, rushed off to get them. Who cared if it might still be, technically, morning?
Amara reached up and feathered a touch down Quint’s smooth cheek. “It’s all over. We’re going to be fine.”
She almost jumped when he spoke.
“Of course we’ll be fine. We have to find Hampton before anything can happen to us.”
Amara couldn’t help but smile at him. “That’s almost exactly what I was thinking.”
“Then great minds think alike.”
He took a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes, rolling his shoulders a few times to loosen up. Amara gently pulled his clenched hand from the arm rest.
He stared at his claw-like hand, relaxed it, and then looked at Amara. “I’m sorry. I … I’m sorry you had to see me like that.” Color was returning to his cheeks, and she realized some of it was the result of embarrassment.
She’d have none of it. “I was so wrapped up in my worries, I didn’t even think about how hard it must be for you to fly. I think you’re very brave to be doing this, Quint.”
He blew out a breath. “Not brave, no. You saw how I’m not brave. I feel … at times … like I’m not me anymore. Like part of me died in that crash with the others.”
The attendant arrived with the drinks, and Quint accepted his with many thanks before sending her away.
They sipped the smooth whiskey, Amara trying to think of something to say.
“I get it,” she said. “Part of me died when I knew Hampton was gone. I couldn’t face it again, relive that moment. But here you are, on this plane, risking what only a survivor of such a crash could truly understand he’s risking. You’re unbelievably brave, Quint. Trust me on that.”
A pleasurable shiver ran down her spine when she looked into his beautiful eyes and saw the tender strength there. She wanted to kiss him, but believed it to be an inappropriate urge, everything considered.
She sipped her drink and let the whiskey blaze a trail of fire down to her belly, distracting her from the unwanted attraction.
“Thank you,” Quint said simply, but with a depth of emotion that emphasized the sentiment.
They held hands and sat in silence for some time, each lost in their own thoughts.
The plane shuddered slightly, and she and Quint tensed up again.
Amara spoke rapidly and with purpose. “What are we going to do when we get to Montevideo, Quint? Just walk up to the Orlando house and tell them that we want our baby back? You know how family looks out for their own, and from what you’ve told me, the Orlandos are pretty tight knit and closed off. I always knew Frederik was high society, but he didn’t seem like a recluse.”
Quint gave a stiff nod. “Perhaps that’s why he was one of the few to leave the country once he was old enough to attend college in America.” He moved to place his arm over her shoulders again, and she was pleased to snuggle in closer to him.
“Maybe. Or maybe they ran him off because he’s a raving lunatic.”
After a long silence between them, he spoke softly. “You know I didn’t want you to come with me, Amara. I don’t think this is safe for you. He might hurt you if he gets the chance. He doesn’t know me, though, not personally. Even if he does know my name, he doesn’t know that I’m Hampton’s father.”
“You’re right. But you can’t expect me to sit at home,” Amara said. “I’d die of worry. I want my little boy back safe and sound.”
“We all do. He’s my son too, Amara. I honestly think he’ll be alright. No matter how deranged the man is, I don’t think he’d hurt a child. He’s using Hampton as a bargaining chip in whatever game Frederik thinks he’s playing, but Hampton isn’t in danger.”
Quint paused for a moment, lost in thought, before continuing. “It’s you he’s actually after. I don’t want to scare you, but you need to know what you risk and how important it is you stay alert and on guard at all times, even when I’m with you. But especially if we ever become separated.”
“I understand,” Amara said. “I’m not scared. I’m determined.”
“You’re a warrior.” He smiled gently. “A beautiful warrior.”
Amara glanced away and took another tiny sip of her drink. Her insides were growing warmer and she gave the drink the credit, though perhaps she shouldn’t have.
“Frederik must have known that you would look for him,” Quint said. “What was his plan going forward? Was he simply going to keep Hampton away from you and raise him on his own?”
“I have no idea,” Amara said.
“Frederik has had it in for you for a long time. For all we know, he’s been thinking of ways to hurt you ever since you won the Carrington Award. The firing was the catalyst that drove him into action. I just can’t pinpoint what he thought would happen afterward. What’s his end-game?”
Amara stared out of the window at what seemed to be an endless floor of blue textured with white wisps. “I don’t know. He knows I don’t have a lot of money, but he must’ve known I would go to the police, and the FBI would get involved. By going to Uruguay, the first place anyone would look for him … it’s like he wants to be found, you know?”
“Maybe so. But found by who?”
Amara’s mood shifted to a darker place. “I can’t imagine life without Hampton. He’s my world. Frederik has taken away the light of my life. If we don’t get him back … I don’t know what I’ll do.” Her voice wavered and faltered, eyes burning like fire, a common sensation these days. Today it seemed she had no tears left to cry. She’d shed them all. And she was so tired, exhausted from worry, from the constant stress of the unknown.
Quint held her firmly, silently brooking no dissension. “Amara, everything is going to be fine. We’ll find Hampton, and Frederik will be in a jail cell within the week. I have enough contacts that we can get him found and locked up quickly. We’ll have our baby boy back, and I can finally get to know the son I’ve missed every single moment since I remembered who I was in that field hospital in Khatlon.”
Chapter Twenty Three
HE SMILED SOFTLY AND CONTINUED in a
wistful tone. “Isn’t that strange? I never met Hampton, never got to spend any time with him, but you and he were the only people on my mind. You … of course, the picture of you in my head was one of the first things I recalled. I kept wondering what your name was and why I kept dreaming of you.”
“I thought of you, too,” Amara admitted shyly.
“Did you miss me?”
“Of course. You and I talked nearly every day on the phone while I was pregnant. I missed that when you were gone.”
“But did you miss me as something more than a voice on the phone?”
She knew what he wanted her to say, but she couldn’t do it. While he’d been lost, presumed dead, she’d never admitted to herself how much she longed for him, how much she hoped he was still alive. She didn’t allow herself to linger on those thoughts. She had Hampton, and he would be enough. He had to be.
Quint lightly stroked her arm. “You don’t have to answer that. I could never forget your beautiful face, Amara. Or your eyes, the way you smile … but I think the prospect of getting back to both of you is what kept me going even when I didn’t know who I was. My dreams remembered what my waking mind couldn’t.”
“You’ll see, Amara,” he told her, more upbeat than he’d been since they hit the pockets of turbulence. “Once we talk to the right person, the right Orlando, all will be well. Hampton can come home, and we’ll put all of this behind us like it never happened.”
Amara leaned into his embrace, giving only a soft nod in response, trying her hardest to maintain her composure. Though she felt helpless in many ways, she found hope and comfort in Quint’s arms.
He spoke of them all together, and while only a few months ago she would have balked at the prospect, there was something about the surety of his tone that soothed her wrecked emotions. He believed there would be a future for them.
