Kidnapping the Billionaire's Baby (A BWWM Romantic Suspense)

by Mia Caldwell

  Amara shuddered. Frederik was becoming increasingly manic, and with that, more and more unpredictable and dangerous.

  He raved on. “I decided then that I would wait, bide my time for the proper moment to right your many wrongs and take back what was mine. I made plans, threw them out, and made new plans. I waited and waited, because I am strong, and nature favors the strong.”

  “Ha-ha!” Frederik’s laughter had a hollow sound. “So, then your rich lover survived the crash after all. I learned as the rest of the world did, and I knew it was time to move ahead with a new plan. And then you unjustly got me fired from my post at the university. At first I wanted to do away with you, Amara, and leave your child motherless, but then it all became clear in a shining moment. I knew what had to be done, and how to do it. Whether I realized it or not, I had been waiting for exactly that contingency. The time was ripe to extract my revenge on the both of you.”

  Quint squeezed Amara’s waist gently before he spoke in a low whisper that went entirely unnoticed by the ranting Frederik. “Let him talk. He’ll run out of steam soon, and then we’ll go. Don’t worry.”

  “I followed you from your home,” Frederik continued. “I watched you leave the child at your mother’s house. When the time was right, I knocked on her door. It was so easy to take her down. I told her of your crimes against me, bound her, and left with the child. It was all so easy. Almost insultingly so. I knew that Forbes would be coming to claim the child before long, so I had to leave immediately. What better place to go than the place I know best? The place where I have so many who trust me implicitly, who love me? Of course, I came home to Montevideo. Beautiful Montevideo.”

  He turned on his heel briefly, outstretching his arms as if to embrace the city before turning back to them. “And now, I have my revenge. It is only right that it be here.”

  Amara nodded almost eagerly. “Yes, you have. You wrecked everything for me, Frederik. I’m so sorry for what I did to you.” Her stomach churned at the forced apology, but she put everything she had into what she hoped would be a convincing performance of contrition and remorse. “I was wrong. You deserve the money Quint’s paid you. Please, give me my son, and you’ll never have to see our faces again. I’ll even tell everyone at the university that I lied. Everyone will know you were a good man wronged by a bitter woman. Where is Hampton? Is he in the grove over there?”

  Frederik broke into an unrestrained, almost maniacal laugh. “Oh … oh, no. You are as naive as ever, but I am no fool. Why would I bring him here with me? Your unholy lover is a man of great means. Forbes could just as easily have hired a sniper or have someone waiting nearby to assassinate me. If not some sort of professional killer, the police. No, your mewling bastard is not here.”

  Quint took a quick step forward, but found the barrel of the gun trained on him immediately.

  “Ah-ah. Stay right … where … you are.” Frederik’s toothy smile seemed to bisect his face, lips pulled tight.

  Panic rushed through Amara in a growing wave. “What do you mean Hampton isn’t here? That wasn’t the deal!”

  Frederik leaned down, keeping the weapon aimed as he grabbed the bag. “You thought wrong about the deal, I think!”

  He gripped the bag’s strap, and in a swift, unnervingly graceful move, twirled it around once, twice, before letting it sail into the air, up and over the side of the cliff.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  A FEW SCREAMING, SURPRISED VOICES drifted up from below, and an instant’s darkening of the smoke and the rising embers made it clear where the bag had landed — no doubt by Frederik’s design.

  Amara and Quint stared at him, speechless.

  Frederik was beyond smug with his explanation. “I’m destroying what you hold most dear, of course, Forbes! All that money, it’s gone, now. Gone. You can never retrieve it. It will sit for the rest of your lifetime in an account that no one can access!”

  Quint’s brow rose in confusion and concern. If Frederik wasn’t after the money, the situation was turning sour, and quickly. Amara understood this as well and quaked inside.

  “Why would you do that?” Quint asked.

  “I’m getting my revenge! Don’t you see?” Frederik held his arms out at his sides, his tone raising quickly. “There’s no way forward, now. I’ve known this for a long while. Federico told me. He said I’m not supposed to be the one outside. He’s calling the shots. He knows what to do.”

  Again, Amara didn’t understand. Federico? Wasn’t that the name his sister used for him?

  Frederik railed on. “He told me — all that’s left for me now is justice, and I’ll have it from you. Both of you!” Another cackling, unrestrained laugh. “I will take what is most important to you, just as you’ve done to me. Federico has shown me how this will end.”

  My God, Amara thought, he was even more insane than they knew.

  She took a half-step forward. “Frederik, put the gun down. Try to relax. Like I said, I’m going to tell everyone that I lied. I’ll tell them that you were right, that you were never at fault for anything. Things can go back to the way they were.”

  Frederik took a quick step back. “It’s too late for that. I don’t want it! No, this is it. I’m taking …” A few hard, jagged breaths as he let the weapon fall from his grasp. “I’m taking from you what can never, ever, be replaced. I’m going now. Yes, Federico. I’m going. I … ha-ha …. You two will never, ever, find your son. He is lost to you — as am I.” His gun fell from his fingers and hit the ground with hardly a sound.

  The moment Frederik dropped the gun, Quint broke away from Amara and lunged toward him. “No!”

  The madman spun on his heel, kicking up loose stones as he sprinted to the edge of the cliff and, without a moment’s hesitation, flung himself from the precipice.

  Quint skidded to a halt at the jagged edge, dropping to his hands and knees to peer down at the riotous crowd and the roaring fire below.

  Amara walked slowly toward the cliff before Quint looked back at her and shook his head. “Don’t …” He was taken with a heavy, nauseous shudder, head hung low. “He’s gone.”

  The scene pressed in on Amara, and she found her hands at the sides of her head as she collapsed to her knees, body doubling in on itself as terror and grief overwhelmed her. She heard screams from far away, filtered through the humming that droned in her ears. She wondered if the screams were her own.

  More shouts soon joined them, a shrieking panic that surrounded her even as she covered her ears tightly.

  Frederik was dead, and he took the knowledge of Hampton’s whereabouts to the bottom of that cliff with him.

  Surely now, the wails swirling around Amara must be her own.

  QUINT KNELT BESIDE AMARA, A hand on her back. “We’re going to find Hampton. I’m sure he’s okay. Frederik was wrong. I don’t care about money. I only care about you and our son. He was wrong about everything, so he’ll be wrong about Hampton, too. We’ll find him.”

  Amara’s body shook with the heavy sobs that overtook her, Quint’s words hardly reaching her ears. As they began to sink in, she brought her head up from the ground, her gaze immediately drawn back to the cliff.

  Amara saw a woman kneeling at the edge, dressed in black, a hunched shadow outlined against the moonlit sky. She seemed rooted to the edge of the cliff and from the sounds, was wailing as if in mourning. For who? Frederik? How could that be? Who was this woman weeping for a madman?

  A long while passed before any of them moved from their places. The weeping woman was the first to move. She stood shakily, turning and approaching them with faltering steps, her hand still at her mouth, tears streaming freely down her cheeks.

  It was Gabriela Orlando.

  Amara managed to place a hand at Quint’s knee, choking back her sobs long enough to ask him to help her stand, leaning against him once she had. She could hardly bear to look at Gabriela, her mind spinning in a tumult of emotion — her mourning for Hampton, her conflicted grief and anger o
ver Frederik’s fate and Gabriela’s possible complicity in the kidnapping.

  As she opened her mouth, ready to confront the only one left to blame, Amara was struck by the overwhelming remorse on the desolate features of the woman standing in front of her.

  Gabriela took a few sharp, short breaths. “I-I’m so sorry.” Her voice was small, weak — a far cry from the confident, proud woman they’d met at the villa. “I should have — I loved Federico. He was my brother, but he was not well. He hadn’t referred to himself as Federico for a long time, and I see why now. He was trying to be someone else, but he must have known he was cursed as many Orlandos before him have been cursed.”

  “Cursed?” Amara asked.

  “I thought he was going to be all right,” Gabriela said. “We all did. He was so bright and respected. Maybe he had some troubles when he was young, but then he moved to America to attend school, and it seemed all was good. I awaited his letters with such excitement. He said so many things about how well he was, how fine he was doing in his studies, how much he enjoyed living in America, and how respected he was there. It was all good, I thought. To this day. All good.”

  Amara struggled to see the woman through her own tears. “He never mentioned anything about troubles in his youth to me.”

  Gabriela held up a hand, the other coming up to wipe away the mascara-darkened tears from her cheeks. “I am sorry. About before at the villa. If I told you about him, about where he was, what he said … Federico said that the baby was his son, that you were pursuing him unfairly, and that he feared for the child’s safety. He seemed stable, and he’d never given me reason to think he wasn’t, so I believed him. I should not have.”

  “I thought he was acting strangely at the villa today,” Gabriela continued, “so I followed him when he left. He walked here, and it was easy enough to stay hidden behind him on the winding roads. He didn’t seem concerned about being followed. I slipped into the grove there when I heard him come out and begin talking. I’m a coward. I’m so sorry. When he began pointing the weapon, I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid I might make it worse. I could not accept that he might actually hurt anyone. I didn’t think he’d hurt himself, either … I thought, there’d be time.”

  Amara was surprised to find herself feeling some sympathy for the grieving woman. “You couldn’t have known any of it.” Hearing the words come out of her mouth surprised her. Only moments ago, she was ready to lay the blame squarely at Gabriela’s feet.

  She followed quickly with, “Do you know where my son is?”

  Gabriela looked even more desolate. “I do not. Federico did not tell me.”

  “Do you think,” Quint said. His voice cracked, and he had to clear his throat before continuing. “Do you think Frederik may have … do you think my son lives?”

  Amara held her breath and clutched her hands to her chest.

  Gabriela inhaled sharply. “I cannot imagine my brother harming a child. I have to believe your son lives. Without that belief, I too would go mad from regret and guilt.”

  It wasn’t the answer Amara had wanted to hear, yet it would have to do.

  “Can you think of anyone who might know where Hampton is?” Quint asked. “Anyone Frederik might have entrusted with his location?”

  “I do not know for certain. Our parents perhaps.”

  “Will you take us to them?” Amara asked.

  Chapter Thirty Five

  “YES, I WILL TAKE YOU,” Gabriela said. “But remember that Frederik has painted a terrible picture of you. All of us at the villa were eager to believe everything he said. I reasoned it must have been something serious, something awful, to cause him to return home so unexpectedly. My parents think the same, I am sure. And I will have to tell them of their son’s death. They will be …they will be heart-broken. Perhaps to wait would be better. Until —”

  “I can’t,” Amara interjected. “Please, Gabriela. I can’t stand not knowing. He’s my son. Please.”

  “Please,” Quint repeated.

  Amara was shocked at the sound of his voice. It was ragged, as it had been the day she met with him at the Forsythia. More and more by the moment, it became clear to her that during most of the ordeal they’d gone through, Quint had been propping himself up to be her pillar, even though he was still damaged inside and out from the crash and his ordeal afterwards.

  She cleaved to him more tightly, wrapping both her arms around him.

  Gabriela watched them both, taking stock perhaps. “I don’t know how I will tell them about Federico. He is — was their only son. I fear for us all.”

  “We understand,” Amara said. “And I feel for you. I do. But you’ll have to forgive me. I feel for myself and Quint more. And for Hampton, most of all. Your brother nearly destroyed our lives, and for all I know, has destroyed them. I have to know. I have to know now.”

  Gabriela blinked and then nodded once with conviction. “Yes. You are right. It is the baby I should be putting first. The Orlandos owe you much for what Federico has done. We will go to my parents now. I will make them understand where our duty lies.”

  Amara let herself be raised up with some hope. “Then let’s go.”

  “And quickly,” Quint added. “Before the police arrive. I have to think they’ve been contacted by now. No way in hell I’m going to be interrogated about what Frederik did before I find my son.”

  “They will be slow in answering calls with the celebrations going on around the city,” Gabriela said.

  “Good, then we should be able to get down the cliff before they can stop us,” Quint said.

  The two women agreed, and they headed to the car Amara and Quint had driven to the site. Destination: the Orlando estate.

  IT WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT WHEN the trio stepped in front of the ancient door at the Orlando villa. Gabriela’s hand shook as she reached for the doorknob. She took a deep breath, and her shoulders slumped.

  “If you’d like,” Quint said, “I can tell them about Frederik’s death.”

  Gabriela didn’t turn toward them. “No, it must come from me. Thank you.”

  She opened the door and welcomed them inside.

  The home was a huge, rambling affair, in classic, Spanish colonial style. The front section of the house appeared to be the oldest, and as they moved through the home, the structure took on a newer appearance.

  Through a pair of open doors, Amara caught a glimpse of a low-lighted, interior courtyard, replete with plants, stone fountains and wrought iron. It seemed a mysterious, mystical place at night.

  The house was quiet, and Amara assumed most of the inhabitants must have already gone to sleep. Or perhaps they were out in Montevideo, celebrating with everyone else. Gabriela led them to an ornate sitting room and left them there.

  “I shall go tell my parents now. Please wait here,” she said and then slipped away, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Amara could hardly take in her surroundings, and found it impossible to sit. Quint stood as well, pulling out his phone and furiously sending texts.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m notifying my pilot to get the plane ready. They’ve been waiting on standby. As soon as we get Hampton, we’re leaving.”

  “Oh, I hadn’t thought. Yes, that’s good. Our involvement in Frederik’s death could be a problem, couldn’t it?”

  “We were witnesses. We weren’t involved. He did what he did all alone and without any help from us.”

  “I know. I simply meant —”

  “I know what you meant, but the authorities might not. And that’s exactly why we’ve got to get out of here as soon as we can.”

  Amara nodded, relieved he was handling things, and that he always took care to think ahead. A good man to have around in an emergency, she thought. Then realized she already had ample evidence of that.

  Quint was a rock, a solid foundation in a shaky world. And she loved him for it.

  “What about our things at the condo?” she asked.<
br />
  “I’m sending someone there right now to pack everything up and take it to the airport. You brought your passport with you tonight as I asked, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  He made a call to his people back in the states. Amara wandered around the room and tried not to think about how close Hampton might be. Could he be here, somewhere in the rambling villa, perhaps?

  No, Gabriela would have known if he were here, surely.

  Where, then? Somewhere in Montevideo? Another city? Not another country, no. Frederik would have kept Hampton in Uruguay.

  She thought she heard something, a wail, perhaps, distant and high pitched. She looked at Quint.

  “Did you hear that?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  In her gut, Amara knew it had to be Frederik’s mother. She felt sick, sick at all the suffering Frederik had caused. Being a mother herself now, she couldn’t imagine getting the news Frederik’s mother had just received.

  She finally sat and tried not to think.

  It seemed a lifetime elapsed before the door finally opened. A regal, older man stepped inside, his head held high and proud.

  He was a refined-looking man, and it was difficult to say how old he was with any confidence. His salt and pepper hair was neatly cut and combed, more salt at the temples than pepper. He wore a red velvet smoking jacket and white pants with gold-trimmed slippers.