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

by Mia Caldwell

  This man had to be Frederik’s father. He was what Frederik would have looked like one day.

  Amara hopped up, and Quint came to stand beside her.

  Gabriela followed the man into the room, her cheeks streaked with fresh tears, looking more distraught than ever. She held her head high, though, like the dignified man who was currently inspecting Amara and Quint.

  “This is my father, Don Rodolfo Orlando,” she said.

  They greeted the older man, and Gabriela introduced them to her father. Amara and Quint offered their condolences to the Orlando family. Everyone chose a seat and sat, Amara and Quint side by side on a sofa that was likely several hundred years old.

  “We have been told the news of our son,” Rodolfo said. “My wife is … she must be excused for not joining us.”

  “Yes, of course,” Amara said quickly.

  “We don’t wish to keep you for long,” Quint said. “Gabriela told you why we’re here?”

  “Yes, you want to know where the child is, no?”

  “Yes, please. I miss my son,” Amara said, unashamed of letting her need show.

  Rodolfo looked at Gabriela, who stared back with a pleading expression.

  He brushed a hand down his lapel. “It is bad, this affair. I am sorry, but I cannot help you.”

  Amara gasped, and Quint took her hand in his.

  “You don’t know where Frederik hid Hampton, then?” Quint asked.

  “As I said, I cannot help you.” Rodolfo was firm in tone, a man unused to challenge.

  Quint’s tone was steady, his expression implacable. “Can you think of anyone Frederik might have confided in?”

  “No,” Rodolfo answered brusquely.

  Amara glanced at Gabriela. She was staring at her father, her body taut and tense, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.

  “I don’t believe you,” Quint said.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  AMARA AND GABRIELA LOOKED AT Quint in surprise.

  Rodolfo was unruffled by the challenge. “You are free to believe as you wish.”

  “Papá,” Gabriela said. “The child belongs with Señorita Davis. He is her son.”

  Rodolfo gave her a hard look and then turned back to Amara. “Federico, he was not a well man. He had problems that were unfortunate. You know this?”

  She nodded fiercely.

  “We knew when Federico was a young man that he would have difficulty in life. He did not see the world as the rest of us do.” Rodolfo thought for a moment. “He was touched by God, perhaps, chosen for something great, or something terrible. We did not know which. It is a fearful thing to be touched by the hand of God.”

  “When Federico was still in school, he had some trouble and his mother and I,” Rodolfo continued, “thought it would be best for him if he had a fresh start. And so we sent him to the United States. He was better there, and we believed all would be well in the end.”

  “But it wasn’t,” Amara said.

  For the first time, she recognized sorrow in the older man’s eyes. “For many years it was, but you are right. Ultimately, it was not. When he returned here we could see he was not as we would have him be. My wife tried to get him to take his medication again, but he would not agree to it.”

  “I didn’t know he was taking medication,” Amara said.

  “No, he would not have told you. He saw it as weakness,” Rodolfo said. “I think we would not be having this conversation if he had never stopped seeing his doctors. I think we would not be having this conversation if his mother and I had not failed him.”

  “You can’t blame yourself,” Amara said. “He was a grown man and made his own decisions. You can’t be held responsible for his actions.”

  “It does not matter now, except in one respect. We sent him away rather than keep him here because we were afraid he would bring shame down upon the family name. Now that we are older, we see that this is not a right way of thinking. My wife and I know what our responsibility is now more than ever. We will not make the same mistake again.”

  “I don’t understand,” Amara said. “What does this have to do with my son?”

  “I cannot help you find your son,” Rodolfo said, even more decisively than before.

  Quint squeezed Amara’s hand.

  “You’re lying,” Amara said, not caring if she offended him.

  “Papá, tell them where Hampton is,” Gabriela said.

  “I cannot.”

  “No, you will not tell them. There is a difference,” she said.

  Rodolfo hardly blinked. “Do not argue with me. Respect your father.”

  “No, this is wrong. I, too, have regrets, Papá. I did not speak up when you sent Federico away all those years ago. I was older and knew what he had done. Like, you, I feared disgrace, and so I said nothing. When he didn’t write me back, I stopped writing. I never visited. I rarely called. I was a bad sister to him, and now he is dead, and I cannot make it up to him.”

  Rodolfo stared at the far wall and didn’t answer.

  “Papá,” she continued, “our regrets have nothing to do with giving Amara her child. There is no reason to keep the boy from her. She is his mother.”

  Lightning fast, he turned on his daughter and hissed, “There is every reason to keep him from her! She does not know, but we do. She does not know how to deal with the illness, the furor. We can make up for our wrongs with this boy. We know now what not to do. This time, it will be different.”

  Amara and Quint shared a questioning glance. Gabriela also appeared confused.

  “I think, perhaps, the shock has been too great for you,” Gabriela said. “You are not a young man and —”

  Rodolfo slammed his hand down on the arm of his chair. “I am not in shock. I know exactly what I am doing. Now remove these people from my home. I have nothing more to say to them.”

  “You can’t steal a baby because your son is dead and you want a second chance. He isn’t your child. He belongs to them.” Gabriela waved at Amara and Quint.

  “He does not. She would not know how to handle him,” Rodolfo insisted with a glower. “And he does belong to me, because he belonged to Federico. This child is my grandson, and I have rights, too!”

  Gabriela, Amara and Quint stared at the angry man. His grandson?

  “He is not your grandson,” Amara said. “Were you not told that Frederik lied to you about being Hampton’s father?”

  “I told him that,” Gabriela said, “before we came down here. Do you remember, Papá?”

  “I remember you tell me lies.”

  “No, Papá. It’s true. The child’s father is sitting right there. Hampton is Señor Forbes’ son.”

  Rodolfo jumped up from his seat. “I will hear no more of this. I cannot help these people find what is not theirs. I will right the wrongs of the past, and they will thank me for it because we are the ones who will know how to deal with this child if he is like his father. And I think he will be. We will be the ones to make it right. We must, or it’s all for nothing. My son’s death. It would be all for —”

  The door to the sitting room swung open, and a small, older woman dressed in black glided into the room.

  “Mamá,” Gabriela said as she rushed to the woman, taking her arm.

  The woman brushed her off. She was a lovely woman, her hair hidden under a beautiful lace veil, her delicate features awash with concern for the large man nearby. She spoke a few, low sentences in Spanish to her husband.

  He responded fiercely, but the small woman shook her head and turned to Gabriela.

  “The child is with Isabela. I will call and prepare her. Leave now, and let us begin to mourn our son.”

  “No!” Rodolfo exclaimed.

  “Rodolfo,” the gentle woman said, imbuing the name with all the compassion and love of a faithful wife. “It is over. Done.”

  And with that, the elder Orlando’s fire was snuffed. He slumped into his chair, his lined face a shattered mask of devastation.

  Amara
’s heart soared. She opened her mouth to thank Frederik’s mother, but a sharp look from Gabriela stopped her. Quint stood, bringing Amara up with him, and he rapidly led her past the older couple and out the door.

  Gabriela followed behind them as their clipped footsteps echoed down the empty hallways.

  “Was she telling the truth?” Amara asked as they rushed toward the front door.

  “My mother does not lie,” Gabriela said in clipped tones. “Isabela is my cousin, a trusted cousin.”

  “Where does she live?” Quint asked.

  “In Paso de Carrasco with her family. It’s about fifteen kilometers outside the city. I don’t know how I’m going to tell her or anyone else about the loss of Federico. It will be hard for her, as it was for me. Mamá will prepare her, I hope.”

  “Carrasco … like the airport?” Amara asked.

  Gabriela nodded, though she seemed a bit confused.

  Amara sighed heavily. “We flew into Carrasco. When we arrived in Montevideo, we probably flew over the house where my son is.” She felt oddly disconnected, likely a result of the emotional roller coaster she’d been dragged behind. She wondered if the ride was ever going to end.

  Quint held her around the waist as they left the house and fled to the car. “It’s okay. It’s over. We’re finally going to get Hampton.”

  Amara was afraid to take it for granted, but she didn’t say as much. She wished the car had wings.

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  AMARA AND QUINT WAITED IN the car outside Isabela’s home in Paso de Carrasco. Gabriela had described her cousin as a kind woman, but Gabriela worried that she would break under the pressure of trying to hide her emotions from them, being strangers. And so Gabriela had insisted it would be better if they stayed outside. Amara fought the deep desire to break into the house and snatch Hampton.

  All Quint could do was hold her hand firmly in his. Since they’d arrived at Isabela’s house, an immense flood of emotions had poured through her. Her calm facade was slipping away with each passing moment that the front door remained closed.

  She kept seeing flashes of the ugly scene on the cliff. No matter how badly Frederik had treated her, or what terrible things he’d done, she quaked at the memory of him throwing himself off the cliff. She still saw the black smoke and flaming cinders rising into the air.

  Nothing could take away the impact of seeing Gabriela at the cliff, and Amara imagined herself in Gabriela’s place, mourning her son rather than her brother.

  “Quint … at the cliff … it was so ghastly. All of it. I don’t know how …”

  He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “He was a monster, but I know you cared for him once. Whether or not he was the man you thought he was, I can’t imagine having to see someone I once cared about do something like that.”

  She passed a hand over her thick hair. “I hated him. I really did. I hated him before any of this happened. When he sabotaged my work, that was more than enough — and it’s only gotten worse. I’ll never forgive him. I can’t. But I never thought he would do anything like that. Even up to the last moment, I thought he was bluffing. I guess I never really knew him. And perhaps some of this was my own fault. He might’ve been all right if I had corrected some of the department gossip.”

  “No. You heard Gabriela and her father. Frederik was ill. And dangerous, and off his meds, and his family was nowhere in sight. Let them deal with their guilt. You and I aren’t part of that.”

  “You’re right. And then there’s all that money he threw away into the bonfire, Quint. I can’t wrap my head around it.”

  “He was delusional, Amara. That money isn’t gone. The accounts are still there and I can still access them.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Of course. He was a scientist and believed he knew more about financial transfers than he did,” Quint said. “Had he lived, and somehow escaped the country, he might have been able to use some of it, but my people put default backups in place that Frederik didn’t know existed. The funds are retrievable.”

  “Good, I’m glad to know he didn’t win in any way at all.” She sat heavily against the seat, leaning her head back. “I feel Hampton is close. Is that crazy? I just want to grab him and go home. Uruguay is a beautiful country, and someday, maybe I’ll have it in me to come back, but I don’t know how soon that’s going to be.”

  Quint turned to her, a slight smile on his face. “Not to jinx our flight out, but I’d rather endure the crash again than go through anything we’ve gone through here again. Having made it through this, we can make it through absolutely anything. You’re an incredibly strong woman.”

  “I thought earlier that you were my rock. My God. How much longer is Gabriela going to be in there?”

  Quint looked out the side window. “We’ll give her a few more minutes.”

  Amara studied the sprawling home. Signs of children were all around outside — toy vehicles, a short basketball net, a shallow pool. The lights inside were on, the faint, orange glow visible through gossamer draperies.

  Gabriela had told them on the drive over that Isabela had been close to Frederik as children. She once lived in the Orlando villa as a child, but there was a rift between her parents and Frederik’s over the choice of her husband. That rift had never been healed, yet Isabela had been trusted with the care of the baby they believed to be Frederik’s child.

  Perhaps, Gabriela had speculated, this tragedy would bring the family back together and make it whole in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. Perhaps something good could come of Frederik’s death.

  When they’d arrived at the house, Isabela had stood in her doorway, backlit, her front in partial shadow. Her expression was stern, but it hardly seemed natural on her. Even down the driveway, it was obvious what sort of woman she was.

  As it turned out, that would be all they ever saw of Isabela.

  Amara and Quint swiveled in anticipation as the door of the house swung open. It was Gabriela, and she was holding a wriggling bundle. She waved them forward, urging them to get out of the car.

  Amara shoved her door open, leapt out and dashed forward, Quint stepping aside to let her pass. She heard nothing but the sound of wind rushing by, the roar of excitement pulsing through her veins.

  And then she was in front of a stricken Gabriela, and Amara’s heart stopped beating. Was he okay? Give me my baby, she thought. Give him. To. Me.

  Gabriela passed the bundle over gently, and Amara pulled away the thin blanket. She couldn’t restrain her cries when she saw him.

  Hampton. Her baby. Her life. And love.

  He gurgled in pleasure when he saw her.

  “Hampton, sweet baby. It’s you. It’s Momma.” Her voice caught on the words, and her tears splashed on his blanket. “I’m here. It’s okay. I love you. Love you so much.”

  She held him to her breast, kissing the top of his sweet-smelling head, and the rest of the world disappeared.

  She felt Quint’s hand on her back.

  “Come,” he said. “We have to go, now.”

  “It’s him,” Amara whispered, not knowing why she did so. “Do you see your son? It’s him. He’s okay. He’s — I’ve got to check him out. Let’s get to the car.”

  “Yes,” Quint said. “Let’s do that.”

  Amara hardly heard Quint and Gabriela talking behind her as she rushed to the car, Hampton cooing and wriggling in her arms, his fingers tangling and tugging on her hair as he had always done.

  “You are not staying in Uruguay?” Gabriela asked in urgent tones.

  “No. We’re going straight to the airport,” Quint answered. “Do you need a ride? I can send a driver for you.”

  “I will stay with my cousin. It is best you go as soon as possible. Things could become difficult should the situation be reconsidered.”

  “I understand. About the police. If —”

  “There will be no need for your involvement. Suicide is a delicate matter. We will try to manage this. You understand.�
��

  Amara was opening the car door when she realized she heard more than Quint’s and Gabriela’s voices. She heard a keening, the unmistakable cries of a woman in pain.

  Isabela.

  Amara had no way to help her. And she damned Frederik once more for what he’d done.

  Before getting inside, she caught Gabriela’s eye. She waved once and nodded a thanks. Gabriela nodded back and then turned toward her grieving cousin.

  And Amara and Quint sped off into the warm night, Hampton cradled safely in his mother’s arms, relaxed at last.

  AMARA DIDN’T FEEL SAFE UNTIL they were in the air, which was moments after their arrival at the airport. She didn’t know how much Quint paid to get them out so fast, with only a single official who hardly glanced at their passports and only asked if she were Hampton’s mother. Whatever Quint paid, it was worth every penny.

  As soon as the crew told them it was okay to remove their seatbelts, Amara turned to Quint with a smile.

  “It’s time to meet your son,” she said gently.

  Quint’s handsome face glowed when she handed Hampton over to him. Quint lay the baby on his lap and uncovered him as if he were the most precious present he’d ever received. And, she supposed Hampton was exactly that, for both of them.

  Quint blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears that were sparkling in his pale blue eyes, eyes identical to his beautiful son.

  Quint delicately touched Hampton’s head, the cherubic cheeks and chin. Hampton watched his father intently, as if he understood how momentous this was. He waved his tiny hands in the air and blew bubbles, making Quint chuckle in delight.

  Quint took one of the little hands between two of his fingers. “My God, he’s so tiny. And look, there’s five tiny fingers. Perfect. And five over here. Gotta check the toes. Yep, five and five.”

  He glanced at Amara with an out-of-character shy smile. “I’ve been waiting to do that forever, even though it’s too late for it to matter.”

  “It’s not too late,” Amara said.

  He looked back down at Hampton, tickled his tummy and leaned down to blow gently into his face to make him smile. “The pictures didn’t do him justice. He honestly is the most beautiful baby ever, in the history of humankind.”