‘Watch it, Dos Santos…’ Andros told him, sensing his prisoner’s rising anger and slamming him up against the wall.
The move was not meant to overpower him, Niklas realised, simply to provoke him, because Dos Santos was an orphan’s name. Niklas went to swear again, in Spanish, but his brain was working quickly, far more quickly than his mouth, and in that second he knew what was happening.
Dos Santos meant something different in Spanish.
And it was a Spanish nun who had named him.
Dos Santos in Spanish meant two saints.
He had a twin.
In that very second it was as if a bomb had exploded in his brain and he worked it all out. He knew instantly how he had got to be here. Knew that his double was out there and had been working with Miguel against him. And with a lurch of fear that was violent to his soul he knew that Meg was in serious danger.
Niklas said nothing when Andros jeered again, just stood silent against the wall as Andros spoke filth about his wife. He stood still and refused to react as another guard came over. A decent guard this time, because there were plenty of them around.
‘Trouble?’ the guard asked.
‘No trouble,’ Niklas said, because he did not want to go to solitary tonight. He really needed to get to his cell.
He stood compliant as his cuffs were removed and went quietly into his cell. There he met the eyes of Fernando, and for the first time since his arrival he spoke with the other man.
‘I need your help,’ Niklas said, for he had worked out what was happening and urgent help was required. ‘I need you to make contact on the outside.’
CHAPTER TEN
ANOTHER NIGHT CRYING over Niklas Dos Santos and Meg swore it would be the last.
Part of her could almost convince herself that he was just trying to get her to leave, that that was the reason behind his cruel words, but the more sensible part of Meg soon talked herself round. Her sensible side reminded her that this was a man she knew nothing about—a man who had caused her nothing but heartache and trouble since the day that they had met.
Hawaii sounded pretty good to Meg right now.
A week lying on the beach concentrating on nothing but how best to forget him.
It was well after lunchtime now, and Meg was still waiting for the travel agent to return her call. When she did, Meg would ask to be booked onto the earliest flight that could be arranged, and she packed her suitcase in preparation. Very deliberately she did not turn on the vast television to see how his trial was going, or to catch a glimpse of him on the news, because one glimpse of Niklas and she was lost to him—that much she knew.
She wanted her divorce now, wanted to be the hell away from him, would not waste even one more single minute on him.
But as she packed up her toiletries Meg threw tampons into her make-up bag and suddenly realised that it might be rather more complicated than that.
She looked at the unopened packet, an Australian brand because she hadn’t bought any since she had arrived here, and tried to remember when she’d last had a period.
She tried to remember the days in Australia before her life had been changed so dramatically by the visit from Niklas’s lawyers. No, she hadn’t had her period for a while.
There should be the reassurance that they’d used condoms, but the last one hadn’t held.
Could she be pregnant?
Would she tell him if she was?
Meg looked in the mirror and decided that, no, she could not deny him that. Even if his life was to be spent on the inside, he would have to know the truth, and it wasn’t the kind of news she could reveal in a letter—maybe she would have to visit him again.
Maybe not.
A letter was probably more than he deserved.
But first she had to know for sure.
She was probably overreacting, Meg told herself as she headed out of her hotel room and to the elevators. Worrying too much, she tried to convince herself as she headed onto the street. With all that she’d been through these past weeks it was no wonder that her period was late.
The streets were busy, as always—the cars jammed together, horns blaring, and sirens blazing as police tried to thread their way through the impossible madness that was downtown São Paulo. She found a pharmacia and inside it was the same as the world over, with numerous pregnancy testing kits sitting on the shelves. Meg didn’t need to speak the language to know she was making the right purchase.
What was different from Australia, though, was that instead of being pounced on by an assistant the second she entered the store, here Meg was pretty much ignored. Even when she tried to pay the pharmacist and his checkout assistants were all taking an impromptu break and watching the television, and Meg could feel mounting impatience. She really had to know now if she was pregnant. Had to make the decision of facing Niklas and telling him while she was still here.
Finally someone came over to serve her, still talking to her colleagues, and Meg froze when she heard one of them shout the name Dos Santos. She felt sweat bead on her forehead as she paid, because despite herself—despite all this—she wanted to turn the television on, wanted to know how he was.
She almost ran back to the hotel, terrified of her feelings for him, that even a mention of his name could reduce her to this petrified state.
It was blissfully cool and quiet in her room—such a contrast to the chaos down below. She fought not to turn on the television, picked up the remote and hurled it, tried not to look where it landed. The light on the phone said she had a new message. She hoped it was the travel agent and played it back, but heard her mum’s voice instead. Meg honestly didn’t know how she could ever begin tell her parents all that had happened. She had always hoped she would never have to, but if this test proved positive…
She could feel the tears starting again but refused to give in to them—just bit them back and headed to the bathroom, put her purchase in its bag on the bench, ready to find out. Then there was a knock on the door and Meg assumed it was the cleaner. She didn’t want her coming in now. She wanted privacy for this at least.
So she went to tell them. She didn’t even look through the peephole, just opened the door, and what was left of the sensible part of her mind struggled to remain calm because standing at her door was Niklas. She froze for a moment, unable to respond to seeing him in such an ordinary setting. She wanted to sob at him, to rage at him, to ask him how on earth he was here—except she just stood there.
‘It’s okay…’ He stepped in. ‘I know it must be a shock to see me here.’
‘I don’t understand…’
‘The judge understood,’ he said. ‘Didn’t you see it all on the news?’
‘I haven’t been watching it.’
‘That is good.’ He gave her a smile. ‘I get to tell you the good news myself.’
‘I don’t want to hear it.’ She was so very angry with him, and now finally she could tell him. ‘I haven’t been watching it because I’m sick of this, Niklas. I’m sick of how you make me feel at times. I can’t do this any more.’
‘You’re upset.’
‘Do you blame me?’ She looked at him. She could smell his cologne—the same cologne he had worn the day they had met. He was dressed in a stunning suit now, just as beautiful as the day they had met, just as cruel as the day he had ended things between them, but she wanted to know. ‘You’ve been let off?’
‘I’ve been bailed while they take some time to review new evidence.’
‘Well, after the way you spoke to me last night I need some time for a review too,’ Meg answered. She refused just to go back to loving him. He had hurt her too much. And she could not find out if she was pregnant while he was near. She needed to do that part alone.
‘Come here…’ He moved to pull her into his arms.
‘Just leave.’ It took everything she had to shake her head. ‘Just go, Niklas. I’m doing as you told me. I’m going to Hawaii…’
‘You’re upset.’
‘Why do you keep saying that? Of course I’m upset!’ she flared. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t be? How the hell do you justify speaking to me like that?’
‘Meg…’
He walked over and she did not want him to take her in his arms, did not want him to melt her all over again.
‘I say stupid things at times. You know that…’
‘Stupid things?’ There were so many other ways she could describe his words. ‘It was more than stupid, it was foul…’ She would not be fobbed off. ‘Why?’ she demanded. ‘Why did you speak to me like that?’
‘I’ve said I’m sorry.’
‘No, you haven’t, and you’re clearly not as sorry as I was to hear it.’ She went to open the door, to tell him to get out of here, but he stopped her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Meg just stood there, tears rising, remembering the love they had made and all the ways he made her feel. But she could not go back there. ‘Get out!’ She pushed him off her. ‘I mean it, Niklas…’
‘Meg…’ His mouth was on her cheek and she pulled her head away. His hands were in her hair but she brushed them off.
‘Please,’ she said, ‘can you just leave me? I’ll call you later. I’ll—’
His phone rang then, and it annoyed her that he took the call. Yes, of course he was busy, she knew that, and maybe she should be flattered that he had come straight to her, but it annoyed her that in the middle of a row he could just stop and take a call. It made her even more angry, and she was tired of making excuses for him. She wanted him gone and she told him so when he ended his call.
‘You are cross…’ He smiled at her. ‘You look beautiful when you are cross…’
He aimed his phone at her and she blinked at the flash. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘I’ve missed things like this. I want to capture everything…’
‘I just you want you to leave.’
But he simply refused to listen. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’
‘A walk?’
The last thing she wanted was a walk. She wanted him to leave. She looked at his lips and not even his beautiful mouth could silence her doubts now. She just wanted him gone.
‘A walk to clear the air…’ Niklas said.
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m waiting for the travel agent to ring me back.’
‘She’ll call back if you’re not here.’ He shrugged. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘I want to taste the fresh air. I want to feel the rain…’
She looked out of the window. Yes, it was raining, and she realised that he wouldn’t have felt the rain in a long time. She was relieved that he wasn’t all over her, trying to kiss her back to confusion as he so often did, but she didn’t feel she knew him at all.
‘Meg, after all we have been through will you at least come for a walk with me?’
‘You hurt me last night.’
‘I apologise.’ His black eyes met hers. ‘Meg, I truly apologise. We can start again, without all this hanging over us…’
But she was stronger than she’d thought she could be.
She looked into his eyes and quite simply no longer wanted him—didn’t want to get back on the rollercoaster ride beside him. It was then that she made a decision that was surprisingly easy; she looked at the man who had broken her heart and knew that he would break it all over again. She simply refused to let him.
It was over.
Whatever the pregnancy test told her, Meg knew it was far better that she find out well away from him. She would fly to Hawaii today, search for the clarity he so easily clouded and make better decisions alone.
‘Come…’ he said. ‘I want to taste my freedom.’
Maybe it would be easier to tell him that they were finished while they were walking. Maybe it would prove easier out there. Because she knew his kisses made her weak. So she nodded and she went to get her jacket, to comb her hair.
‘Don’t worry about that…’ he said. ‘Your hair is fine…’
Niklas was right. Her hair really didn’t matter right now—it was her heart Meg had to worry about. They rode down in the lift together and Meg looked at him more closely. She hated her swollen eyes. Even more she hated that she had let him cause them.
They headed out through the foyer and into the street and she felt the warm rain that was so regular here. His hand reached for her, but she pulled hers back, refusing to give this man any more chances. He’d already used his last one with his filthy words to her the previous night and now his pathetic attempt at an apology.
‘I’m ending it, Niklas.’ He kept on walking. ‘I’m going to file for divorce.’
‘We’ll go to a bar and talk about it.’
‘There’s nothing to discuss.’ Meg stopped—which wasn’t the most sensible thing to do on such a busy street.
There were moans from a few pedestrians and he took her hand and they kept walking. She really was sure that she was making the right choice, because she did not know him, and he did not know her, and a walk would not clear the air. Only his kiss could possibly have given them a chance, because sex was the only thing they had going for them. Maybe she was mad for thinking it, but shouldn’t that be the way a man celebrated his freedom? If he loved her, if he wanted her, wouldn’t the first thing he wanted be taking her to bed, not out for a walk?
‘There’s a bar up here that I know,’ Niklas said. ‘It’s not far—just a couple of blocks away…’
‘I don’t want to go to a bar…’
‘The street is too noisy. Come on, we can talk properly there.’
‘I don’t want to talk.’
Meg was starting to panic now, and she didn’t really know why. His hand was too tight on her wrist, and he was walking her faster, and she had the most appalling thought then that he hadn’t been bailed at all. There was an urgency in the steps he was taking. She looked over to him and his head was down, and it dawned on Meg that maybe he had escaped from jail. She recalled the screams of the police cars and bikes. They were screaming in the streets even louder now. She remembered too the pharmacy staff all huddled around the television, saying his name. Maybe it was because Niklas Dos Santos had escaped. Still he walked her ever faster.
‘Niklas…’
She could hear the thud of music as they turned into a side street, could hear the clang of triangles and the smell of pamonah. There were so many people around; surely she was safe. She pulled her hand from his and stopped walking, but he turned and put a hand to her cheek. She shivered, but not with pleasure. There was something dark and menacing in his eyes. She was a fool to have got involved with this man, a fool to follow her heart, for look where it had led her—to a dingy side street in Brazil with a man she was now terrified of.
‘Come,’ he said. ‘We will talk about where our relationship is going later. Right now I want to celebrate my freedom and I want you to celebrate it with me.’ His hand was tight on her arm. ‘You wouldn’t deny me that?’
‘I do,’ she said. ‘And I want you to let me go.’
‘Don’t spoil this day for me, Meg—it’s been a hell of a long year for both of us. Now we can drink cachaca, unwind, dance. Later we can talk, but first…’
He lowered his head to kiss her, but it was too late for that and she moved her head back from his, suddenly confused. Because Niklas didn’t dance. It was one of the few things that she did know about him—or had that been just another of his lies? Suddenly she was scared, and with real reason now.
Meg turned to go but he pulled her roughly back and pushed her against the wall. Then he opened his jacket and she saw that he had a gun.
‘Try to run and it will be the last thing you do…’
‘Niklas…’ she begged, and when Meg heard her own voice she heard the way she sounded when she pleaded for her life. She was trying to show him that she wasn’t panicked, trying to reason with a man she absolutely didn’t know, trying to get away. ‘Why do you need me?’ she said. ‘If you’ve escaped…’
Pe
ople were turning to look at them, maybe alerted by the panic in her voice even though she wasn’t screaming. Or perhaps it was that if he had just escaped then his picture would be everywhere, being flashed over the news. Perhaps that was why he lowered his face to her.
‘Why do you need me with you?’
‘Because you’re my last chance.’
And his mouth came down on hers.
She could hear a car pulling up beside them and Meg knew this was her last chance to get away. She knew instinctively that when the car doors opened she would be shoved in, that that was why he had taken the call—to arrange all this. Terrified, Meg did the only thing she could think of to survive. She bit hard on his lip with all she had—took that beautiful mouth and bit it as hard as she could. In the second when he recoiled, as he cursed her in Portuguese and reached for his gun, Meg ran—ran as she never had—ran and ran faster as she heard gunshots.
She kept running till rough arms grabbed her and pulled her down, slamming her to the ground. She felt her cheek hit the pavement and the skin leave her leg as she rose to run again, heard another volley of gunshots and looked behind her. She saw police cars screeching up. Whoever had shielded her from him had gone. Then she stared at the body on the ground and it was the only thing she could see.
‘Niklas!’ she screamed, and tried to run back to him, for she hated the man but it was agony to see him lying dead and riddled with bullets.
She could not stop screaming. Not even when other arms wrapped around her and her face was buried in rough prison denim and she smelt him again—not his cologne, but the scent of Niklas, her drug of choice, a scent that till now had been missing. She heard him saying over and over that she was safe, that he was here, that now it would all be okay, but she still did not believe it was him—until he lifted her face and she met his eyes, saw that the beautiful mouth had not been bitten and knew that somehow it was him.
That she was safe.
It was just her heart that was in danger again.
Playing the Dutiful WifeExpecting His Love-Child Page 10