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

by Mia Caldwell

  Kari laughed. “Good one. Now tell me what the real deal was. He had to know you from somewhere already. I’m thinking you both were already hot for each other, so you did it on the dean’s desk, then fast forward nine months, and here we are.”

  “It’s not a joke. It’s all been signed and sealed, complete with an overpriced lawyer and too much complicated legalese.”

  Kari was quiet for a long, unnerving moment. “I can see why you did it. Millions of people are depending on you. You would do whatever it took to not let them down. I understand how important your work is, but this must have been a very hard thing to do anyway.”

  Amara realized she should have trusted Kari would understand, wouldn’t judge her for what was the most difficult decision she’d ever had to make. “I love you, friend,” she said, a catch in her voice.

  “I love you, too,” Kari said. “Have you told Jaslene all this?”

  “No.”

  “I’m taking it for granted you haven’t told Raneesha.”

  “Oh, Lord no. I’ve only told you.”

  “I think you’re right not to see the baby,” Kari said. “It would make everything all the harder, maybe even impossible, when the rich guy comes to get his son.”

  Amara nodded slowly. “When he comes. I wish I knew what was going on. The waiting is killing me.”

  “Have you called his lawyer? Or his office?”

  “No. I didn’t think I’d need to. But it’s been so long now.”

  “How long since you’ve heard from him?” Kari asked.

  “Yesterday, not long after his flight took off. He was overseas on business and was flying here on his private jet.”

  Brow knit fiercely, Kari’s voice became strained. “Oh, so not your average rich guy. Super rich.”

  “Yeah, billionaire rich.”

  “What’s his name?”

  There didn’t seem to be any harm in telling it now. “Quint Forbes. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

  “Gods. Of course, especially now.” Kari leaned over to grab the television remote.

  Amara was shocked at what she said next.

  “Honey,” Kari said gently, “his plane is missing. They’re looking for the wreckage, but it could have gone down anywhere between the Middle East and here.”

  She turned on the TV and switched over to the news channel.

  Everything around Amara went into slow motion as she stared at the screen.

  At the right, two live video screens showed one feed from a regional correspondent, her eyes half-shut to keep the sand out of them, and another from a well-put-together but clearly shaken older man.

  On the left, the anchor spoke in a low, grave voice. “… officials have confirmed that billionaire and philanthropist Quint Forbes’ plane has been declared missing. The flight took off from Dasoguz Airport in Turkmenistan, where Forbes was coordinating a humanitarian mission to improve sanitation. The fate of the flight is unknown at this time, but an anonymous FAA official told us that it’s possible that the flight either crossed into one of several no-fly zones in the region and was shot down, or it was lost somewhere over the ocean. No flight plan was on file at Dasoguz. A search effort is being mounted, and the U.S. government is in contact with allies in the region, trying to gather information about this situation. With us now to discuss the potential implications of the missing plane, our financial analyst Jack Inoue and Middle-Eastern correspondent Anna Morgan.”

  By the end of the first full sentence, Amara’s hand had come up to her mouth in horror. When the segment ended, she was wracked with grief. It came on fast, her hands trembling as she struggled to accept what she was hearing.

  Quint. Missing. Presumed dead. How could it be? Quint was the most alive person she’d ever known. He couldn’t be dead. It wasn’t possible.

  Would she never see him again? Never hear his voice on the phone? Get one of his joking texts?

  She realized with a stab of pain in her chest that she’d been holding out a small hope that maybe, some day in the future, there could be something between them … something more than a business deal made on one of the worst days of her life.

  Quint. Dead.

  No … he was missing. It wasn’t certain that he was gone.

  But it wasn’t likely that he was alive, either. It was a devastating loss, and not only for her.

  Kari stood and placed a hand on Amara’s shoulder, giving a consolatory squeeze. Amara turned quickly to her, wrapping her arms tight around her, crying openly. Kari stroked her back and soothed her with comforting murmurs, telling her that everything would be all right.

  As her initial, emotional response began to wane a little, her brain kicked in to take up the slack. What did this mean for her and the baby?

  Quint wouldn’t be coming to collect his son. Why hadn’t the lawyer contacted her, told her what had happened? Had he been on the plane with Quint, perhaps?

  It seemed the likeliest conclusion to be made. Nothing else made any sense.

  No one outside of Quint’s lawyer knew about their agreement.

  Amara’s arms went slack around Kari, and she leaned back with a sad serenity. Fate had taken a hard turn, and there was only one direction left to travel.

  Tragic though the moment was, and she knew it would take a long time for her to accept that Quint was gone, she saw clearly what needed to be done.

  With a trembling hand, she reached over and pressed the call button.

  The nurse asked what Amara needed, and she responded with a simple confidence that tragedy inspired.

  Her voice was clear and steady.

  “Nurse, please bring my son to my room. I’m ready to see him now.”

  Chapter Ten

  Three Months Later

  BABY HAMPTON HAD GROWN SO much over the last three months. He was holding his head up on his own, responding to sounds, and even grabbing toys to play with. Sitting up with his support pillow in his high-chair, he was alert, and more often than not, happy.

  His pale blue eyes were as striking as his father’s, though his hair was curly and dark like his mother’s. As tragic as Quint’s death was, her love for Hampton had kept depression at bay. Amara couldn’t imagine a day without seeing Hampton’s smiling face, hearing his adorable cooing. Giving him a good life in a loving home fulfilled her.

  She’d convinced herself before the birth that giving Hampton up would mean a better life for him, but she’d come to realize that the life she gave him was as good as anything he would have had otherwise.

  Not only that, she could give him something Quint never could — a mother’s love. Quint couldn’t nurse him, couldn’t bond with him in the way that only mothers and their children can bond. Some of her earliest memories were being held by Raneesha. And throughout her life, she’d found nothing but support, love, and empathy from her mother.

  Her father was never in the picture, but she always had a great role model to look up to in her mother. Raneesha was a postal worker, had worked hard every day of her life, and she was the very image of a strong, independent black woman.

  She ran the house on her own, took wonderful care of Amara from the first day she was brought home from the hospital, and even paid for her college tuition by carefully budgeting and saving for nearly two decades.

  These days, Amara often found herself reflecting on her upbringing, hoping that she could be as much of an inspiration to Hampton as Raneesha had been to her.

  While the first month was hard on Amara emotionally, she was well taken care of financially, even in Quint’s absence. The University’s policy mandating four months of paid maternity leave didn’t hurt, either, and allowed her to keep a flexible schedule.

  Kari came over more frequently and babysat Hampton. When Jaslene was in town and not traveling for her new business, she helped out, too. Friendly colleagues and even Jaslene had offered to watch Hampton, but between Kari and Raneesha, Amara had plenty of help.

  While Amara wasn’t getting out nearly as
much as she used to, she was happy to be at home, especially once Hampton began sleeping for longer stretches of time. At three months, he’d achieved the six-hour milestone for sleep, finally giving Amara a chance to catch up on much-needed rest.

  She took Hampton out with her frequently, and when Kari or Raneesha babysat, she could hardly stand to be away from him. She often called to check up, and loved talking to him on the phone when she had a little downtime. Not that he talked back, of course.

  While she’d taken the university up on their promise of paid maternity leave, she continued her work at home and often at her office on campus, but she didn’t teach classes or keep the kind of hours she once did.

  Her variant of cassava was harvested after months of careful tending in Nigeria. In all, everything was going well, except when she thought of Quint, when she recalled what it was like to talk to him, to laugh with him, and once, to touch him. Every time she looked into her son’s blue eyes, she was reminded of the way Quint’s sparkled as he made the proposal that she be his surrogate.

  Quint was presumed dead, and she’d learned that his special attorney had indeed been on the plane with him that disastrous day of the plane crash. Regardless, the contract they’d signed made it clear that no matter the circumstance, if she carried Hampton to term, Quint’s money was to be disbursed to cover any and all expenses relating to her work.

  He’d been true to his word, and the funding had continued unabated per their arrangement.

  He had left a legacy to be proud of. His money had helped secure the licenses for widespread trials in other countries and research into more effective storage and processing. While her primary concern was the farmers who grew it as an insurance crop for their own families, the potential globalization and adoption of cassava as a meal staple would mean a flourishing market for local farmers in Africa as well as South America. Exports could mean economic growth and a rise in quality of life.

  She was frequently in touch with the Federal Ministry of Agriculture in Nigeria to compare results and discuss the overall impact of widespread adoption of her crop. They were eager partners and fine supporters of her field trials with local farmers, both industrial and rural.

  A little money to grease the wheels of the bureaucratic process certainly helped things along, though the process came a little too close to graft for her liking. Still, she did what had to be done for the greater good. And anyway, even governments needed financial assistance from time to time.

  Amara sat at her desk in her office at the university, positively beaming, reading over a letter about the encouraging growth of the crop and its nutritional profile. It was maturing more quickly than the unmodified version, it was abundant in nutrition and protein, and its cyanide levels were down to next-to-nothing. She resolved to get it down completely somehow, but for now, they were wonderful results.

  Quint would have been pleased. Hampton mewled in the bassinet she kept in her office, and she rolled her chair over to tickle him under the chin, something that always made him smile. He stretched his tiny arms and yawned. Wake up time, already?

  As she stroked her son’s velvety cheek, she wondered if Quint hadn’t had a premonition that he would be gone too young and so needed to have a child sooner rather than later. Hence his bargain with her, because there wouldn’t be a later.

  She shuddered whenever she thought that way. In fact, she didn’t like to think about any of it, and it was easier not to do so when she kept herself busy. Luckily, being busy wasn’t a problem. Her time at work was a much-needed respite from the memory of Quint and the challenges of raising a son as a single mother.

  A light knock sounded on the frame of her open office door. She glanced up and saw Jaslene waving at her.

  “Jaslene. It’s so good to see you.” Amara made to stand, but Jaslene motioned for her to remain seated.

  “I was on campus and thought I’d drop by on the off chance you might be here,” Jaslene said, smiling. “And here I get the treat of not just you, but the sweetest baby in the whole world, too.”

  Jaslene bent over Hampton. “Aren’t you the cutest baby ever? That’s right, you are. Cute, cute, cute.”

  Amara grinned at the sight of the always put-together Jaslene baby-talking to her son. She was dressed to the nines, as always. At nearly six-feet tall, and nearly as beautiful as a runway model, Jaslene was a presence, to be sure.

  They cooed over Hampton for a few minutes, and then Amara offered Jaslene a seat.

  “How’s your new venture going?” Amara asked.

  “Better than I thought, which is why I’m on campus. I was talking with some people in the economics department. I’ve had some feelers out in Detroit, and I’m looking to find investors for several woman-owned start-ups there.”

  Amara nodded. “What kind of companies?”

  “Some tech, some foodstuffs, personal hygiene-type products, too. A few would be local only, like this one that wants to open a food truck. Others could go national eventually.”

  “How wonderful,” Amara said. “Have you got city government behind you? It can really make all the difference.”

  “That’s the plan, eventually. But if I have to go it alone, so be it. I feel great about what I’m doing. This is going to be quite an adventure, don’t you think?” Jaslene’s pretty eyes sparkled as she asked the question.

  “Undoubtedly. Good for you.”

  “It’s all because of you, Amara. Anyway, how’s it going with the trials?”

  Amara filled her in briefly but was interrupted when a colleague, June, poked her head into the office.

  “Oh, you do have Hampton with you,” June said. “Wanted to warn you. Frederik’s roaming the halls and, as usual, he’s got nothing good to say about you and yours. You might want to lay low until he goes away.”

  A surge of irritation shot through Amara. Frederik. Damn. “Thanks, June. I appreciate it.”

  June gave a little wave and sped off.

  “What the hell, Amara?” Jaslene asked. “That asshole’s still bothering you? You shouldn’t have to hide out from the likes of that.”

  Amara agreed, but there was no escaping the man’s rancor. She wished constantly that she’d never gotten involved with him. But then she’d look at Hampton and realize she wouldn’t have him if it weren’t for Frederik. At least some good had come of the man’s lies.

  She gave a “what can I do?” gesture to Jaslene, stood up and headed to the door to close it. She didn’t get there in time.

  “So, got your spies out checking on me, do you?” sneered an accented voice from the hallway. Frederik. “Scurry into your hole, little rabbit. The big bad wolf is on the prowl. Or that is what you would have people think, no? That I am the evil wolf preying on innocent women?”

  Amara glared at the man and heard Jaslene suck in a loud breath of outrage.

  “You need to keep your voice down.” Amara moved to block the door. “I’m sure everyone is listening to you spew your venom.”

  “Tsk-tsk,” Frederik said, smoothing his hair back from where it had fallen down on his forehead. He appeared increasingly disheveled of late, his hair not immaculately groomed as it once was, his clothes unpressed and untidy, shoes scuffed and unpolished.

  “You mixed the metaphor,” he said. “Wolves do not have venom. That is for snakes. Is that what you tell people? That I am a snake?”

  Chapter Eleven

  “I DON’T TELL THEM ANYTHING, Frederik,” Amara said. “In fact, I never speak of you, period. You’re not worth the breath.”

  “You must think me a fool. You plot against me. Admit it.” He tried to walk past her, but Amara wouldn’t move. He bumped into her. “Come. I heard the little prince is here. I want to see him.”

  The situation was escalating. They’d had a verbal run-in or two in the past several months, but this physicality had already taken this meeting far beyond any of those others. Amara scooted in front of Frederik as he ramped up the pressure against her, slowly moving h
er backward.

  “Stop it, Frederik. You can’t come in,” she said, trying to keep her voice low but commanding at the same time.

  He pushed harder. “Puta, you wasted no time getting knocked up like a commoner after I threw you away. You think your shame can contaminate me, an Orlando. You are a fool.”

  Amara was close to panic.

  The tide turned with some help from Jaslene, who shoved in beside her and pushed back at Frederik. “Get out of here, crazy man. I’ve already called campus police.”

  Frederik laughed mirthlessly. “For what? For wanting to see the bastard prince?” He said it with a revolting sneer.

  Between the two women, they held him off but were unable to push him backward.

  “You think you can win,” Frederik said, his breath overpowering with the stench of rot and decay. “You try to ruin me, but you cannot. They will see I was right, that you lie and cheat, that your work is a fraud and, you denied my rightful ownership of the Carrington Award. Your child is a bas —”

  “That’s enough, Orlando,” a male voice broke in. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “You heard him. Leave the lady be,” another male voice added, as a man reached out grabbing Frederik’s arm.

  Amara could barely see past Frederik to identify the newcomers. With a mixture of relief and embarrassment, she recognized Pete and James, two professors in the department.

  “Do not touch me,” Frederik blustered, turning and pushing the men. “I will not be handled by such as you.”

  “Handling you isn’t exactly on my bucket list,” Pete said dryly. “If you’ll get the hell out of here you won’t have to worry about us touching you again.”

  Frederik raised his chin, twisted free of James’ hold and stomped into the hallway. “It is enough, anyway. I have said what I came to say.”

  “Good, then make like the wolf you are and tuck tail back to your den,” Jaslene said loudly.