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

by Mia Caldwell

  “I know you didn’t. I initiated it. I didn’t have to ask you to stay with me, and I didn’t have to do anything else. I know that. But I don’t think we should be doing that again. Not now.” She heaved a heavy sigh, her gaze lowering to the plate of steaming food.

  “Amara, we didn’t do anything wrong. It’s natural to want to comfort each other, to make each other feel good, to connect. And it’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it? It’s essentially the continuation of something we never got to finish.”

  “I don’t know. I feel … wrong.”

  “You shouldn’t feel ashamed of seeing to your own happiness and well-being, no matter what you’re doing outside of it. I know you’re a self-sacrificing type, that you give everything you have to help not only those close to you, but everyone. But there’s nothing we could have been doing otherwise.”

  Amara brought her gaze up to meet his. “You don’t know what’s been going on in my head this morning, Quint. I can’t stop it. It’s all jumbled up inside me. All of it. It’s like I have too many feelings going on at the same time. I’m guilty, I’m terrified, I’m grateful, I’m confused. I don’t regret what happened between us, but feeling good feels wrong. I don’t know how to feel. Quint, I think I may be losing it. I’m sorry. I know I make no sense, yet I can’t stop it.”

  He hugged her close, held her tightly, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, breathing deeply of his warm body. “It’s okay, sweet one. It’s okay. You’re overwhelmed, that’s all.”

  “I think I’m an irrational lunatic.”

  “No, you’re a mother who’s missing her child and who should stop blaming herself for what happened.”

  “It was all my fault, though. All of it.”

  “It’s not,” Quint said with more than a little heat. “It’s simply not.”

  She swallowed hard and fought down the tide of rising panic. “I think we should stop having sex until we’ve got Hampton back. Okay?”

  “Of course, Amara. If that’s what you want to do, I have nothing but respect for that. If you change your mind, I’m here for you same as I was last night. But you’re probably right — it’s best to focus our energies elsewhere.”

  She nodded, and he kissed her lightly on the top her head before releasing her and returning to the stove to cook his own omelet. He passed her some toast and jelly, and a large bowl of fresh fruit.

  Amara poked at her omelet and nibbled on a toast triangle. Emotions continued to roil inside her, but she had them in check again, for now.

  Quint finished his omelet, plated it and sat beside her. “If I don’t hear from Frederik by tonight,” he said, “I’m going to contact him again. It’ll damage our standing, but there’s nothing to be gained by waiting. The longer we do, the longer we’re without our son. So, let’s have breakfast and start thinking of things we can do to move everything along.”

  Halfway through the meal, Quint’s phone chimed in his pocket, causing him to nearly drop his fork in his eagerness to get to the message. “Serendipitous. Must have been the right decision. Email this time.” A faint smile as he navigated to his messages, though it fell from his face entirely once he’d read the contents.

  “It’s from Frederik, isn’t it?” Amara asked in dread.

  Quint blew out a breath and read aloud.

  Stop wasting your time, and what will soon be my money, bribing local officials to try to find me. Same goes for the private detectives. This is my world, not yours. You’ll never find me. As punishment, I’m upping your bill. Fifty million. And forget cash. Too bulky at this level. I want it in an overseas account. I’ve given details below. Once you make the deposit and I verify it, I’ll see about reuniting you with your little trophy. Tell the Puta I wish I were there to drink her tears. They would be the sweetest reward of all.

  Chapter Thirty

  AS QUINT NEARED THE END OF the message, his voice practically dripped with venom. He seemed outraged at the flippant tone. “Bastard,” he concluded.

  “Fifty million dollars,” Amara said, overwhelmed by the enormity of such a sum. “He’s raving.”

  Quint waved a hand in the air. “The money is nothing. It’s how he spoke of you that has me wanting to —”

  “Nothing? Fifty million dollars?” Amara couldn’t imagine so much money, let alone call it nothing. “You would really pay Frederik so much?”

  “Of course.”

  Her heart swelled in her chest and her voice broke. “Th-thank you, Quint. Words aren’t enough. That you haven’t hesitated, it’s … thank you.”

  Quint spoke in soft tones. “Amara, he’s my son, too.”

  “I realize that. Still, I can’t help but wonder what I would do if you weren’t here. It would be hopeless. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Thanks aren’t necessary. I hate that Orlando’s got us up against it. We don’t have any choice.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” Amara said.

  “This money is nothing. It’s a tool to entice him, and that’s all that matters.” Quint placed the phone down, pacing slowly. “There’s nothing we can do but agree to his demands. We can’t try to leverage our position, because he’s got us pinned. We do what he asks, or we don’t go home with our son.”

  He picked up the phone, typing a simple affirmative and sending it. After a moment, a reply came in, and Quint read it aloud.

  Meet on the cliff overlooking the shore at ten tonight. Both of you come, or no deal. We’ll be right above the biggest celebration of the night, so if you try anything, there will be a problem. Spend the rest of the day wondering about what that means. I can’t wait to see you both, but especially our dear, lying, Amara. Do you love her? How much?

  Quint growled low, but sent another short message affirming the meeting before dropping his phone onto the counter, disgusted. “I can’t believe this … this nerve. That was a threat, and not a thinly veiled one either. It’s not safe up there — not for you. Damn. You can’t go. I can’t let you.”

  “But I have to go. He said so. Like he told my mother, he wants me playing by his rules.”

  The muscle in Quint’s jaw clenched. “It’s not safe. It’s not —”

  “It’s not something we can debate, like the money.” For the first time in days, Amara’s head began to clear. A strength of will and purpose filled her and shoved away the fog of competing emotions which had been slowly driving her crazy.

  “We have to do this straight up,” she continued. “No tricks, no questions, nothing but handing over what he wants and getting Hampton. That’s it.”

  Quint looked at her oddly. “You don’t realize what you’re risking.”

  “I do,” she said with utter conviction. “I know exactly what I’m risking, and I’d do it a thousand times over for Hampton.”

  Quint stood and ran a hand through his thick, black hair.

  Amara stood next to him and lay a hand on his sturdy shoulder. “I’m going to be okay. So are you. So is Hampton. It’s almost over.”

  She thought she saw tears shimmering in the corners of his eyes.

  “I wish I knew how he learned I’m Hampton’s father. Greed may be part of what set him off,” Quint said, stepping out from under her hand and beginning to pace.

  “Perhaps. Probably, though, it was because he got fired,” Amara said. “I don’t know how he learned that you’re Hampton’s father. There’s no way he could. Kari would never say anything, and she’s the only person besides us who knew. Did he fly here knowing you had the resources to follow him?”

  “I believe so.” He paced more rapidly. “And he demands that you come tonight. I don’t know if he’s going to try to hurt you, Amara. I’ll be ready if he does. I may not be fully recovered from the crash, but I can take care of him if the need arises.”

  “I know you can.” Amara fell silent then, staring down at her half-finished breakfast, her appetite completely gone with her warring emotions. Everything was clear now. The end approached. And one emotion ha
d claimed victory: anger.

  “We’ll give him what he wants so he won’t think he needs to punish me again,” she said flatly. “I can’t believe this is happening. I did everything right, didn’t I?”

  Quint gave her a confused look.

  Her voice began to pick up again, and the anger smoldering beneath the surface broke through almost immediately. “What else was I supposed to do? Yeah, I wanted people to know that Frederik lied about my work. And when other rumors started up around the department, I didn’t correct any of them, especially the ones that made Frederik look bad. I wanted him to lose face, wanted him beaten down after what he did to me.”

  She leaned over the counter, head in her hands as she heaved a heavy, frustrated sigh. “He only thinks of himself. He’s always been that way. I was almost going to forgive the way he acted on the trip to Nigeria to help those families, but when I tried to talk to him about it, he got so haughty, so self-righteous … I couldn’t stand it. And then he got the grants pulled to get back at me? For what? What did I do to him? Nothing. He put human lives in jeopardy because his ego was bruised. I can’t believe I was ever gullible enough to fall for his shit. I’m so mad, Quint. I hate him. I wish he were dead. And I mean that.”

  Quint stopped pacing, his expression was sharp. “Good. Get mad. Hate him. He deserves it. I heard enough about him to know what kind of man he is. Confidence is endearing, or sexy if used in a certain way. You can’t blame yourself for falling prey to something that doubtlessly was honed to be used exactly as it was. You have to understand the true nature of your relationship. Whether or not you realize it, at least on a professional level, he was riding your coattails. Not the other way around. Sure, he got you name recognition, but he was only there to take the glory for work he had no part of. He couldn’t even invest his time, let alone actually care about those people. And in a final insult, he tried to sell off your work, undoing everything you’d worked so hard for. Even now he wants revenge not for anything you actually did, but instead for what he didn’t do, which was earn a share of the award you rightly won. He needs to be seen for exactly what he is — a scared, empty man with nothing to offer anyone but betrayal.”

  “Stop blaming yourself,” he continued with passion. “Put blame where it belongs, on Frederik. Take away his power over you, because that’s all your guilt does — empower him and turn you into a victim. Instead, hate him. Don’t take his misdeeds onto yourself. Despise him. Wish he were dead. God knows I do.”

  It felt amazing to hear Quint say it the way he did. She reveled in the sensation of invincibility surging through her. “I do hate him. He’s nothing. Thank you. You’re right. He has no power over me.”

  Quint gave her an approving look that sent her temperature soaring even higher.

  “We’re going to meet on equal ground, tonight,” Amara said with unflinching confidence. “And we’re going home with our son.”

  Chapter Thirty One

  FAR BELOW THE ROCKY CLIFF, the Dia de los Muertos celebration was in full swing. The moon was eerily large and bright, glowing behind stretched, wispy clouds that formed the lead edge of a growing storm far out on the ocean’s horizon.

  Throughout Montevideo, cheers and songs rose from the great throngs of people that crowded the streets and the rocky shore. Even from such a great elevation, the costumes of the revelers who’d set up a bonfire at the foot of the cliff could be seen.

  They were dressed in blindingly colorful, flowing affairs, and though everyone sang a song of jubilation, unfettered and altogether unhinged, Amara couldn’t help but be disturbed by the sharp divide between what the day was and what it looked like.

  She and Quint arrived well ahead of schedule to scope out the area and ensure that Frederik hadn’t planned or planted anything near the agreed-upon meeting place. Amara sat at the edge of the cliff, staring down at the ever-growing crowd below. Before long, most of the people who’d gathered on the shore began migrating toward the large fire that had been built there below the cliff.

  The wet driftwood that was tossed onto the burning pile created a massive column of bitter, acrid smoke which was being driven toward Amara by gusts coming in off the ocean. Amara moved back and away from the cliff. It seemed to be some sort of signal, because the migration only quickened from there.

  As the meeting time neared, the songs, chants, and screams of glee from below didn’t wane in the slightest, and only seemed to grow greater. Several of the large skulls that had been paraded through the streets earlier found their way to the gathering, and kept watch over the revelers from their massive poles propped around the central fire.

  Amara sat on one of the waist-high railings that lined the small collection of parking spots on both sides. On the near side, it was bordered by a thicket of spindly trees and rangy weeds, a more substantial grove shadowing the far side from the bright glow of the moon overhead.

  Judging by the condition of the place, it made sense that Frederik would want to meet there — the metal was long since rusted over, the three-spot parking lot overgrown with weeds and crisscrossed with grass breaking out through the deep fissures in the concrete. Widely spaced, low-level streetlights circled the lot, casting everything in a weak, yellow hue.

  “Something feels wrong about all this, Quint. Maybe it’s …” Amara motioned out toward the city and the sea. “… you know. It’s some kind of bad omen. We’re negotiating for my son, possibly my son’s life, on the Day of the Dead. Frederik always did have a sick sense of humor. He said nothing was sacred, nothing was off limits. I really know how to pick them.”

  Quint paced slowly behind the rail, back and forth, back and forth. “I know what you mean. I had a string of bad girlfriends myself, but nothing like that. My problems were a lot more predictable. A few women who were interested in social status and the rest mostly interested in my money. No one cared about me as a person. Who I was. All those interviews, all those specials done about me, the articles and books, they were about someone else, certainly not me, no matter what the titles said.”

  “I think it’s called Impostor Syndrome,” he continued, sitting beside Amara on the rail. “I still feel it. I got rich quick, probably quicker than I should have, to be honest. I made some stupid decisions early on, all of which were well-documented in the tabloids. I’m lucky it was before celebrity culture became so huge on the internet. Er — random celebrities. People who’re merely famous for being rich. Bands and movie stars don’t count. That’s a whole different culture, trust me.”

  “For what it’s worth,” Amara said, “I think you’re famous for a lot more than having money, especially now with the work you’ve been doing for others. As for me, a lot of the time, I still feel like the optimistic little girl who wanted to save the people my grandma talked about getting to know. My great-grandmother was Nigerian, and I always kind of mourned the loss of that culture. Getting out there and meeting them was an eye-opening experience. Some of the weird little things my family does I thought were normal until I grew up and realized that no one else was half-practicing folk magic.”

  “Folk magic?”

  “I’ll explain another time.” A fond smile crossed her face as she rocked slowly. “And, of course, the food. That’s where I learned about cassava, you know. I loved it, but it was a very occasional treat. Even with all the preparation in the world, I guess you can never be certain anything is safe enough for your baby girl, or your grandbaby in this case, even if you’ve prepared it yourself. They were right to be cautious. I found out about that a lot later when I started getting into agriculture. It was my first science project. I don’t even remember what I tried to grow. A carrot maybe? It was a total disaster. I got a little participation ribbon and all, but I didn’t let it discourage me. Had a little plot out in the back of the house. Momma grows tomatoes there now. Some of the best you can imagine.”

  Amara stared at the ground in front of her.

  “I’ll have to check it out when we get home. If I’m
going to be part of your life in any substantial way, I should probably get to know the family, right?”

  “You won’t have any problem winning Momma over,” Amara said. “This may sound cliche, but my momma is everything I ever wanted to be. She’s my hero. She worked so hard and did so much for me, despite having more than enough of her own problems to deal with.”

  Amara paused for a long moment before looking over at Quint. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about your family, Quint. Why is that? I wouldn’t usually ask, and to be honest I’ve been a little nervous to, but while we’re distracting ourselves by talking about our pasts …”

  Quint shook his head slowly. “I didn’t mean to hold out. It’s just never come up. I don’t have any aversion to telling you anything about me or my life. My family was unremarkable. Typical WASP types. Bury the emotions, feign piousness while harboring deep resentment for the Robinsons or whoever they were peeved at for having a bigger backyard barbecue or whatever was the item to be envied. Mostly, it was a negative place. My mother and father didn’t get along. Maybe they loved each other, but if so, they didn’t show it around me. For all I know, they may have only stayed together for the convenience that marriage afforded them. Maybe I’m off-base, but it seemed that my existence was secondary to their needs.”

  Amara stared up at him, her brow hiked high. “I had no idea you were from a suburban family. Maybe a little richer, right?”

  “My old man made some lucky guesses in early tech stocks and set us up pretty comfortably. He loaned me the capital I needed to get my first company started, actually. That was after my ‘I’m leaving home and living on friends’ couches for a couple years’ rebellion. When I was done with that, he was more than happy to set me up in what he considered a legitimate enterprise.”