Brazilian Revenge (The Brazilians) (7 page)

Chapter Seven

Leonardo tossed on the bed. Again.

Grunting, he turned around and sat. The sheets were warm, but not because of hot, languid lovemaking. Like what they’d done in the library hours earlier. No. He glided his hand on the soft Egyptian cotton. Ever since he tried to lie down to sleep he’d flipped from side to side like a dolphin.

I’m an asshole.
He’d taken advantage of her. It didn’t matter she acted like she’d wanted every bit of their sexual rendezvous as much as he. She was tortured, suffering, and he didn’t leash his raging hormones. Sighing, he surged to his feet. He slipped on his pajama pants, aware he could no longer sleep in the nude if she was staying with him. What if she needed something and stormed in his room in the middle of the night? He had to enforce at least some decorum.
For how long?
What would happen after they found Lyanna?

One problem at a time.
Shaking his head, he slipped out of his room. He’d go downstairs to the library and send out some emails. He would take any distraction to keep his mind occupied until morning came.

Before he even crossed her room, he noticed the light trespassing under the door. Frowning, he slowed his steps. Was she still awake? She needed some rest after the past couple days, even he knew that. Sucking in his breath, he closed the distance between him and the door.

He felt, rather than heard, the frantic pacing on the travertine tile. So she was having a hard time falling asleep, too. He palmed the polished stainless-steel handle. Why would he get involved? He’d made one mistake already. Why did his fingers tremble with need to storm inside and help her? That wasn’t his job. That wasn’t his goal.

He clasped the door handle, and, without delay, twisted it and opened the door.

Shit.
She moved frantically from one side to the other, barefoot, and with her hands perched at her waist. A good amount of hair kept falling on her face as she spun, which was why it took her a minute to notice when he stood in the middle of the room, legs apart. His spine locked into place when his eyes found hers.

Fear. Her irises darkened to a forest green, and there was a gloom paralyzing her expression. A sheen of sweat covered her forehead, cheeks, and neckline, even though the air conditioning was on. The nightgown from earlier adorned her. “W-what are you doing here?” she said, eyebrows shooting to her hairline. “Is there any news? Do you know something?”

He lifted his hands in denial. “No news, yet. I was going downstairs and saw you were up. What’s going on?” he asked for the sake of asking. It was obvious she was going through some sort of anxiety attack.

“No news.” She plopped on the bed and started to fan herself. “I-I can’t breathe.”

He did a quick scan of the room, but didn’t find a paper bag or anything else she could breathe into. “You can breathe,” he said, and sat next to her. He’d once read that focusing on the breathing part could make the person even more nervous. So maybe he had to distract her. “I’m here with you.” He grabbed her hand in his, and gave it a light squeeze. Her palm was slick with cold sweat.

His heart raced like he was the one panicking. “It’s okay. Take a deep breath, and tell me what you wanna do once we find Lyanna. Talk about that.”

“I-I…” She took a deep breath, and clasped his hand like she didn’t want to let go of him. A strange sensation bolted through him, igniting some sort of protective response within him. Despite what had happened, she was the mother of his child, and he wanted, no,
needed,
for her to be well. “I want to take her to the beach. Not right away, but I’d like to do that someday.”

Nodding, he stared deep into her eyes. “What else?”

Satyanna’s face was pale, but at least she was talking to him. “Central Park. I’ve dreamed of doing that while I was pregnant.”

Central Park in New York City. He felt the contours of his face tightening, but he willed the uneasiness away. They would find Lyanna first, then iron out the details. The last thing he wanted was for his daughter to travel so soon. Certainly not without him. “What else?”

“I want to be there for her. I want her to know she has a mother.”

“Weren’t you adopted as a baby?” he asked, remembering the bits of information Ulisses had been able to dig on her.

“Yes, by a widow. I called her Mom. But when I was nine she dated this guy, who married her. And he…wasn’t nice to me.”

“I’m sorry.” All he’d known was that her mother had died and she’d been under the care of Arnold Wallace, her stepfather, who ended up giving legal rights to the State because he’d ruled her a difficult, incorrigible child. What kind of man would simply give up on a kid like that?

A tear rolled down her cheek. “He wanted to do things to me, and because I didn’t let him, he beat me.”

Anger pumped thick into his bloodstream, and he cursed under his breath. She was telling the truth, and he knew it in his gut. She was also breathing normally, even though tears bordered her eyes. “What happened to him?”

“Last I heard, he died of an overdose. I just wanted out of there.”

“I can’t express the kind of monster this excuse for a man was, Satyanna. If I could erase it, I would.” He wiped the tears from her face with his index finger.

She drew a breath. “Thanks. I tried to sleep, but then all these racing thoughts kept me going. It’s too much. I can handle whatever the world throws at me, I always have. But if something happened to her and we can’t find her…” Her voice trailed off, her lips trembling.

He cupped her face. “We will find her,” he said in the same determined tone he used in courtrooms and interviews. “You need to get some rest. Lie down.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “I tried, trust me.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. Before barging in her room, it’d already been difficult to fall asleep. How could he do it now after discovering her painful past? And that she still hurt from it? A lump of frustration clogged his throat. “This will be different. We’ll do it together. C’mon. I want you sprawled on the mattress.”

Satyanna blinked a couple of times, as if to make sure she heard him correctly. A lovely flush spread across her cheeks. Did she think he was about to seduce her?

“Don’t worry. There’s no sex,” he said.

Her blush deepened, but at least she had some color on her face. At last she moved and got on the bed, but instead of lying on her back she kept her body sideways as her head fell on the pillow. He pulled the sheet and covered her. They would need that thin layer of fabric to keep their skin from touching.

He molded his body behind hers, and snaked an arm over her side. She was tense; he didn’t need to touch her neck to feel its stiffness. Her shoulders went so rigid they stretched the fabric of the nightgown. He caressed her bare arm, sliding his fingers up and down her prickled flesh. “My mother had lupus when I was a teenager. She was always sick, and we didn’t have much money. In the beginning, I would go to her bed and hug her like this.”

She sagged into him, and he sighed with relief. Finally, she was relaxing, and his plan was working. “I’m sorry. Must have been hard for a teen to deal.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t mind,” he said, and his voice was carried by an emotion so raw he had to swallow hard—twice—to keep from choking. He held her tighter, and he caught himself breathing into her hair. The blend of warm vanilla with some spicy notes played with his nostrils. “I’ll be here until you fall asleep.”

She yawned. “You’re not.”

“Excuse me?”

“You said you were being selfish in the library. You’re not selfish.”

He opened his mouth, but hesitated. This should be when he should say that he, too, hadn’t been sleeping after sex. While she was haunted by old memories and a sad past, the recent events had taken a toll on his conscience. He had been selfish—and he was still being. After all, wasn’t he hugging her to put her to sleep so he could feel better about what had happened? “I’m no saint.”

Another yawn. “I like that about you,” she said, and in a couple minutes, he heard her sound asleep.

…

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” she asked him.

Leonardo clenched his fingers on the steering wheel of the sedan he rented. He could easily have requested a driver, but he was adamant on doing this his way—and involving the least amount of people. What he couldn’t deal with as easily was the woman in the passenger seat, and the bidden memories from the previous night.

Images popped in his mind as they had during their three-hour flight into the private airfield in the state of Maranhão. Ever since the moment they ate a quick breakfast before dashing out of his duplex back in Rio, he’d avoided talking to her at all costs. Nothing more than strictly necessary. Why give her the wrong impression? They had given in to that crazy attraction, then he soothed her in a time of need. That was it.

The sun almost blinded him, and he fixed his black sunglasses.

“I punched the address on the GPS,” she said, waving his iPhone. “Here. Take a left on the next road.”

“I didn’t ask you to do it.”

“You’ve been grumpy since you woke up, and one of us had to make decisions that gets us there faster,” she said matter-of-factly. “I want to see my daughter.”

He peered at the GPS and watched the road again. The streets were narrower, and trees bordered both sides. It’d been a while since he’d visited the Northeast. The beachy metropolitan vibe of Rio was quite different than this. There were enormous palm trees every so often and hard-working folks selling pineapple and other fruits on stands by the road. “Our daughter.”

She shifted on her seat until she could stare at him without restrictions, her arms folded. Something told him she wasn’t about to compliment him. “Have you realized that whenever you talked about Lyanna, you say ‘my daughter,’ but whenever I say ‘my daughter’ you correct me?”

He cleared his throat. Of course he had. If—no,
when
—they found Lyanna, he would have a lot to make up for. Only a few months had kept him from her. Yet any other father would have been in a clear advantage. One of the things he’d deal with was figuring out exactly how he’d proceed as far as Satyanna was concerned. After the previous night, his mind was playing tricks on him. Was she the damaged orphan who had mixed up with the wrong guy…or the shrewd woman who had gotten pregnant by a millionaire? “Yeah.”

She shrugged. “Interesting. I guess you will be a good father.”

He lowered his glasses so he could look her in the eye. Since they were on the subject, the best thing was to be honest. “I’ll be a great one. But, listen, I don’t want to give you the wrong idea after last night.”

He expected her to give him some smart-ass retort. Her lips would clamp shut maybe. What surprised him was the chuckle that parted from her lips. “No, I think you’ve been going out of your way to prove that point.”

His gut clenched. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry.”

She flashed him an easy smile. “No need. Last night we needed each other. Don’t worry, I won’t write your name on a piece of paper and draw hearts around it. I understand,” she said, as if he had canceled on dinner plans.

“Good.”

“As long as you treat me as an equal,” she said, her voice a tad more commanding. “As someone who is invested in finding our daughter and dealing with the consequences of what happened. Not as if you’re doing me a favor by letting me tag along.”

He drew in a breath. Damn. Didn’t she have a point? If they were going to do this together, he needed her. In the near future, she’d be the bridge to get to Clemonte and his stolen sculpture. And he would do that, even if he spent a lifetime trying. And now he needed her to find his daughter. Run some blood exams to make sure Lyanna was his. Or, like she preferred to say, theirs. He counted her also to find the nurse. Yes. As much as Satyanna was a dangerous liability…for the time being, he needed her. “Okay.”

“Good.”

He made one more turn around the corner and slowed the car before reaching the house number Jacinta’s mother had given them. 251. The little place was in a rather modest part of town, and he wondered if she had already blown all the cash she had received.

“We’re here,” he said, and slid out of the car. Before he could open the passenger door, she had already gotten out of the vehicle.

They walked in tandem to the house, Satyanna keeping up with his long strides. He stole a glance her way. The contours of her face tightened. They’d found one piece of the puzzle. What about the others?

Sighing, he knocked on her door. Once. Twice.

Restless, he flexed and relaxed his fingers. If no one answered, he’d find a way in. Waiting wasn’t an option. The longer time passed, they took the risk of her mother getting in touch with her. If Jacinta were smart she’d realize it was all a hoax. And what if she ran away?

His blood froze. Satyanna inched away, and she was studying the closed wooden window to the side. Her hands hovered over the textured wood, and he wondered if she was searching for a way to break in.
Because she’s done this before.

She wouldn’t do it in broad daylight, with children playing soccer at the end of the street, not too far from them, would she?

“Come with me,” he said, and cocked his head in the direction of the side of the house. She nodded, and he dropped his hand to the small of her back to guide her. There was a back door, also locked. He looked at the door handle. It was an old-fashioned metal ball. She put her head against the door, as if wanting to confirm there was no one in the house. A smile formed on his lips before he realized it; a rush of adrenaline shot through him. He, the uber-stickler, was about to break into someone’s house. Not just anyone, but the heartless bitch who helped steal his baby.

Satyanna glanced at both sides then nodded at him. “Go for it. There’s no one watching us right now.”

He slammed the door open, and it offered no resistance. Walking in, he lifted his finger to his mouth, motioning for her to be silent just in case. Stacks of real-estate magazines and home-decor books were piled on the coffee table. A set of gray sofas, along with a floor lamp and an old vitriol occupied the living area. He touched the sofa. It was first-grade leather. Somehow the sophistication from the inside didn’t match the modest surroundings.