What would he do if he knew she had hard evidence that could put Lionel Cabo in prison for the rest of his life? The slim thumb drive sewn into the lining of her suitcase was the insurance she had used to secure her own freedom, but that same evidence would also serve as evidence of a damning connection. A connection that someone could use against her.
Trusting Duarte in the past had led to betrayal. Did she dare ask him for help, knowing that he might choose to use her past against her?
She closed her eyes and thought of the innocent life she had just brought into this battlefield. This should have been a moment of celebration for both of them.
For a split second she contemplated throwing caution to the wind and telling Duarte that Liam was his son. Maybe if she told him everything and explained herself he would see that she was not the same as her father after all. She had made her share of mistakes, but she was not the black-hearted criminal he had accused her of being.
But then she remembered his promise and imagined being thrown in jail for her crimes. She felt torn between silence and blind faith, but she was a mother now and she had a responsibility to raise her son. She couldn’t risk it.
‘I hope you don’t mind me bringing you to a different hospital.’ He gestured around them at the clean sleek lines of the private mother-and-baby suite. ‘I know the staff here from my charity work. It’s one of the best facilities in the city.’
‘I will try my best to repay you.’ Her voice shook slightly and he instantly waved away her offer.
The gesture held so much lazy arrogance that her hands automatically tightened at the reminder that Duarte Avelar wasn’t just rich, he was powerful. More powerful than any of the people she’d met while working for her father among Rio’s high society.
Even without the fact that he was descended from one of Brazil’s oldest dynasties, he was rich as Croesus in his own right. He was the kind of man who didn’t have to worry about anything. He probably had world-class lawyers on retainer just in case he needed matters dealt with. If his memory came back, if he remembered what she had been a part of...
‘Nora...’ Duarte didn’t move, but his eyes held her captive with their sincerity. ‘Was there a reason you were leaving the city today, alone and in such a vulnerable condition?’
‘That’s hardly your concern.’
She kept her tone firm, the anxiety roaring within her a reminder of her own vulnerability. She was alone and he knew it. That meant it was even more important for her to keep the upper hand. Keep what little power she had left.
She looked up at his dark features, feeling the weight of fear crush any of the remaining traces of hope she might have had upon seeing him alive. She had far too much knowledge of what happened to a woman when she put herself in the orbit of a powerful man’s control. Her son deserved to be safe, and she would die before she allowed him to be used the same way she had been as a child.
Her eyes darted to the window. She was trying to pinpoint where they were in the city. Trying to plan a way out, just in case.
Powerful men did not often give up their
children—even illegitimate ones. Her own mother had found that out the hard way. Sometimes a child served as the ultimate form of control.
‘I had to search your bag for identification in order to fill out your chart.’ His eyes met hers, searching. ‘I noticed you were packing very light. You don’t even have a mobile phone or your passport.’
‘I must have forgotten them at home.’
The lie fell easily from her lips and she felt a pang of relief that he hadn’t found the hidden pocket in the lining of her luggage that she’d used to hold her savings, the thumb drive and her emergency documents.
‘I thought that...so I had my assistant go back to your apartment to retrieve them.’
Nora fought the urge to growl, feeling his eyes on her, watching her reaction. Apparently his injury hadn’t addled the entirety of his wonderful mind; he was still sharp. He must have been told that her apartment was empty, that she’d been evicted suddenly and without notice.
‘What exactly are you asking me?’ She assumed her best poker face, feeling as though she was walking a tightrope and might fall into the web of her own lies at any moment.
‘Your landlord seemed terrified that he might be harmed and refused to give the reason for your eviction. In fact, he seemed quite concerned for your wellbeing, despite having no knowledge of your pregnancy. According to him, before today you had barely left your apartment in months.’
Nora felt her pulse hammer against her chest. How could she tell him that hiding behind the walls of her shabby apartment and living in anonymous squalor for months on end had been preferable to anyone in her father’s criminal network seeing her growing stomach and using it against her? Her father would have known instantly whose child she carried, and he would not have hesitated to use the knowledge for his own gains. He’d always got her under his control so easily—it was one of his talents.
She had been eighteen when she’d first moved to Rio, home-schooled and painfully naïve, with her father’s wonderful promises ringing in her ears. She hadn’t reacted when he’d told her she stood out in all the wrong ways, with her simple outdoorsy style and her wild red curls. When he’d hired stylists to dress her and soften her looks she had foolishly seen it as him taking care of her. To a girl who had grown up fatherless and isolated, any attention from him had seemed wonderful.
Then he’d started asking her to gather small pieces of information for him. Her successes had been met with affection and gifts, and she’d never felt so happy and loved. She hadn’t known then, but he’d been grooming her for his organisation, teaching her the tricks she would need to become one of his network of spies.
She’d obeyed his every command and completed every mission perfectly...until Duarte.
She looked up at the object of her thoughts and wondered which of the men in her life had hurt her more...
‘I get the feeling that we knew one another, Nora. Maybe we were friends?’ Duarte’s whisky-coloured eyes bored into hers, assessing her with a razor-sharpness. ‘If you’re in trouble, I might be able to help.’
‘I’m not in trouble.’ Shaken, she tried to keep control of the conversation, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tremor in her hands. ‘And you are not my friend.’