Kidnapping the Billionaire's Baby

“You don’t know where Frederik hid Hampton, then?” Quint asked.

“As I said, I cannot help you.” Rodolfo was firm in tone, a man unused to challenge.

Quint’s tone was steady, his expression implacable. “Can you think of anyone Frederik might have confided in?”

“No,” Rodolfo answered brusquely.

Amara glanced at Gabriela. She was staring at her father, her body taut and tense, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.

“I don’t believe you,” Quint said.

Chapter Thirty Six

AMARA AND GABRIELA LOOKED AT Quint in surprise.

Rodolfo was unruffled by the challenge. “You are free to believe as you wish.”

“Papá,” Gabriela said. “The child belongs with Señorita Davis. He is her son.”

Rodolfo gave her a hard look and then turned back to Amara. “Federico, he was not a well man. He had problems that were unfortunate. You know this?”

She nodded fiercely.

“We knew when Federico was a young man that he would have difficulty in life. He did not see the world as the rest of us do.” Rodolfo thought for a moment. “He was touched by God, perhaps, chosen for something great, or something terrible. We did not know which. It is a fearful thing to be touched by the hand of God.”

“When Federico was still in school, he had some trouble and his mother and I,” Rodolfo continued, “thought it would be best for him if he had a fresh start. And so we sent him to the United States. He was better there, and we believed all would be well in the end.”

“But it wasn’t,” Amara said.

For the first time, she recognized sorrow in the older man’s eyes. “For many years it was, but you are right. Ultimately, it was not. When he returned here we could see he was not as we would have him be. My wife tried to get him to take his medication again, but he would not agree to it.”

“I didn’t know he was taking medication,” Amara said.

“No, he would not have told you. He saw it as weakness,” Rodolfo said. “I think we would not be having this conversation if he had never stopped seeing his doctors. I think we would not be having this conversation if his mother and I had not failed him.”

“You can’t blame yourself,” Amara said. “He was a grown man and made his own decisions. You can’t be held responsible for his actions.”

“It does not matter now, except in one respect. We sent him away rather than keep him here because we were afraid he would bring shame down upon the family name. Now that we are older, we see that this is not a right way of thinking. My wife and I know what our responsibility is now more than ever. We will not make the same mistake again.”

“I don’t understand,” Amara said. “What does this have to do with my son?”

“I cannot help you find your son,” Rodolfo said, even more decisively than before.

Quint squeezed Amara’s hand.

“You’re lying,” Amara said, not caring if she offended him.

“Papá, tell them where Hampton is,” Gabriela said.

“I cannot.”

“No, you will not tell them. There is a difference,” she said.

Rodolfo hardly blinked. “Do not argue with me. Respect your father.”

“No, this is wrong. I, too, have regrets, Papá. I did not speak up when you sent Federico away all those years ago. I was older and knew what he had done. Like, you, I feared disgrace, and so I said nothing. When he didn’t write me back, I stopped writing. I never visited. I rarely called. I was a bad sister to him, and now he is dead, and I cannot make it up to him.”

Rodolfo stared at the far wall and didn’t answer.