The Disobedient Virgin

But he couldn’t. Learning who his brothers were, finding them, discovering what they were like, was becoming the most important thing in his life.

Were they facing challenges as unwanted as his in order to unravel the secrets Enrique had taken to his grave?

Maybe it was foolish, but thinking they were gave him the determination he needed to propel him out of the SUV and to the passenger side where his ward sat, as unmoving as a statue.

He got there just as the valet reached him.

“Senhor,” the boy said politely.

Jake yanked open the door. Catarina was all but wedged against it, her window wide open. She’d put it down long before they’d reached the city, even though he’d had the a/c going full blast, as if to get rid of a bad smell. Him, probably. He’d decided to let her drag in the jet stream if it would keep her silent.

The wind had not been kind. It had whipped her hair into a thousand wild strands until she looked like a stand-in for Medusa.

No problem there. It went well with the shapeless brown thing that encased her.

Jake waited for her to acknowledge his presence. She didn’t and he leaned toward her. The valet was just behind him. No reason to turn this into performance art, he thought, and spoke quietly.

“Out of the car, Mendes.”

Except for a slight twitch of her mouth, she didn’t move.

The hard way, then, Jake thought, and leaned in closer.

“I said, get out.”

Catarina looked at him, looked past him, and rattled off something in Portuguese. Jake turned around in time to see the valet’s face turn white. Not a good sign, he thought coldly.

“What did she say?”

The valet’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I do not—I am not sure—”

Jake straightened up, blocked Catarina from the guy’s view and forced a smile.

“Tell me what the lady said.”

“She said—the senhorita said…She said you have abducted her, senhor.”

Jake shut his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again and reading the brass name tag pinned to the valet’s maroon and gold jacket.

“Andres,” he said, his tone confidential, “I am afraid we have a problem.”

“We do?”

“Sim. Yes.” He took Andres by the elbow and walked him a couple of feet away. “You see, the lady—the senhorita—is not well.”

Color crept back into the valet’s face. “Ah,” he said, peering past Jake.

“In fact, one look at her and I’m sure you can see just how ill she is.”

The valet rose on his toes and took another look.

Jake was confident he knew what his reaction would be. Rio was a city of incredibly beautiful women; this was one of its finest hotels. He’d have bet his last real the valet had never before encountered a female guest who seemed to be wearing a fright wig and a burlap sack.

The boy turned his attention back to Jake. “I do see, yes, senhor. So sad. She is young to be so, um, so…”

“Exactly.”

“I am sorry for your—for your—”