She could see the beads of sweat on Timothy's pale, thin forehead as he came closer, staring at her chest.
“But I want Serrador to suffer,” he whispered. “And those babies are my getaway money. I want that four million dollars. The private plane will take us to West Africa, to a place where he'll never find us.”
She tried to hide her fear.
“What's the hurry to leave?” she said, leaning back against the bed. “Why not stay and enjoy ourselves right here?”
“Yes…” With a shudder, he buried his head in her hair, smelling it deeply. She felt him tentatively reach out to touch her breasts. It made her ill, but she forced herself to remain still.
Diogo, she thought desperately, where are you? He was so powerful, so smart. Somehow he would find them. She just had to give him time. Had to…
Timothy slowly squeezed one full breast, then the other. “Yes,” he breathed. “It's so good. Just as I always thought it would be…”
But revulsion overcame Ellie. As he tried to kiss her, she couldn't stop herself from struggling. As he leaned over her, she kicked him in the face.
He fell back for a moment, dazed. But as she tried to scramble up for the door, he grabbed her hair. With a growl, he threw her back against the bed.
“So that's how it's going to be, eh?” She saw him pick up a small, wickedly gleaming knife from a tray. “Fine. Have it your way—”
She gave a desperate scream as he held the knife above her in a flash of cold steel—
A dark shadow swept upon him like an angel of death. Six feet, four inches of hard muscle threw Timothy back, tossing him to the ground.
Diogo towered over him, his expression contorted with vengeful fury.
“Serrador,” he whimpered, quivering on the floor. “How?”
Diogo didn't answer. But beneath his mask of rage, Ellie saw the fear. He'd been so afraid of losing her.
Timothy slithered up from the floor, trying to slash at him with the knife. With a growl, Diogo punched him in the face, knocking him back down easily. He grabbed the blade, bending it back in the other man's hand. Blood trickled from Diogo's fingers, but his face showed no pain—only rage.
The knife fell to the floor with a clatter.
“Mercy. Please,” Timothy cried, feebly trying to protect his face. “Don't hurt me.”
“I showed you mercy. Twice.” Diogo punched him across the jaw, knocking him back. “You've threatened my wife. My children. Never again!”
“Diogo,” she whispered. “He didn't hurt me. Please…let him go.”
“Yes, let me go!” With a high, eerie scream, Timothy fell flat onto the ground, a weak, shapeless, whimpering mass.
Diogo took a deep breath, visibly controlling his rage. “I will let you leave, Wright,” he said in a low voice. “Because she asked me. But if I ever see you again…”
“You never will!”
Ellie felt another hard contraction. “Help, Diogo,” she choked. “The babies…”
Diogo immediately flew to her. He fell on his knees before the bed, cradling her face in his arms. “Ellie. What's wrong?”
“Catia?” she gasped. “Did you—find—”
“She's safe,” he said. “We have her. We found Pedro. But if Wright hurt you—”
“I'm all right,” she sobbed, holding him tight. “But I'm having contractions. The babies are coming.”
He picked her up in his strong arms.
“You're safe now, querida,” he said soothingly. “My bodyguards are right behind me. We'll get you to the hospital.”
Ellie caressed his strong, handsome face.
“You came for me,” she whispered in wonder. “You knew I would never leave you. You know I'll love you forever.”
“I knew.” Unshed tears shone in his dark eyes as he shook his head. “It just took me too damned long. Forgive me for being a coward and a fool.” He looked down at her. “I love you, Ellie. Your strength, your pure heart, your joy. I want you to know. I will love you until the day I die.”
He loved her.
A rush of joy went through her body.
But she saw Timothy rise to his knees behind them. Holding a gun in his hand, he raised it deliberately…
“Diogo!” she shrieked. “Look out!”
Diogo turned, holding heavily pregnant Ellie in his arms. But he moved slowly. Too slowly.
Timothy said hoarsely, “If I can't have her…”
And he fired.
EPILOGUE
“OH, MOM, LOOK! SNOW!”
Christmas morning dawned bright and fine. Snow had fallen overnight in New York. Ellie looked up from the quiet hush of the front room sofa, where she'd been nursing one of her six-week-old babies while the other one slept in a little bassinet beside her. The house was unusually dark and quiet. The servants had the day off. Ellie had been dreaming, watching the twinkling blue lights of the enormous Christmas tree when she heard Catia—now officially her adopted daughter—clap her hands with delight.