Page 54 of Brazilian Revenge

“He’ll probably take you somewhere else,” Leonardo said, and to her surprise, didn’t criticize her agreeing with Harry sending out a taxi. He was in full operational mode, eyes focused and shoulders squared. “Okay. You two go on a different car. I’ll take another. We can’t lose sight of that taxi, do you understand?” he said, throwing one set of keys to one of the bodyguards.

He caught it and palmed it. “Yes, sir.”

“We’d better get going, senhor, to leave as quickly as possible,” the taller one agreed.

Leonardo lifted his brow, and peered at her. Her throat contracted for a second, then pulsed wildly. The hustle and bustle around them came to a temporary halt, and as he gave her a slow nod, a fire brewed in her belly. Her pulse fluttered. Would everything be okay? She wasn’t sure, but she hoped so—the flicker in his eyes helped her realize it.

“Let’s do it, Satyanna,” he said.

Within less than a few minutes, she was sliding inside a seemingly ordinary taxi. The windows were lowered, even though the heat slicked her skin with sweat. She’d notice many drivers only turned on the AC by customer’s request.

Clenching the cell phone in her hands, she looked ahead.

“Fashion Mall,” she ordered, and the man nodded, adjusting his glasses. Was he Harry’s goon? She looked at the console and found his driver’s license with his registration to drive a cab. Seemed legit.

The voice of the dispatcher sounded, and she tried to understand what the lady was saying, her voice muffled by ecstatic.

“Change in plans?” she asked the driver.

“The dispatcher just informed me. She gave me the address,” the man said.

“What is it?”

“I’m not allowed to say,” the man said, and tossed her a glance over his shoulder. He flaunted a golden tooth, and had more hair squeezing between the buttons of his colorful shirt than on his head. Legit, my ass. He was working for Harry.

For the next forty minutes, she exercised her self-control not to glance over her shoulder. Her gaze strayed a couple times to make sure the cars were still within a safe distance. But she knew if she attempted to call Leonardo or signal they had changed their route, all would be lost. The taxi driver would know for sure they were being followed, and he’d tell Harry, who could call the whole thing off.

As the traffic worsened and the cars funneled into the main streets in Ipanema Beach, her forehead slicked with sweat—both from the outside temperature and her trying nerves.

When the taxi turned into narrow streets away from the beach, and tall buildings reached for the sky, she chewed on her lower lip. Where were they going? If Harry wanted to try and whisk her away, why did it seem like the farther they drove, the more people they saw? Pedestrians crossing the streets, vendors on the corners, and ladies walking their dogs on the sidewalks.

She palmed the cell phone like it was a weapon. When the vehicle idled on the corner of a busy street, she stuck her head out of the car and recognized the famous Feira Hippie, a popular flea market on a spacious plaza.

The phone vibrated in her hand, and she lifted it to her ear. “Get out of the car,” Harry said. In tandem with his phone call, the cab driver parked the car and opened the door for her to come out.

“What now?”

“Keep walking. Go inside. Look for a tent with red parrots on the far left,” he said before disconnecting.

Insecure, she glanced around her. Tourists and locals swarmed into the maze of tents, booths with vendors offering all kinds of crafty souvenirs and handmade gifts. The scents of leather, burning incense, and sweat blended in the air.

She scanned the crowd, searching for Harry. If she weren’t so freaking nervous, and with a pressing task, she would have appreciated the unique collection of jewelry, artifacts, and even paintings. Sweat slid from the back of her neck down her spine. She rubbed her forehead.

She walked ahead, looking for the damn red parrots. Until someone called her from behind.

“Well, well…” said the British voice behind her, and she didn’t have to turn around to recognize it. The cat-and-mouse game had finally come to an end. And another one was about to begin.

…

“Pulseira de couro?” A woman with dreadlocks offered him, waving a brown leather bracelet in his face. “It’s good stuff.”

“No,” he said, squinting against the sun shining down at him. He’d lost the car with security guards on the way; the sedan had been squeezed between two trucks then lost sight of them. He had continued on in his car, keeping an eye on the taxi like his life depended on it. Because it did.

Ever since the previous night after he’d talked to his brother, words had rung in his ears. Sleeping became an impossible task, and he’d used every ounce of self-control not to storm into her room and kiss her. Talk to her. Pour out the emotions forming a hot knot in his throat. He loved her.

He couldn’t have picked a worse time to realize it, but if he had told her this morning before she took off in the cab, they would both be riled up. He knew he would. To show her he respected her and trusted the way she wanted to handle it, he’d chosen not to talk about love. When this mess was over, he’d snatch her into his arms and they would start a life together, continue the bond pulling them toward each other, and not waste time musing over the past.

He rushed through the market, bumping into people. Even though he was taller than most of the crowd, with objects dangling from makeshift booths and several different stations offering fabrics and dresses, it was hard to focus on one thing. All he wanted was to find her, and a woman with her remarkably red hair should stand out.

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