Untamed Read online

  “We did,” Peg agreed. She studied Clarisse’s pale face quietly. “Your husband is very kind. But he’s a great deal older than you.”

  “Yes.” Clarisse’s eyes were haunted. “He married me to give my child a name, Peg,” she said in a husky whisper. “And you must never, never tell anyone.”

  “Dear God,” Peg ground out, and tears wet her eyes. “I’m so sorry!”

  Clarisse drew in a harsh breath. “Yes. I’m sorry, too, but Stanton remembers nothing about being here with me. Nothing at all. My mother’s reputation would suffer if I had a child out of wedlock. People remember her here with reverence, even though she’s long dead. I can’t...compromise her memory in such a way. And I am very fond of Ruy.”

  “He must be an extraordinary person,” Peg replied with a smile.

  “He is. He can’t have a child of his own. So this one will be precious to him.”

  “And to you.”

  Clarisse’s hand went protectively to her stomach. “I’m going to be so very careful,” she said in a breathless whisper. “I’ve never wanted anything in my life as much as I want this baby.”

  “Will you tell Rourke, one day?” Peg asked.

  Clarisse smiled wistfully. “He’d never believe it was his. He’s back in the old days, accusing me of having affairs with endless men.” She drew in a breath. “Hurting me was a habit he got into. It was to protect me, at the time, from a relationship he thought was forbidden. He may still believe it. Or he might just remember that he hates me, but not why.”

  “Will he ever remember?” Peg asked.

  “There are some cases of spontaneous remission,” Clarisse said. “Sometimes partial memory returns. Usually there will be some missing spots. He’ll remember his childhood, he’ll be able to memorize things and remember things that happen to him now. But that period of time just before he was injured may be lost forever. Nobody really knows. There are no magical cures.”

  Peg touched her hand gently. “I’ll keep you in my prayers.”

  Clarisse’s hand returned the gentle pressure. “And I’ll keep you in mine. When is your baby due?”

  “Four months,” Peg said gleefully. “Winslow and I are over the moon. So is my dad.”

  Clarisse wished that she had family to be excited about her child. But there was nobody left. “I know you are.”

  “How about yours?” Peg asked gently.

  “Six months,” she laughed. “I can hardly wait!”

  “I know exactly how you feel,” Peg said with a grin.

  * * *

  Ruy was a good husband. He took her sightseeing on the weekends, when his work permitted. He was an artist, as a hobby, and his portraits were unbelievably good. He painted Clarisse when she was six months pregnant, and her face was radiant and soft, her eyes a clear blue in her beautiful face. He painted her in a green silk dress, like the one she’d worn that long-ago Christmas Eve when Rourke had kissed her with unbelievable passion.

  She loved the portrait. For Ruy it was a true labor of love. He tried to hide it, but he was fascinated with his pretty wife. He enjoyed showing her off to his friends and distant relatives. Everyone thought the child was his, of course, which saved his reputation among the people he knew. Clarisse had his name and a safe place to wait for her child.

  She’d had just one phone call from K.C.

  “I thought you’d like to know that he’s back on his feet and recovering well,” he told her quietly. “His memory is still gone, but today he came out with something unexpected and spoke of the job he’d been on, searching for a kidnapper. They did get the guy, even if the shoot-out cost them two agents and almost killed my...son.”

  “He still doesn’t know about you, either?” Clarisse asked gently.

  “No.” He sighed heavily. “I want so badly to tell him. But the doctor is uncertain. He says the fact that Stanton remembers anything from that period of time is encouraging. He says other memories may follow, even if it takes time.”

  “He might remember one day, then?”

  “He might.” There was a pause. “How are you? I heard about the marriage through the general.”

  She smiled. “Yes, I married Ruy Carvajal. I’ve known him for many years. He’s a good and kind man. He’ll be a wonderful father.”

  “I was...going to ask you. There were rumors of a child...”

  “Yes,” she said.

  There was a hesitation.

  She knew what K.C. wanted to know, but it was a risk she couldn’t take. “Ruy is over the moon. So am I. We’re arguing over names,” she added with a forced laugh. “And wondering if he’ll favor me or Ruy.”

  “I see.” His voice was resigned. It sounded hollow, devoid of hope.

  “How about Charlene?” she asked with deliberate indifference.

  “Stanton got engaged to her a couple of weeks ago,” he said stiffly. “About the time I was talking to Machado. He mentioned that you’d been ill.”

  Her heart jumped. “Did you tell Stanton anything? About the marriage, the baby...?”

  “Nothing. He won’t have your name mentioned,” he confessed heavily. “I did manage to tell him that Peg Grange had gone to see you and said you and Ruy Carvajal were very close. I didn’t say you were married. He went deathly quiet. The next day he proposed to Charlene.” He let out a breath. “He doesn’t love her. She’s terrified of him up close. She spends her life traveling with her father and his very attractive business partner. I think Stanton bulldozed her into the engagement, but he won’t speak of setting a wedding date any more than she will. I think it’s...well, payback.”

  She felt the words to the soles of her feet. “I got involved with Ruy. He’s getting even.”

  “In a nutshell,” he said curtly. “It’s the sort of thing he does. He’s my son and I love him, but he’s no angel.”

  “Yes. I know that.”

  “I’m so damned sorry, Clarisse,” he said through his teeth.

  “So am I, more for you than for myself,” she replied softly. “At least my son will know who I am...sorry.”

  “Don’t be. He’ll be a fine youngster. I would...like to know when he’s born,” he said a little hesitantly. “I’ve known you for so many years. I could be his godfather...what do you think?”

  She laughed through tears. “I’d be honored.”

  He swallowed. Hard. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  “Take care of yourself, K.C.”

  “You, too. Good night.”

  She hung up, fighting tears. K.C. was nobody’s fool. He knew Rourke from the ground up, and he’d have at least a suspicion about who the father of her child really was. She couldn’t admit it, and he wouldn’t ask her to. But she wanted K.C. to be in the child’s life, even if Rourke could never be.

  * * *

  She and Ruy lived quietly together, looking forward to the child’s birth. Peg had already had her little boy, John, and stopped by to show him to Clarisse and Ruy. They were delighted to get to hold him. Clarisse was on pins and needles anticipating the arrival of her own child. There were tests that could determine sex, but she and Ruy didn’t have them done. She wanted it to be a surprise.

  But in the eighth month of her pregnancy, something unforeseen happened. Peg phoned her and sounded apprehensive.

  “Something going on?” Clarisse asked gently, because Peg sounded really upset.

  “You know that we had Arturo Sapara on ice here in the Medina prison for treason, a life sentence without hope of parole?” Peg asked.

  “Yes. It was a dream come true for many people, including me.”

  “Well, he had a group of mercs come into Medina this morning and take him right out of the prison courtyard with a heli
copter in broad daylight.”

  Clarisse sat down, hard. “He vowed bloody vengeance on anybody who had a part in his arrest, including me,” she said.

  “You, your husband, me and my family, the general’s, even the poor old jailer who let you go.”

  “I guess we’ll all be wearing bulletproof vests and sleeping with firearms under our pillows.” Clarisse tried to joke.

  “Coming at people head-on is not Sapara’s style at all,” Peg said coldly. “He’s a coward. He’ll hire people to do his dirty work for him. You keep your doors and windows locked and be very suspicious of any visitors you don’t know.”

  “I will.” Clarisse’s blood ran cold. “What about Stanton?” she asked worriedly.

  “General Machado talked to K. C. Kantor,” she replied. “K.C. said if the ex-dictator wanted to come after Rourke, he’d better bring a full battalion, because he’d call in markers from all over the world and Sapara would be carried back to the Barrera prison in a shoe box.”

  She laughed involuntarily. “That sounds like K.C. all right.”

  “He wasn’t going to mention Sapara’s escape to Rourke, however. He was afraid it might be too much information, if he had to explain it all to him. It won’t matter anyway because K.C. will have him covered like tar paper. Listen, you need to get out of Manaus,” Peg said. “You can stay with my dad in Jacobsville...and Cash Grier and his wife Tippy offered you their spare bedroom.”

  “If I came, I’d put your poor father right in the line of fire, sweet girl,” Clarisse said gently. “I’d take the Griers up on that offer in a heartbeat. Nobody frightens Cash Grier, from what I’ve heard. But I can’t leave. It’s too close to my time, and my obstetrician already has me coming in every week...”

  “Oh, Clarisse,” Peg moaned. “What’s wrong?”

  She drew in a breath. “Nothing, I hope. He and Ruy consulted and wouldn’t tell me a thing. But Ruy watches me like a hawk and won’t let me even exercise.”

  All sorts of things ran through Peg’s worried mind. “If you need us...”

  “I know that,” Clarisse said softly. “You’re the only friend I have. I’d do anything for you, too.”

  “I know.” Peg hesitated. “Winslow has a friend who’s on vacation down here. Suppose we send him over to see you?”

  Clarisse laughed. “Ruy would have a fit. It would reflect on his manhood if I thought he couldn’t protect me.”

  “I suppose it might sound that way,” Peg said, miserable. “But what if he didn’t know?”

  “If he didn’t know... I suppose he couldn’t say anything,” Clarisse agreed with a faint laugh.

  “You won’t know him, but he’ll be around.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “Tall, dark and handsome,” Peg teased.

  “I’m married to one of those,” Clarisse laughed.

  “So you are! Anyway, he’ll keep an eye on both of you. But be careful. Nobody even knows where Sapara is right now.”

  “You’d better believe that Interpol and a handful of letter agencies from the States will be on his tail today,” Clarisse replied, “including the general’s best spy network.”

  “That’s true. Listen, when the baby comes, I really want you to consider going to Texas.”

  Clarisse thought of her child. Ruy would never agree to leave Manaus and she couldn’t very well go without him. She was afraid that Sapara might want revenge even on the newest member of her family when he was born.

  “I’ll think about it.” Clarisse put her off. “Thanks for being so concerned about me.”

  “It’s what friends do,” came the warm reply. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “You be careful, too.”

  “Always.”

  * * *

  Clarisse told Ruy about Sapara’s escape, although not about the man Winslow Grange was going to send over to watch them.

  He drew her against him gently and held her. “I am so deeply sorry for the way things have worked out for you,” he said quietly. “I had hoped that perhaps Rourke would regain his memory, even if it meant I would lose you in the process.” He drew back and smiled down at her. “You are so sad, my darling. It should be the happiest time of your life.”

  She reached up and touched his cheek, smiling at him with real affection. “It is the happiest time of my life. I have a baby on the way and a handsome, kind husband who cares for me.”

  He brought the soft hand to his lips and kissed it. “Fate has been unkind to us both.”

  “The baby will make a difference,” she replied, and smiled with pure joy. “I can’t wait to see if it’s a boy or a girl,” she laughed.

  He grinned. “Neither can I. I must make a house call or two. Then we might have a very small glass of wine and watch television.”

  She pressed close to him with a sigh. “I’d like that.”

  He smoothed her hair and kissed it. “I won’t be long.”

  “All right.”

  * * *

  Clarisse saw a shadowy figure on the porch just before Ruy came home. It seemed to hesitate at Ruy’s bedroom window for a minute or two, after which it faded back into the shadows. There had been an odd sound, too, like a jar being unscrewed.

  She was certain it was the man Grange had sent to watch out for her and her husband, so she didn’t mention it to Ruy. Not for anything would she upset him or make him feel incapable of taking care of her.

  * * *

  He was sluggish at breakfast a few mornings later.

  “You don’t look well, Ruy,” she said, with some concern.

  He laughed. “I had to put up mosquito netting, for the first time in ages. I think I got bitten several times over the weekend in my bedroom.”

  “Oh, dear,” she said worriedly.

  “I can take quinine if it looks like malaria coming on,” he assured her with a smile. “Don’t worry. I’m a doctor. I know how to take care of myself.” He frowned. “Clarisse, we haven’t had mosquitoes in the house, ever.”

  “I know.” She was going to call Peg and ask her about their bodyguard as soon as she had a minute. Surely, there was no connection...

  “I feel...unwell...” Ruy fell out of the chair.

  * * *

  The next few hours went by in a dizzy haze. Clarisse phoned a mutual friend, also a physician, who came right over and did tests. Ruy had to be moved to the hospital. The fever came on rapidly. It was high. He had the other symptoms of malaria, as well—shaking chills, delirium, nausea.

  “You should not be here with him,” the doctor said worriedly. “The baby is due soon, Clarisse, you can’t put him at risk.”

  “I can’t leave Ruy,” she protested, torn between two human beings she adored with all her heart. “I won’t leave him. He wouldn’t leave me, no matter what the risk,” she added on a sob. She was clinging to his hand while technicians moved around him, doing necessary things. “He’s had malaria before,” she said. “But it was never like this...!”

  “I have rarely seen a case like this,” the other doctor replied quietly. He didn’t add that the cases he had seen were invariably fatal. The blood test had revealed a plasmodium that was rarely seen in Manaus, a particularly dangerous strain. “Has Ruy been out of the Amazon recently?” he added.

  She shook her head. “He went to Argentina, but that was five months ago. He hasn’t been out of Manaus since then.”

  “Not to Asia or Africa or any known mosquito-infested areas?”

  “Goodness, no,” she said uneasily. “Why do you ask?”

  He only smiled. “I’m grasping at straws, perhaps. If you won’t leave him, I’ll have them roll a bed in for you.”

  “I’m not leaving him,” she said firmly.

  “Very well.” He smiled. “You
are very like your mother, Senhora Carvajal,” he said gently. “She was like that also, a kind and compassionate woman.”

  She bit her lower lip. “Thanks.”

  He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “If you develop a fever...”

  “I’ll be the first to tell you. Honest.”

  He nodded.

  * * *

  She hoped that Ruy would recover. But he only worsened. She held his hand, talked to him, thanked him for the kindness he’d shown her. She begged him to live. But he lost ground. The next morning, while she slept, he slipped quietly away into the unknown darkness.

  * * *

  She sobbed brokenly when they told her. “But he can’t be dead,” she whispered, shivering. “He can’t be...!”

  The physician felt her forehead and ground his teeth together. He called for an orderly. By the time the gurney came, Clarisse had fainted dead away.

  * * *

  Peg Grange and her husband, Winslow, sat in the waiting room, hoping for news of Clarisse. Finally, Grange got up and went looking for the doctor. He came back, grim-faced.

  “Whatever killed her husband is about to take her out, too,” he said curtly. “They’re going to go ahead and take the baby. If they wait, they may lose them both. The physician said that what killed Ruy was a strain of malaria that was usually fatal when it causes cerebral malaria. He doesn’t understand how Ruy got it. Clarisse said he was a fanatic about keeping the property sprayed for mosquitoes.”

  Peg looked at him with horror.

  He drew in a breath. “It would be a vicious, cowardly way to kill someone. Just like Sapara.”

  She nodded. “Don’t you know someone in tropical medicine in London?” she asked suddenly.

  His eyebrows arched. “Radley Blackstone,” he said. “Yes, I do.” He pulled out his cell phone and got busy.

  A day later, Blackstone flew in to Manaus and went straight to the hospital. He barely took time to shake hands with Peg and Winslow before he and the physician on Clarisse’s case went back through the swinging doors where critically ill patients were kept.