MARCELLO MARTINEZ moved through the international-terminal lounge with Carlo, his personal assistant and trusted bodyguard, at his side, seemingly unaware of the speculative interest in his tall, broad frame.
The Martinez legacy had gifted him the compelling well-defined features of his forefathers, arresting, wide-set dark, almost black eyes which projected the hardness of a man well-versed in the frailty of human nature.
There was an aura of power and intense masculinity apparent, together with a dangerous ruthlessness that boded ill for any adversary.
He was linked to Spanish nobility, with a personal wealth that placed him high on a list of the European rich.
And it showed … as he meant it to do, from the Armani tailoring, hand-stitched Italian shoes, to the fine Rolex at his wrist.
The long flight had done little to ease the anger simmering beneath his control. The luxuriously fitted Gulf Stream privately owned jet offered every comfort, geared with the latest technology enabling him to have an essential office in the sky.
Although he’d worked, studying print-outs, graphs and data, checked his BlackBerry and kept in touch with Sandro … he hadn’t been able to switch off and sleep.
Something he usually achieved at will, given the comfortable bed situated with its own en suite at the rear of the jet.
Instead he was plagued by a young woman’s image, startlingly vivid and recently taken via camera phone.
Shannay Martinez … née Robbins.
And his daughter.
The before and after shots.
The first serene, happy and loving. Mother and child, laughing.
In the second image, the child’s expression remained the same. His estranged wife’s features, however, mirrored shock and something else …
The innate knowledge life as she’d known it since leaving Spain was about to change?
Without doubt.
A muscle bunched at the edge of his jaw as he exited the terminal’s automatic glass doors and stepped into a limousine waiting at the kerb.
The chauffeur stowed his bags in the boot and moved up front to slide in behind the wheel.
Marcello barely noticed the passing scene beyond the tinted windows as the limousine left the airport and began picking up speed en route to the city.
A child.
Anger, barely held in control since Sandro’s enlightening phone call, rose to the surface.
How dared Shannay keep him in ignorance of the child’s existence? His initial reaction had been to instruct his pilot to ready the Gulf Stream jet for an immediate flight to Australia.
Instead, he’d delegated with icy calm, consulted his legal team and planned his strategy.
Tomorrow he intended to bring it into play.
Marcello’s suite in the inner-city hotel offered first-class luxury, and with practised ease he shrugged off his jacket, discarded his tie, organised his unpacking and settled down to peruse the report handed to him on check-in.
The private-investigation resource he’d utilised had done a good job. The document revealed a detailed listing of Shannay’s movements over the past few days, her address, unlisted telephone number, the make, model and registration of her car, place of work, Nicki’s kindergarten facility.
Details which filled in some of the blanks, and revealed she hadn’t touched so much as a cent of the money he’d initially deposited into a bank account bearing her name. Or the amount he’d contributed each month since.
He wanted to shake her, and would have if she’d been within reach.
What was she trying to prove?
Something he already knew.
His family connections, his wealth and social status had never impressed her.
She’d fallen into his life, literally, he mused, recalling the moment the fine heel of one of her stilettos had become caught in a metal grating and had pitched her against him on a busy city street in the heart of Madrid.
He’d been unprepared for the instantaneous physical chemistry … and an instinctive need to lengthen contact with her.
They’d shared coffee in a nearby upmarket café, exchanged cellphone numbers … and the rest was history. Marcello closed the report and crossed to the wide expanse of double-glazed glass offering a brilliant view of the Swan river.
The sky provided an azure backdrop to tall city buildings, selected greenery … a colourful panoramic pictorial, he noted absently, reminding him of a similar visit a few brief years ago when his ring on Shannay’s finger had claimed her as his wife.
A time when they couldn’t get enough of each other, and had rarely spent a moment apart.
Marcello felt his body tighten at the memory of all that they’d shared. Her uninhibited enthusiasm, her laughter, her passion.
His own libidinous response and loss of control.
Something he’d never experienced with another woman to the same degree.
Or in any other area of his life.
He held a reputation in the business arena for icy calm in any volatile situation. A trait which earned him the respect of his contemporaries.
With a slow roll of his shoulders he turned away from the plate-glass window and checked his watch.
It had been a long flight, crossing countries, entering another time zone and the need to adjust to it.
Stroking several punishing laps in the hotel pool, followed by a session in the gym, would help iron out any kinks and ease the tension.
With that in mind he keyed a text message to Carlo, then he shed his clothes, donned swimming trunks, shrugged on a complimentary robe, caught up a towel, essentials, and took the lift to the appropriate floor.
An hour and a half later, showered and dressed in a formal business suit, he walked out into the late-afternoon sunshine, stepped into his chauffeured limousine and instructed the driver to deliver him to a mid-town address.
The highly qualified Perth-based lawyer engaged by Marcello’s legal team to represent his Australian interests confirmed certain legalities, offered assurances and advice on procedure, and the consultation concluded at the close of the business day.
On his return to the hotel he shed his jacket and tie, ordered a meal from Room Service, connected his laptop to the internet and engaged a link to his Madrid office.
Shannay crouched down to Nicki’s eye level and caught her close, whispered “Love you”, and heard her daughter’s “Love you back”, then she rose fluidly to her full height and smoothed a gentle hand over Nicki’s head.
‘Have a fun day.’
Kindergarten was carefully structured, mostly fun and, importantly, Nicki loved spending time with the other children as they moved from play-dough to finger-painting, played games and listened to stories read by one of the carers.
‘You, too.’
Nicki happily moved to her place on the mat and Shannay hid a soft smile as Nicki engaged in animated chatter with one of her friends.
Time to leave, get into her car and head home. There were phone calls and household chores to complete before returning to collect her daughter.
A short while later she exchanged fitted jeans and tailored shirt for shorts and a cropped top, then she set to work.
Dusting, mopping and polishing helped Shannay expend some nervous energy, and she wielded the vacuum cleaner with zealous speed.
Another five minutes and she’d be done, then she’d hit the shower, dress, make the few calls and head off to Nicki’s kindergarten facility.
The ring of the in-house phone was barely audible above the sound of the vacuum cleaner, and she shut it down, then she crossed the room and tamped down a strange prickling sense of foreboding … which was crazy.
For several days she’d been on tenterhooks waiting for Marcello to make his move, agonising when it would happen and what it might entail.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, she railed in silent self-castigation. It could be anyone buzzing her apartment … so take a deep breath and go check the security-video screen.
The tight security features employed here were some of the main reasons she’d purchased the apartment.
Protection and safety were an issue in any large city, and she rested more easily knowing she’d taken every available precaution.
The insistent ring of the buzzer impelled her to cross the room … and her breath hitched painfully in her throat the moment she recognised the male figure revealed on-screen.
Marcello Martinez … in person.
His monochrome image did little to detract from his forceful features … the strong facial bone structure, piercing gaze and well-shaped mouth.
Shannay felt her stomach muscles clench in unbidden reaction, for it took only one look at him for all the memories to flood back.
The good ones where his care and passion ignited something wild deep within her soul … and the not-so good when the arguments began to escalate into varying degrees of anger.
Pick up, why don’t you?
Delaying the inevitable wouldn’t achieve a thing.
Her fingers shook a little as she caught hold of the receiver, intoned a brief acknowledgment and saw his features harden.
‘Buzz me in, Shannay. We need to talk.’
She bit back an angry retort. ‘I have nothing to say to you.’
For a moment his gaze became faintly hooded, and his voice assumed a dangerous silkiness. ‘I intend to see my daughter.’
‘You have no proof she’s yours,’ she was goaded into stating.
His dark eyes seemed to pierce her own via the video link. ‘You want to do this the hard way?’
‘We lost the art of polite dialogue a long time ago.’
Marcello’s expression hardened, and she had the uncanny sensation he could see her … which was, of course, impossible.
Yet that fact did little to aid reassurance, or prevent the shivery finger of fear feathering the length of her spine.
It was easy to close down the video screen. Not so easy to cast him out of her mind, and his forceful image refused to subside despite every effort she made to conquer it as she quickly showered, pulled on black dress jeans, added a singlet top, some faux bling, swept her hair into a casual twist and applied minimum make-up.
Then she caught up her bag, collected keys, locked the apartment and took the lift down to the basement car park. Nervous tension rose up a notch as the doors slid open, and she stepped out and began walking towards her sedan … only to falter fractionally as she caught sight of a tall male figure leaning against the passenger door.