The next bank of plants was her favorite, all medicinal. Alberto Cortez even had the
Gurania bignoniaceae
, a plant that had extensive medicinal uses. The leaves and flowers could be crushed and the material applied to infected cuts or sores that refused to heal, something that often happened in the humidity of the rain forest. The leaves and roots could be brewed into a tea and taken as a potion to remove worms and parasites. The flowers could be crushed and made into a poultice and applied to infected sores. She knew of a half dozen more uses for the plant for various ills, although depending on where it was grown, the roots could be toxic.
She frowned when she saw the large variety of strychnos
,
used in making strong curare for blowguns. There were hundreds of plants, both toxic and medicinal, all mixed together. There was even the plant she knew Adan’s tribe used for countering the frog’s poison used in their darts when they accidentally managed to get the poison on their skin.
The garden had everything from small brush to exotic flowers. She even found a little bed of daisies that pleased her. It seemed a little incongruous beside the more brilliant bird of paradise, but the simple beauty of the daisies was not lost on her.
She found herself following the little bed of common flowers. Around it, the brush grew thick with variegated leaves and fronds. Some of the leaves were so large that when it rained, they formed little umbrellas and the water ran down in tiny streams to the beds below, eroding the dirt. She crouched closer to examine the beds to see if the plants below were getting damaged. Some of the stalks were brown and withered as if they weren’t getting water—or had a fungus.
Something—an animal—had been rooting around the flowerbed, digging for roots. There was evidence of birds as well, as though something had attracted them to this area. She crawled through the dying flowers to the middle of the bed and caught a whiff of decay. Her cat recoiled from the smell. Compost? She’d never smelled anything quite like it. It almost smelled like death.
Her heart jumped and she looked around to make certain she was alone. The stench was overpowering and she could clearly see that animals had disturbed the area. She moved closer, her eyes examining the withered flowers. Around them, the dirt was freshly dug. Something small and white and shiny peeking out of the dirt caught her attention. Isabeau glanced nervously through the trees to see if Harry and Alberto could see her, but the foliage was too thick.
Inching closer, she crouched low. The smell of decay grew stronger and her cat rebelled, urging her to flee. She brushed aside the dirt around that small white object and nearly leapt back. When she turned over the dirt, hundreds of small insects wiggled and protested. Very delicately, she pushed at the object to reveal more. She was looking at a partially decayed finger. There was a human body in the garden.
Trying to breathe shallowly so she didn’t take in the smell, she stood up and stepped back carefully, her heart pounding. Philip Sobre had his own burial ground. The garden was an entire acre. He could bury any number of people here. She swallowed hard and tried to think what to do. She didn’t want any evidence of her discovery. With her hand, she carefully brushed over her footprints and made her way back to the main path, trying to cover up anything she might have disturbed.
Did Alberto know? Surely he hadn’t deliberately sent her out looking, hoping she’d make the discovery. Was it possible he had his own agenda? That he wasn’t the sweet old gentleman he appeared to be? But what could be accomplished by her discovering a dead body in Philip Sobre’s private garden? This place was horrible and she wanted out of it as fast as she could go.
She made herself walk, not run, heading back toward the old man. Glancing over her shoulder for one last look at the burial ground, she hit something hard. Two hands caught her arms in a firm grip, steadying her, and the scent of an aroused male assailed her nostrils. She recognized him instantly. Ottila Zorba, one of the rogue leopards, and he was looking at her with a leopard’s focused gaze—as prey. He stared down at her without smiling and slowly, almost reluctantly, released her.
Isabeau forced a small smile. “Hello. I didn’t see you there. I should have been looking where I was going.” She took a step as though she would go around him, but he glided in that fluid, silent way of leopards, cutting off her escape. He was a good- looking man, very muscular, with a raw-boned face and a firm, attractive mouth.
Isabeau felt a familiar itch running under her skin. Her cat stretched sensuously and all at once her body felt sensitive and achy, coiling tight in need. She had the sudden urge to rub herself all over his very masculine body.
Don’t you dare!
she threatened her cat.
I thought you didn’t like him.
It was hot in the garden, too hot. Her skin felt too tight. Her nipples peaked and rubbed against her bra. She felt sweat bead and then trickle down the valley between her breasts. She raised a hand to sweep back the heavy fall of hair spilling around her face. She was so sensitive that just the touch almost burned her skin, like the lick of a tongue. She swallowed and caught him staring at her throat with hunger in his eyes. The action of bringing up her hand to her hair was seductive. Had she done it on purpose? It brought attention to her breasts and beaded nipples.
Her cat moved, an alluring enticement, meant to tempt any male in her vicinity to help her mate prove to her she was choosing the right partner. Isabeau knew exactly what the hussy was doing too. She hissed, trying to show her displeasure to the male.
“You shouldn’t have come out here unescorted.”
“I’m not alone,” Isabeau hastened to point out. “I’m here with Imelda’s grandfather and his personal protector.”
“An old man and his weak bodyguard? You think that’s enough to stop me from taking what I want?”
She sent a quick, furtive glance toward the forest to see if Jeremiah had a clear shot. He didn’t. Not unless he’d moved position. She moistened her lips. “I’m not ready.”
“But you’re close.” Ottila moved his head toward her, the slow freeze-frame motion of a large hunting cat, and inhaled her, taking her charismatic scent into his lungs. “Very close.” He reached out and ran his finger across her breast.
Her cat went insane, throwing herself forward, shrieking a protest, drowning out Isabeau’s fear and replacing it with rage. She leapt back, swinging at him, claws bursting, skin burning as stiletto claws burst through her fingers and raked his arm. No male leopard touched a female until she was ready, even she knew that.
“Keep your hands to yourself.” The claws were gone that quick, leaving her hands aching and feeling swollen.
Blood dripped down his arm. He looked at the claw marks and then smiled at her. “You marked me,
Isabeau.
” Deliberately he hissed her name with a possessive curl of his lip.
“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you for touching me,” she snapped. “You have no manners.”
“I’m leopard. Same as you.”
“And I’m protected. You touch me and even your boss will want you dead because my people will demand your head on a platter.”
“She’s only my boss as long as I want to work for her. And those men should know better than to let you wander around unprotected.” He reached for her belly, undeterred by the claw marks on his arm, settling his palm over her womb. “My child will grow here.”
She slapped his arm away a second time and retreated a couple of steps, trying to get out into the open, facing the trees where she was certain Jeremiah waited with his rifle.
13
“WHAT happened to your face?” Imelda asked as she caught up with Conner. He walked directly behind Philip as the man led the way to his private den. “You look as if you had a fight with a large cat.” Her voice shook with excitement. She reached out as she kept pace to touch one of the long scars.
Conner caught her wrist and pulled her hand down. “I did. A leopard.”
He felt her shiver. “Really? How frightening.”
He shrugged. “It happened. I’m alive.” He stepped in front of her, cutting her off before she could enter the room. “Wait here until I give the okay.”
Her eyes glittered. “I’m not used to taking orders.”
“Then your men aren’t doing their job,” he said and turned his back on her.
Philip held the door open and Conner went through, followed by Rio. Felipe and Leonardo stayed with Elijah and Marcos. Their movements were coordinated and efficient and no one spoke. Elijah and Marcos paid no attention, used to their team sweeping rooms. Imelda pressed her hand to her heaving breast.
“How long have you employed him?” she asked Marcos.
Marcos frowned. “Conner? Several years. He’s a good man. I knew his family.” Her leopards were nowhere close to smell the lie. Her security team had made their show and now, feeling comfortable in Philip’s house, they’d scattered throughout the rooms to let the crowd know she was an important person and they were keeping an eye on everything. She had one guard, and he wasn’t leopard.
Elijah glanced at Marcos, a little worried that both the rogue leopards were missing. Their primary concern should have been Imelda’s safety. They didn’t know Marcos or Elijah or their intentions.
“How long have you had your security?” Elijah asked.
Her lashes veiled her eyes. “About two years. They’re . . . exceptional.”
His eyebrows shot up. Marcos smirked. “Really?” Elijah said. “I don’t see them here where they should be, watching out for you. They wouldn’t stay in my employ for ten minutes.”
“Nor mine,” Marcos agreed.
Anger slithered over her face. She didn’t like being embarrassed and she could see the point both had made was valid. She glared at her guard and snapped her fingers. He immediately began to speak into the radio, telling the two rogues Imelda requested their presence immediately.
“They’ve gotten sloppy,” Elijah continued. “They should be on you every moment. Conner, or any one of these men, would never stand for being away from you, even if you wanted it. They would have made certain you signed a binding contract with them to that effect. If you refused, they wouldn’t take you on as a client.”
“Marcos, didn’t you tell Philip that one of the guards was your nephew?” Imelda asked.
Marcos and Elijah exchanged a knowing look. She’d made a mistake and didn’t realize it. The conversation had taken place before Imelda had arrived, which meant they’d been taped and she’d already viewed those tapes before her arrival—which they’d suspected would happen.
“That is correct. Two of them are. And one is related to Elijah.”
Imelda shrugged one slim shoulder. “You see, your help is family and no one else can be fully trusted to do the job.”
“Conner is not family, but is fully trusted,” Elijah objected. “But of course, we obviously think differently. I know my men wouldn’t betray me and I don’t worry if they overhear business discussions. They would carry the details to their grave.”
She couldn’t miss the smirk exchanged between the two men. The head of her security team had made her look foolish in front of the two men she wanted most to impress. She would not forgive that easily. For a moment, black rage glittered in her eyes, and then she resumed her mask of congeniality.
Conner emerged, his expression unreadable. “That room is not suitable for a discussion, Marcos.” There was finality in his words. A command, not a suggestion.
Imelda was clearly intrigued by the way he ordered his employer. Conner had studied every detail of her personality from information Rio had gathered and she wanted a strong male, but also wanted the control. Her men didn’t last long. And her security detail probably went through hell with her. A man like Conner Vega would appeal to her in every way. He was clearly loyal to a fault, in complete control and dedicated to serving his employer. And he’d bested her leopards.
“That’s ridiculous,” Imelda argued, more because she wanted to challenge Conner, make him notice her, than for any other reason. “We conduct all our business in that room.”
Conner’s impassive gaze flicked to her and then returned to Marcos. “The room is hot.”
There was a small silence. Marcos slowly turned his head to stare at Imelda, his friendly demeanor dissolving. Elijah put his glass down and faced her and there was no trace of friendliness. Suddenly he looked every inch his reputation. Imelda was very aware of the other bodyguards, moving into positions where they could stop anyone from coming in from any direction.
“I don’t know what that means,” Imelda said, trying to stay calm. No one had ever challenged her authority before—not and lived. Right at that moment she felt closer to death than she ever had before. It was both terrifying and exhilarating. The threat was in the burning gold of Conner’s eyes. He looked impersonal, yet so dangerous. Her body flooded with adrenaline, but also with sudden hunger.
“It means,” Marcos explained impatiently, “that the room is wired.”
“I thought we were having a friendly conversation,” Elijah said. “Marcos assured me of that.”
Comprehension dawned. Imelda had been the one to suggest to Philip that he take advantage of his sexual hobby and make his servants available to his wealthier and diplomatic “friends.” Videotaping indiscretions, especially any fetishes or sadistic traits, made for instant obedience. Money and favors poured in. Fury burned through her. She spun around on Philip.
“How dare you!” There could be no mistake that she didn’t know he was taping their conversations. Imelda had her own sexual excesses. Whipping a man or woman and watching their skin stripe while they screamed in pain was such a turn-on, and she could rarely refuse herself the pleasure, especially if she was sharing it with someone who appreciated the sight, such as Philip. He was a connoisseur of torture.
He backed away from her. “Imelda. You know I wouldn’t.”
She looked from him to Conner’s implacable mask. Who to believe? Would Philip really be that stupid as to risk everything they had together? She fed him clients. She shared his sexual proclivities. He was terrified of her with good reason. “Show me,” she challenged Conner.