“Come on, Isabeau. Get out into the open,” he whispered softly. “You know I’m here, right? Come on, honey, just get out of that little section.”
He had a clear shot to almost any line on the southern side, with the exception of the area she’d chosen to enter. What had possessed her to go into an area so thick with brush he had no hope of coming to her aid? The moment he spotted Ottila slinking around the garden, deliberately avoiding the old man in the wheelchair and his guard, he knew the rogue was up to no good. Isabeau was too close to emerging. Even
he
had been affected, in spite of his moral code.
He wiped the sweat beading on his forehead onto his sleeve. “Come on, Isabeau. Show yourself. Get him out in the open.”
The leaves of a large bush swayed slightly, giving him a direction, but he couldn’t see his target. He waited, holding his breath, never taking his eye from his glasses. He knew the distance, the wind, every variable he might need, every calculation, but he couldn’t actually get the target in sight. He knew he was there. He could visualize him. He could taste him. But he couldn’t see him.
“Damn. Damn. Damn.” He wasn’t going to fail, not the first time he had a chance of proving himself. And if he failed, they’d lose Isabeau. Aside from the fact that Conner would kill him, he didn’t want anything to happen to her. He liked her—like a sister, of course.
It was starting to drizzle—a steady, but fine rain that made the tree branch slippery. He shifted, trying to peer through foliage. His heart leapt. He caught a glimpse of blue. Isabeau definitely had been wearing a blue dress. He kept his gaze fixed on that small bit of material. She moved again, inch by slow inch.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “Bring him to Papa.”
Now he could see a vague shadow in the deep foliage. Black. Ottila was wearing black, but many of the security guards were. It seemed to be a popular color. Even Elijah had changed to a black shirt. Frustrated, he forced a deep breath. Most of his job was patience. He knew he could make the shot if he could just get a visual. He breathed away the fear for Isabeau and irritation that he didn’t have a visual. It would come. She was working it.
“I’m here, honey,” he assured. “Bring him to me.”
The blue material was on the move again. She wasn’t running. Good girl. She had courage. She took another step and this time he could see her profile. She hadn’t removed the barrette from her hair, although her hair was messy, strands tumbling around her face. She didn’t look toward him; she kept her attention focused on the man he was certain was Ottila following her.
A hand came into view and pressed, fingers splayed wide on her belly. He knew the significance of that with a woman in the throes of the Han Vol Dan. She slapped the hand away and retreated a few more steps until she was fully in the open. Jeremiah smiled and fit his eye to the scope.
“Now I have you, you bastard. Touch her again and you’re a dead man.”
The wind shifted and he caught the faint scent of cat. Without hesitating, he leapt, taking his rifle with him. Behind him, something hit the branch he’d been in hard enough to shake the tree. He landed in a crouch and sprinted fast, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. He managed to make it into the dense foliage before he dropped to one knee and fit the rifle against his shoulder. He let his cat take over, senses flaring out to read the night.
He was being hunted. Definitely leopard. Probably Martin Suma. “Come on, you bastard,” he hissed between his teeth. There was no sound, but he wouldn’t expect that. Leopards didn’t make sound. They could creep into a house and select a victim in a bedroom, or even a living room where people were gathered watching television, and drag him out unnoticed. It happened more often than one would think at the edge of the jungle. He wasn’t going to hear Suma. And he probably wouldn’t smell him either.
He stayed low, keeping very still, making no noise. Suma had to know he was dealing with leopard. And he’d probably caught his scent. He wouldn’t expect much opposition from an untrained kid. That was the only advantage Jeremiah had. He waited, his heart pounding, expecting any moment for Suma to drop on him from above. His gaze continually swept the trees overhead.
The scent of wet fur hit his nostrils and he turned, squeezing the trigger at the leopard emerging from the brush just to his left. He rolled, shot again from a prone position and kept rolling. The leopard grunted in pain, roared once, and thrashed. Jeremiah jumped to his feet, bringing up the rifle a third time, but the leopard crawled into the brush. He knew better than to follow. He could see a trail of smeared blood. He’d scored, but it was no kill shot. A wounded leopard was extremely dangerous.
Swearing, he shouldered the gun and went up the tree fast, grateful for the hours Rio and Conner had forced him to keep practicing. If anything had happened to Isabeau, he’d never forgive himself. Now he had to watch his back trail as well as try to keep her from being attacked and possibly kidnapped. Where the hell was everyone?
“I
DIDN’T
catch your name,” Isabeau said, stalling for time. She’d drawn him out in the open and surely she was safe now. If she could stall him long enough, Alberto or Harry might come looking for her. Or she could try screaming, but she was afraid that might provoke him.
“Ottila Zorba.” His eyes had gone mostly eerie green-yellow, a cat’s eyes glowing in the night. He stepped closer. “Come with me without fighting. Don’t make me kill the old man.”
She swallowed hard. “I’m not ready. I would fight you to the death and you know I would. Why would you think your cat would allow that?”
He smiled. “Eventually your cat will emerge and when she does, she’ll need a mate.”
But not you. Never you.
She wouldn’t let that happen. She was gaining control of her cat. The little hussy was definitely feeling the effects of her heat, but she was obeying Isabeau more readily.
“And then what, Mr. Zorba? Do you think we’ll live happily ever after?”
He smiled and it wasn’t pleasant. “At least I’ll be happy. Whether you are or not depends entirely on how much you choose to cooperate.”
He reached for her, his hands curling around her upper arms with enormous strength. Instead of fighting, she reached up to try to yank the barrette from her hair. He laughed and leaned close. “Did you think your friend was going to shoot me? We swept the trees the minute we realized you were leopard. Of course you’d have someone in the canopy. He’s probably dead by now. Martin doesn’t miss.”
She closed her eyes briefly, her heart squeezing down hard, afraid. “So he’s helping you out.” She tried to pull away from him but the movement only tightened his grip on her.
He leered at her. “We share. We always share.”
She shuddered. “Isn’t Imelda enough for you? She’s just as perverted as you.”
He laughed. “She liked it all right, but she’s disgusting. And she isn’t leopard. After a couple of times, we couldn’t stomach her.”
She stopped struggling and let him lead her a couple of steps. She breathed deep with both steps and summoned her cat. To her shock, the female leopard answered, roaring her rage, the sound echoing through the garden, claws bursting through her fingertips and strength coiling inside her, allowing her to twist free, raking and ripping through flesh. Twisting and turning with the cat’s flexible spine, she fought her way out of his grip. Hot blood streaked across the trees and splattered over vines and leaves, droplets sprinkling over her dress.
“Fucking wildcat,” he snarled, “you’re going to pay for that.”
She tilted her chin. “Go ahead and kill me. See what your friend says.”
“Oh, I’m not going to kill you, but I have a lot of ways I can make you sorry. I’ve learned a thing or two from Imelda.”
Her stomach lurched. She tried to remember what Conner had said. She’d backed away from Ottila earlier to get him to follow her out into the open. But backing away would draw him to her and she’d be off balance. She needed to step to the side, keep her feet under her shoulders, not be flat-footed. He wouldn’t be caught by her cat twice.
Ottila reached for her again, and the sound of a cocking shotgun was loud. Ottila turned toward the sound without expression. He didn’t bother to wipe the blood from his face or chest. It dripped from the claw marks on his arms. He smiled at Harry. “Are you sure you want to be a part of this, Harry? Just walk away and you’ll stay alive. I won’t only kill you, but I’ll kill your boss as well. This isn’t your business.”
“She was put in my care,” Harry said. “Isabeau, walk back to me.”
“Don’t you move, Isabeau,” Ottila hissed. “I’ll kill him before he gets a shot off and then I’ll have to kill the old man.”
“You kill Alberto, and Imelda will never let you live. She’ll hunt you down, and nowhere will be safe for you. She’ll kill every man, woman and child you care about,” Harry promised.
Isabeau held up her hand. “Harry, I don’t want you and Alberto in the middle of this. Elijah will come after me. And his team is lethal. I’ll go with him.”
“I don’t think so, Isabeau.”
A new voice came from behind Ottila. Confident. Accented. So very familiar. Isabeau looked past Ottila and saw Felipe and she couldn’t help the relief bursting through her. She’d seen Felipe move and he was fast. Very fast.
“Harry, thank you. I can take it from here. Don’t leave the old man alone,” Felipe said.
Ottila whirled around and this time he held his palms out in surrender. He waited until Harry nodded and sauntered away before he addressed Felipe. “I can see I’m going to have to work a little harder to get my female.”
“You can choose a different one.”
“She has so many scents on her, I can’t find one particular one. That tells me she isn’t mated and therefore I have just as much right as any other to try to mate her.”
“We’re her family and we say stay the hell away from her.”
Ottila moved into the brush, angling away from Isabeau. “She’s a little hellcat.”
“I see you didn’t fare well with your courtship.”
“Hellcats are the best kind,” Ottila said. “They last longer and give you strong cubs.” He looked Isabeau in the eye. “You haven’t seen the last of me.”
Isabeau met his gaze, letting her cat look at him. “I hope for your sake I have.”
He saluted her and began to walk away, turning at the last moment to send a smirk to Felipe. “You’d better check on your boy in the trees. The little hellcat gave the signal to shoot and he didn’t take the shot. Now what do you suppose that means?” He sounded smug.
Isabeau blinked back tears. The idea of Jeremiah in the hands of Martin Suma made her ill. He would have no mercy.
Felipe merely smiled back. “I think you’d better check on your partner. Shots were fired. The boy doesn’t miss.”
Felipe did a quick examination of Isabeau. “You all right?”
She nodded. “Shaken up, that’s all. He didn’t hurt me.”
“You have bruises on your arms. And blood all over your dress.” He took a step after Ottila, as if he might fight him after all.
“His blood.” Isabeau caught his arm. “Don’t. Let’s just get out of here. I want to make sure Alberto Cortez is all right and I have to tell you what I found. This place is a burial ground. I’m not kidding.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Nothing about this place or these people surprises me.”
“Do you really think Jeremiah is okay?”
“He’s a damn good shot, Isabeau. He’ll be a huge asset with a little experience.”
She noticed he didn’t exactly answer her question. They continued along the path leading back to where she’d left Alberto. As they hurried, following the stream, Harry appeared around a sweeping bend, pushing Alberto’s chair. The older man had the shotgun across his lap and looked prepared to use it.
“Where is that guard?” he demanded. “Are you all right, Isabeau?”
She nodded her head. “I’m fine. Thanks, Harry. I think this place gets to people. Everyone’s acting crazy. Please don’t shoot anyone on my account.”
“I’m going home,” Alberto declared. “Now that I know you’re safe. I suggest you do the same. Harry, call my driver. I hope we meet again, Isabeau.”
“Your garden was lovely,” she said.
Felipe put a hand to his ear, listening to the voice coming over the radio. “We’re leaving, Isabeau. Elijah said to take you out front to the car.” He took her elbow.
To her dismay, the server, Teresa, was already in the car, looking as though she was going to cry. Isabeau climbed in wordlessly next to her, worried about Jeremiah, afraid for Teresa and wondering what exactly was going on.
14
ISABEAU stared out the window as the car moved rapidly down the long, winding drive, avoiding everyone’s eyes. She knew they could smell Ottila’s scent on her. There were spots of blood on her dress, impossible to hide in the close confines of the vehicle. She heard Conner’s expletive when he saw the dark bruises marring her skin and the blood on her dress, but she didn’t look at him. She knew she was at her limit and just needed space. They all needed to give her space—especially Conner. Philip Sobre, Imelda Cortez and the rogue leopards disgusted her. She felt dirty and just wanted to find a good, hot shower.
The vehicle slowed and Leonardo shoved the door open. Jeremiah exploded out of the thicker forest and raced through the thinner stand of trees and brush. He was about halfway to the SUV when something heavy dropped from the trees on top of him, slamming him to the ground. Fur and teeth and man tumbled and rolled, thrashing. The rifle went flying.
Teresa began to scream and Elijah leaned over very casually and clipped her, at the same time pressing his thumb hard into a pressure point so that she slumped forward unconscious, her face a mask of horror. A roar of fury shook the SUV, and Felipe slammed on the breaks even as Conner leapt through the open door, stripping as he shifted, the vehicle spinning around and coming to a halt.
Isabeau blinked, shocked at the speed with which Conner made the transformation on the run, shedding his clothes at the same time. She’d seen Jeremiah practicing and she’d seen Felipe working with him, but it hadn’t prepared her for the actual dizzying speed. She wouldn’t have believed her own eyes had she not known the truth about the species. He shifted into a leopard so fast she wouldn’t have been able to process that he’d ever been a man.