Wild Fire (27 page)

And that, he supposed, was the main problem he had with Isabeau. From the beginning, he lacked control and discipline when he was around her. He’d taught her to please him. He was the dominant in the relationship, yet she held him in the palm of her hand. She was wrapped so tightly around his heart there was no escape. There was no way to blame it on his cat—or hers—this was all about the woman, the whole of her.

Their eyes met. God, she was beautiful, a bright spirit, shining from the inside out. He was going into a party filled with corrupt individuals who wanted every last dollar they could rob from the poorer people around them. She went into a rain forest and studied how plants could be used to heal people. The woman he was going to seduce was the worst of all, with no regard for human life. His woman was willing for her man to do whatever it took in order to save children not her own.

“I love you,” he said. Stark. Raw. In front of them all.

She flashed a small smile and there was pride in her eyes. “I love you too.”

He turned and fell into step with Marcos Santos, Felipe and Leonardo’s uncle. His heart ached and it was difficult to fall into his role as the personal protector. Rio touched his shoulder lightly and he flicked his glance to the team leader.

“We’ll take care of her,” Rio assured him.

Isabeau was smart and she’d learned fast. She had been in the rain forest on and off most of her life. And she read people very well. He had to believe in her abilities. He nodded his head at Rio, and continued to scan the area around them as they began to make their way up the winding path to the main house.

The rain forest was kept at bay by a host of workers continually at war with it. At every opportunity, the forest tried to reclaim lost land. The roots from the fig trees formed great cages all up and down the property and flowers curled up the trunks in a riot of color. Philodendron leaves as big as umbrellas shot up the trunks and every conceivable post, turning the grounds into a massive forest of greenery.

The plants sheltered the house from the surrounding forest more effectively than the high fence that had been added. Already the plants wound their way up the chain and in a few years, he could see the house would be hidden completely from outsiders. But for now, the view inside the banks of windows and along the balconies and verandahs was fairly clear for Jeremiah.

The security force Philip Sobre used was everywhere, walking patrols along the grounds, making a show of weapons, but he noticed no one was looking in the high canopy just outside the grounds. Jeremiah would have it easy at least until the rogue leopards came. The men here now, hired to protect those coming to the party, were not real professional soldiers or bodyguards. Conner suspected they were men from a local police force making some extra money.

As Marcos approached the front door, Felipe laid a hand on his shoulder and they stepped back to allow Conner to go in first without them. Conner set his face in hard, unreadable lines and approached the door, opening his jacket so there was no mistake he was armed. The doorman checked the list, nodded and allowed him in. He went through each room carefully and it was a damn big house. He took note of the security cameras, windows, exits and staircases. They had studied a layout of the house already, but the blueprints weren’t exact. He spoke low into his radio, giving the other members of his team the remodels that weren’t in the floor plans.

Several doors on the second floor opened into a courtyard where more exotic plants grew amidst a series of fountains leaping from a pool of koi. He sent the entire layout to his crew and Jeremiah, letting Elijah and Rio know the easiest rooms in which to protect their “clients,” before allowing Marcos to enter.

Philip Sobre, the chief of tourism, rushed forward to greet Marcos Santos. Of course he ignored both Conner and Felipe. As an important guest, Marcos was shown personally into the house.

“I’ve brought a personal friend along with me, Elijah Lospostos. I trust my secretary sent you a note, as I was already en route when I realized he was in your country. He is in the country to visit his cousin who resides here. She’s with us as well—Isabeau Chandler,” Marcos said. “If they’re not welcome, we can meet another time.” His tone was casual as only an extremely wealthy businessman used to getting his way could have been. “Elijah has his own security with him. One of his personal protectors is my own nephew. Elijah is like a son to me, as is my nephew.” He half turned as if he might leave.

Philip bowed several times. “Of course your friends are welcome.” And he was under strict orders to see to it that Elijah Lospostos felt very welcome. He waved Elijah’s personal protector through, glaring at his doormen when the man would have stopped and checked for other weapons than the one in plain sight.

Elijah barely nodded at the man, flashing his white teeth briefly, looking more dangerous than the wild animals surrounding the estate. He wrapped his arm around Isabeau and drew her inside. Isabeau was dressed for the occasion in a long, swinging skirt that brushed her ankles and a short top that accented the curves of her body. She had the radiance and allure of a female close to the Han Vol Dan. Her scent was feminine and enticing. She was a vision in blue, and Philip stumbled when he saw her. He took her hand, gazed into her eyes with far too much greed, bending over her hand as though he might kiss it.

While she smiled gently, Elijah firmly removed her hand before those cold lips could touch her skin. “This is my favorite cousin.” Again his white teeth flashed and this time they looked a bit sharper. “She is very dear to me.” It was a clear warning and any man within hearing distance couldn’t mistake the menace.

“Isabeau,” Philip whispered. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes from her.

Elijah studied their host closely, inhaling his scent. They had done research on the man. He was greedy and excessive in his decadent lifestyle. There were reports of women carried from his home while he looked on, wrapped in a silken robe and sipping a glass of whiskey with a small smile. Everywhere they looked the signs of his opulent lifestyle were apparent.

Marcos took a drink from a tray, his faded, burnished eyes taking in the server. He shifted his gaze to Conner, who barely nodded. The woman was dressed in dark trousers and a white blouse. There was a faint bruise on the side of her face covered by thick makeup. Her hand trembled slightly as she offered the silver tray.

Rio indicated they move deeper into the house, into one of the rooms Conner had deemed the safest. There were several exits and a more open floor plan. Philip followed them, chattering about the new hotel being built and how much it was needed. The jobs, economy and all the new tourist opportunities it presented. Marcos murmured politely, listening attentively, and Conner retreated back into the shadows, knowing he would appear more mysterious and more dangerous when Imelda Cortez’s security people examined the tapes before allowing her inside.

He had studied Imelda’s profile carefully, as he did any mark. She wanted a dominant man, one very dangerous, one that would thrill her, scare her a little, but one she could dispose of when she tired of him. No, Elijah had the charisma and danger she sought, but he was too powerful, she would never succumb to the temptation, Conner was certain he was right about her.

Isabeau wandered around the room and stopped in front of a display. Whips, floggers, canes and other various instruments of torture were displayed in a large glass case. Philip came up behind her. Close. Too close. “Do these instruments interest you?”

Isabeau turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, her expression one of disdain. “Hardly. I prefer much more pleasurable forms of entertainment.”

“Perhaps I could change your mind. Pleasure and pain are often mixed with surprising results.”

Isabeau raised an eyebrow. She had only minutes to gather impressions of Philip Sobre, but she doubted she would need much more than that. Elijah’s job was to act the overprotective cousin while she was bored and amused and as alluring as possible. Sobre was reputed to have visited Imelda Cortez’s compound quite often for several months. The visits continued, but were much less frequent now. She had the feeling Philip and Imelda shared a similar fetish for using whips on others, not on each other.

“The giving or the receiving?” she asked with a small and what she hoped was a mysterious and mildly interested smile. “I think I’d much rather be the giver.” Her cat stirred, rebelling at the way the man stood so close, breathing on her with mint-scented breath and his hot eyes. Her skin itched and she felt the movement inside her, a slow extension of claws unfolding.

“I agree with you there. It is exquisite to watch the whip cutting across flesh.” He inhaled and the musky scent of arousal reached her nose. “Wielding the whip, gaining control and acquiring that perfect touch is an art form.”

“One you’ve studied?” Isabeau turned to face him, leaning one hip against the wall and looking at him over the glass of wine she was pretending to sip. Philip Sobre was a sadist. He was sexually aroused at the thought of ripping into someone helpless with his whip. The rumors about Imelda Cortez were rampant. Her cruelty was legend, as was her father’s before her. They would naturally gravitate toward one another. And Philip was in a position where he would have an endless supply of victims to share with Imelda.

“Of course,” Philip said. “Extensively.” There was something hot and speculative in his eyes that made her stomach lurch in protest.

She’d lived a great deal of her life in the rain forest. The economic disparity between the rich and the poor was enormous. The smoldering heat of the jungle often brought out the worst in people, and the distance from civilization sometimes attracted the most depraved, who thought themselves above the law and entitled to do whatever they wanted. They believed the natives were beneath them and no one would miss a few if they disappeared. She’d seen the attitude many times in her life, but Philip was blatant about it.

She hung on to her smile and was grateful when Elijah crossed the room to her side and took her elbow. She knew Philip perceived Elijah as a shark, just as he thought of himself. Elijah bent to whisper in her ear, his eyes on Philip.

“Keep it up, you look very cool and calm and just that little bit disdainful. My guess is the feed from the videos is being reviewed right now. She’ll be intrigued by Sobre’s interest in you. There’s no way they’ll miss Conner prowling in the shadows.”

She smiled up at him and touched his cheek affectionately, looking as loving as possible. It was strange. She knew Elijah’s background, what he’d come from, what he’d done in his life, most of it not good, and yet he had a clean scent. Depravity clung to Philip. It was difficult to avoid looking toward Conner as Elijah led her back to Marcos, who greeted her by raising his wineglass and telling her a joke. She was very aware of Philip joining them, standing next to her, which told all of them that despite the clear warning Elijah had given him, he felt very safe under Imelda Cortez’s protection.

Cortez definitely ruled here. Signs of her were in the security system and the guns Philip’s guards possessed. The weapons were too sophisticated for the men who held them. This was Sobre’s personal army, not Imelda’s, and Philip was too lazy, or too cheap to employ mercenaries or ex-soldiers. Maybe he didn’t believe he needed security in the same way Imelda did. But Imelda and Philip definitely were affiliated, or he wouldn’t have the guns and security system. As chief of tourism, he was in a position to help her get her drugs out of the country. And he got a fat paycheck for his services.

Isabeau was aware of Philip working his supposed charm on Marcos. Marcos was an older man and Cortez probably thought she could seduce him or blackmail him into going into business with her if her business offer wasn’t as sweet as he’d like. Elijah was a different matter. Young. Virile. His reputation was that of a ruthless dictator in his cartel. His men were loyal to a fault and his enemies tended to die fast. None of them had expected him to be with Marcos.

In another hour Imelda would be there and the tension would skyrocket. In the meantime, the team would try to get as much information out of Sobre as they could without ever asking about Cortez. He had to bring her up and Isabeau was certain he would. He was already dropping the names of celebrities who he’d had to dinner or one of his parties. He was a vain, pompous man, but she wasn’t going to underestimate him. He hadn’t gotten where he was by being stupid.

“You have a lovely home, Mr. Sobre,” she said. “It was . . . unexpected.”

He preened and strutted a little. “We’re quite fashionable even here in this place.” His eyes held hers. “We make our own rules here and live the way we choose.”

She gave him her sweet, empty smile over the rim of her crystal glass. “Well you seem to be doing a fine job. Where in the world did you find all these servants?”

Deliberately she used the word servant, making her tone a little dismissive when she indicated the uniformed women. Almost all of them were women, but she noticed a few men moving throughout the room. She was certain they weren’t part of his security. Their eyes were downcast as they replenished the trays of food and moved through the guests. A few of the expensively dressed women ran hands over the men, touching them inappropriately. She would bet that the men and women going upstairs were taking advantage of other services his servants were required to give—and most likely the guests were being filmed secretly while they enjoyed themselves.

She knew the team believed they only had an hour or two before Imelda arrived. Everything Isabeau knew about the woman pointed to someone who would deliberately make those around her feel small. Imelda would be cold and cutting and even cruel to those she believed less than she was. If Imelda really was the one giving orders to Philip, he had only until the woman showed up to convince Isabeau he was someone important. After that, Imelda would undercut him.

Because he thought she was Elijah’s cousin, Sobre banked on her knowing what Elijah did for a living. As head of a dangerous family-owned cartel, Elijah would be regarded in the same vein as Imelda. They all had to wonder if Marcos was related to him and part of that cartel or whether they were coming together to work out an alliance.