Wild Fire (47 page)

“Come, my dear,” Alberto said. “With Elijah’s permission, we’ll go out to the garden. Bring your drink with you.” He turned his head. “Harry.”

The man came striding in, shooting Isabeau a wide smile. “He’s going to take you to his little paradise, is he? Prepare to hear a dissertation on every plant.”

“Elijah?” Isabeau turned to him.

Elijah tapped his finger on his chair and then looked at Conner, indicating he follow her to the garden before nodding his permission. Imelda looked instantly dismayed, while a wide, grateful smile curved Isabeau’s mouth. Elijah shrugged. “Neither of us will be distracted while we talk. I always find when I have someone’s full attention, there are no mistakes.”

Imelda snapped the fan closed and placed it carefully on the table. Her eyes were cool and shadowed. “You definitely have my attention, Elijah.”

Isabeau shivered at the sound of Imelda’s voice. There was a distinct threat, as if the woman’s thin veneer of civility had finally worn off. Isabeau had to walk slowly and was grateful Harry pushed the wheelchair at a leisurely pace. Conner followed at a polite distance, not looking at them, very intimidating in his bodyguard mode. His shoulders looked broad, his glasses dark, and the wire in his ear sensitive. It was clear he was armed, and the other guards looked at one another uneasily. Harry ignored him.

“What happened?” Alberto asked, his voice low, a whisper of conspiracy. “Do you need a doctor?”

Isabeau glanced around, looked at Conner as if judging the distance. He was leopard. He could hear a whisper with no problem. The shake of her head was barely perceptible. “I’ve seen a physician.” Deliberately she reached in what could only be taken as a nervous gesture to push back the heavy fall of hair. The action lifted her short shirt just enough to reveal the mottled bruising on her skin. A glimpse only, before she put her hand down, looking unaware that she’d confirmed Alberto’s suspicions. His gasp had been overloud and hastily muffled.

She was beginning to think Ottila’s beating had turned into a useful prop. She glanced up to see Alberto exchanging a quick look with Harry, who frowned. She still didn’t know what to think of Alberto Cortez, but his son and granddaughter were both ruthless killers who enjoyed the pain of others. They had to have gotten that legacy from somewhere. So far, she couldn’t imagine that such traits were possible in the wonderful old man who told her stories and was unfailingly courteous, but she wasn’t going to take chances.

Harry cut through a courtyard that had beautifully kept beds of brightly colored flowers. Orchids wound around every tree trunk, and stepping stones meandered through the green lawn. Benches were scattered at strategic points, shaded by the thick foliage overhead. Isabeau widened her eyes and looked everywhere, peering beyond the plants to try to find outbuildings large enough to house a group of children. They would need enough space to allow the children some play, or at least to eat.

“Your house is large, Mr. Cortez,” she observed. “This courtyard is so spacious. And the smells coming from just over there are delicious.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I just ate a little while ago but it’s making me hungry all over again.”

“We have a wonderful chef,” Alberto said. “As you can see, his kitchen is quite large. The garden is just on the other side of it, so the entire time we’re working, Harry’s stomach growls. And call me Alberto.”

“Does it, Harry?” Isabeau asked. At his nod she laughed. “Then I won’t feel so bad.”

She wanted to stay in sight of the kitchen and was glad when they rounded a corner and saw the garden. Her mouth fell open. In the tradition of English gardens in the large estates with castles, the hills were rolling green and the bushes made up a labyrinth. Trees dotted the slopes, the branches twisted into looping shapes where orchids spilled down the trunks and rose upward in every conceivable color.

Alberto laughed with pleasure at her reaction. “I’ve had years to work on it.”

“It’s lovely. More than lovely. Unbelievable, Alberto.” She forgot about her sore body and took a few steps down the path obviously put in for his wheelchair, moving a little too rapidly and having to gasp and wrap her arms around her midsection. As she did, she turned away from the others, hoping they wouldn’t see her wince. She felt a little sick and pain stabbed through her left side. The worst was as she’d lengthened her stride, she felt the protest in her groin where the wounds rubbed against the material.

Swallowing hard, she glanced back toward the house. A servant came out of the kitchen with a covered tray—a large tray. Isabeau turned back toward Alberto, took a step and gave a little hop, as if she had a pebble in her shoe. Instantly, Conner was there, allowing her to use his body to hold on to while she removed her shoe.

“I think she’s taking food to the children,” she murmured low, and then aloud, “thank you.” She left his side without looking at him to crouch beside what amounted to a field of bird of paradise. “Alberto, these are amazing. I’ve never seen so many together like this.” It was important to keep them where Conner could follow the progress of the female with the tray.

Harry rolled Alberto’s chair back to her as Conner moved away from her, into a position better suited to watch their surroundings, supposedly for any threats, in reality to follow the progress of the servant.

“This is the best soil,” Alberto said, bending to scoop some of the rich dirt into his palm. “Right behind the kitchen, I have an entire bed devoted to herbs, so the chef always has fresh herbs. We have a vegetable garden just over there, inside that building. I can’t grow vegetables very successfully out in the open because of the insects. They eat everything before we have a chance to harvest, so we built a greenhouse.”

Isabeau glanced in the direction he pointed to see the servant with the tray through the glass walls disappearing into a jungle of green foliage. Her heart jumped. “That’s an enormous greenhouse. Is it hydroponic or did you use soil beds?” She made the interest in her voice plain. Either the servant was taking a shortcut through the greenhouse to get to the children or they were in that very large building.

“Soil beds. I’m old-fashioned. The joy for me is in working with my hands,” Alberto explained. “I doubt I’d get the same satisfaction from any other way of growing plants.” He straightened and dusted off his hands, before turning them over and over for her to see. “I’ve worked with the soil all my life.”

“Then you couldn’t fail to notice the insects in Sobre’s garden,” Isabeau said. “You knew he buried bodies there.” She removed her dark glasses and stared him down. “You knew I’d recognize the signs.”

He had the grace to look ashamed. “I’m sorry, my dear. Your knowledge of plants and soil was such an asset. I should never have put you in such a position. I didn’t count on putting you in danger. I thought you’d scream and the guests would all come running. Philip’s dark secret would be out and it would put a stop to the killings once and for all.”

“That’s why you wanted me to explore on my own. You didn’t want it to look like you were leading me to the bodies.”

He shook his head. “No, that wouldn’t do at all.”

She took a few steps in the direction of the greenhouse, trying to lead them in that direction. It enabled Conner to have an excuse to get closer and allowed them to see more of the insides of the buildings, although the plants were so overgrown it was difficult. “Did your granddaughter have anything to do with those bodies?”

“Imelda?” Alberto looked shocked. “Of course not. How could you think such a thing?”

She inhaled. Her cat snarled and her heart sank. He was lying. He looked so innocent sitting there in his chair, but he was lying to her. She took a breath, let it out and tried again. “You then?” This time she put a little disbelief in her voice. “Did you have anything to do with those bodies?”

His hand fluttered against his heart. He gasped. Wheezed. Harry bent over him solicitously, but Alberto gallantly waved him away. “Me? How would I be able to do such a thing? No, Isabeau, it certainly wasn’t me. Philip Sobre needed to be stopped and you managed to do it by telling your family.”

He was lying about the bodies. He not only had known about them, but some of the dead belonged to him. She could hear her heart pounding in her chest, the blood roaring in her ears. This beautiful garden most likely hosted many bodies as well. Adan had once told her that those who worked for Imelda rarely—if ever—left the compound. He’d meant that literally. Once a servant for the Cortez family, you lived your life here. And you died here. The money earned could be sent to family, which was why many did it, but their families never saw them again.

“Why did you want me to find the bodies instead of just telling the cops your suspicions?” Isabeau asked. “Perhaps you could have stopped him sooner.”

Alberto shook his head, the picture of sorrow and guilt. “I could not. I couldn’t take a chance on our family name being involved in any way. You understand with your family.”

She frowned at him. “It was pretty ugly to make that kind of discovery.”

“I know. I’m sincerely sorry.”

If she hadn’t been leopard, she would have believed him. He was one of the best actors she’d ever run across. He delivered his lines with absolute sincerity and looked so sad and guilty she had the urge to reassure him even though she knew he was lying. She sighed. “What else can I do but forgive you? At least he’s been discovered, although what a horrible way to die.”

“Thinking of all those young girls and their families,” Alberto said, “I can’t say I’m surprised. And all the times he went out with Imelda . . .” He shuddered. “It could have happened to her.”

Isabeau found she couldn’t speak, so simply nodded, trying to look understanding. She suddenly realized why the old man had taken such an interest in her. She was their leverage, their hostage. She had been a hostage at the party and she was now. They hadn’t been able to keep Elijah from sending a bodyguard with her this time, but she was, in effect, the Cortez’s prisoner. They could kill her at any time if Elijah or Marcos made a hostile move.

She had to assume that not only Harry was armed, but Alberto as well and that both were ready to kill her at a moment’s notice. Was Conner close enough to stop them? Did he know? He was making them believe he thought any threat might come from an outside source, not them. Harry had backed away from Ottila the other night because he knew just how dangerous the man really was. He knew the truth, just as Imelda did—that Ottila and Suma were leopards. Imelda had shared her knowledge with her grandfather and his trusted bodyguard.

Alberto waved toward a looping path. “Harry, this way, I want to show Isabeau my favorite spot.”

“If you don’t mind, Alberto,” Isabeau said, “it’s getting difficult for me to walk. I thought we could take a look at the greenhouse and get off the uneven surface. Besides, I’d love to see the size of your vegetables if you’re using this soil.”

Alberto smiled at her. “I shouldn’t have even considered you coming out to the garden. I just wanted to show it to someone who would really appreciate it. We can go sit on the verandah and visit. The greenhouse has recently been sprayed and no one can go in for twenty-four hours.”

“How disappointing,” Isabeau said. She’d managed to get them within thirty feet of the building.

Conner was much closer, but seemingly disinterested, although he was talking into his radio. His gaze continually swept the rooftops and the fenceline. She took a cautious sniff of the air, testing for the scent of leopards. If Alberto and Harry knew, had others been hired as well? “I used to grow vegetables when I lived at home with my father, but now that I travel so much,” she shrugged, but took another few steps toward the greenhouse.

“Another time, perhaps,” Alberto said as Harry pushed the chair toward the house.

The door to the greenhouse swung open and for one moment there was the sound of a child crying, hastily cut off as the servant slammed the door closed. The woman whirled around to see them all staring at her, Alberto furious. He swore at her in the local Indian dialect even as he reached beneath his lap blanket, as understanding dawned. Alberto was a shrewd, cunning man who had put together the Cortez empire. In that split second he realized he’d fallen into a trap and that they’d come to find the children, not negotiate deals or friendships. Isabeau saw the knowledge on his face.

Conner suddenly moved, his speed blinding, as he rushed them. Simultaneously, the scent of leopard filled her lungs. She screamed and threw herself toward Conner, terrified as she recognized the overpowering smell of her worst nightmare, barely registering that the old man was aiming a gun at her head.

Harry whirled to face the large cat dropping out of the tree above their heads, his shotgun bucking in his hands. The shotgun boomed, a deafening sound that exploded through the air just as the sound of gunfire erupted from the direction of the house. Alberto’s deceptively sweet mask had been replaced by a twisted, cunning killer, lips drawn back in a snarl as he whipped up the gun and fired several shots at her just as Conner took her to the ground, covering her body with his.

Alberto was far too late. Ottila was on him, driving the chair over backward, spilling the body onto the ground. A powerful swipe of the paw sent the gun skidding across the ground out of the old man’s reach. Harry swung his shotgun on Conner and Isabeau in an attempt to complete the job Alberto had started. Bullets spat into the trees and ground around them as men began firing at anything and everything in the yard, unable to tell what was happening either in the house or out in the yard. Without someone in command, chaos broke out and the guards began to panic.

Conner fired his gun from his hip as he burst off the ground, drawing fire away from Isabeau, the bullets cutting a straight dotted line across Harry’s chest. Harry tried to bring up the shotgun again, but he went to his knees, the weight too much for him with the blood pumping from his body.

Isabeau sprinted for the greenhouse, ignoring her screaming body. She caught a glimpse of the leopard turning his attention back to Alberto as the old man dragged himself through the dirt toward the gun. The leopard’s expression stayed the same, focused completely on his prey, all the while the mind beneath those spots was working a cunning, savage plan. The eye contact, laser-sharp, never left Alberto. Ears flattened, belly close to the ground, the leopard crept closer. Alberto screamed and gestured wildly for the cat to leave him, but those merciless eyes never blinked.