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.