She hadn’t heard the man swear. Or worry edge his voice. Nothing had gotten to him, but that one little sentence betrayed his weakness. Isabeau. The silly nothing cousin. She should have been more careful to instruct her grandfather to really watch over her. Overlooking details like that could ruin one’s plans. Isabeau, a potential fly in the ointment.

“Shane, please find out why Martin or Ottila haven’t answered. I want to make certain that my grandfather and Elijah’s dear little cousin are being looked after.” She rose gracefully. “You stay here and lock the door, keep everyone out.” She smiled up at the two men. “I’ll take you to the garden and personally see you out. Don’t worry about the mess.”

“There was a young lady, a server . . .” Marcos broke off.

“Teresa,” Imelda supplied, showing once again she’d had access to the video before she’d arrived.

“I’d very much like her to accompany us.”

Imelda’s smile was pure canary. “That can be arranged, Marcos.” She started to step out into the hall, but Conner dropped a hand on her shoulder to prevent her leaving. She looked up at him over her shoulder, her expression coy, one eyebrow raised. Deliberately she looked at the hand on her shoulder.

“I go first.” His voice was firm. Commanding, leaving no doubt that he meant to be obeyed. The hand remained on her shoulder. He waited until she felt the heat spreading. “To make certain it’s safe for you.” He added the last two words deliberately to connect them. She’d repeat those words over and over to herself, convinced he was sending her a private message, convinced she had a chance to lure him away from his employer. What better way than using sexual attraction?

Imelda flushed and inclined her head, princess to peasant. He removed his hand, but slowly, allowing his palm to slide in a caress across the nape of her neck. She shivered. His cat roared with rage, spitting and growling, prowling close to the surface so that he felt the ache in his muscles and jaw.

She caught the nightglow in his eyes as they went completely cat, the burning, fixed stare unnerving her. He forced his leopard under control. Soon, he promised and moved past her into the hall. As he pushed past, he let his body slide against hers, skin to skin. Her gasp was audible, her gaze hot, no mistaking the sexual intent. He got a whiff of her arousal and it sickened him. He felt dirty. How could he go to Isabeau after touching Imelda, letting her believe that he would take her to bed?

Cursing under his breath, he swept the area and announced it clear. He led the way to the garden, not looking at Imelda again. He could smell her. Hear her breathing. That was bad enough.

JEREMIAH swore softly and shifted position for the third time, praying he could get a clearer line of vision. He’d seen the rogue leopard. Ottila, the quiet one. Suma gave all the orders, and strutted around like a big shot. Jeremiah had been impressed with him, especially when he’d flashed all the money around. Now he wasn’t so certain Suma was the one to watch, not after being around Conner and Rio and the others.

“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.