Wild Fire
Page 116
Imelda, for the first time, sent a small smile toward her grandfather. “He always reminds me of my manners. Living the way I do, running such a big business, I tend to lose the small courtesies that count. I’m sorry, Elijah.” She inclined her head like a princess.
Elijah allowed a small smile to slip out, bowing slightly in a courtly manner. “I have the same problem, but with no grandfather to remind me.”
“Please sit down and make yourselves comfortable. Your men can relax a little.” Imelda gestured toward the most comfortable chairs.
Conner, Felipe, Rio and Leonardo spread out, covering the entrances, stationing themselves where they had a good view of every direction through the windows.
“My men are the best,” Marcos said. “I like to use family, men I know who are loyal to me and mine. Men with a stake in my success.”
Imelda sank into a chair, her greedy gaze on Conner’s face, devouring him with her eyes. “You should count yourself very lucky, Marcos. Unfortunately, I have no family left other than my grandfather.” She picked up an ivory fan and coquettishly began to fan herself, using an idle indolence that was purely feigned for Conner’s benefit. She wore a skirt and blouse that showed off her figure and when she crossed her legs, allowed her thighs to show off to their best advantage.
“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.
Elijah allowed a small smile to slip out, bowing slightly in a courtly manner. “I have the same problem, but with no grandfather to remind me.”
“Please sit down and make yourselves comfortable. Your men can relax a little.” Imelda gestured toward the most comfortable chairs.
Conner, Felipe, Rio and Leonardo spread out, covering the entrances, stationing themselves where they had a good view of every direction through the windows.
“My men are the best,” Marcos said. “I like to use family, men I know who are loyal to me and mine. Men with a stake in my success.”
Imelda sank into a chair, her greedy gaze on Conner’s face, devouring him with her eyes. “You should count yourself very lucky, Marcos. Unfortunately, I have no family left other than my grandfather.” She picked up an ivory fan and coquettishly began to fan herself, using an idle indolence that was purely feigned for Conner’s benefit. She wore a skirt and blouse that showed off her figure and when she crossed her legs, allowed her thighs to show off to their best advantage.
“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.
