Wild Fire

by Christine Feehan

  "Of course," Imelda agreed with a feigned smile and turned her attention to Isabeau. "My dear, what a lovely dress. Who is the designer? I must have one."

  Elijah answered, taking Isabeau's elbow, his fingers sinking into her skin. Imelda's sharp gaze couldn't miss the signal to Isabeau not to speak. "I brought the dress for her from one of our little boutiques in the States. I travel quite often and saw this and knew it would be perfect for her. It's one of a kind and suits her less dramatic appearance."

  Isabeau heard the small bite in his voice, implying the innocence of Isabeau's dress would never suit someone who wore the bloodred gown revealing half of Imelda's body. She held her breath, afraid Elijah was antagonizing the woman, but Imelda took it as a compliment. She ran her hand down her hip, smoothing the material and jutting out her breasts, turning her back on Isabeau as if she was of little consequence. Isabeau realized that was Elijah's intent, to make certain Imelda didn't see her as a threat in any way.

  She tried not to let the byplay undermine her confidence in herself. She'd never considered herself beautiful. She was curvy, carrying a little more weight than was fashionable, but she had great hair and good skin. She didn't think she looked drab, but next to Imelda she probably did. Imelda's tinkling laugh irritated her, and the way she moved into the center of the circle of men as if she belonged there irritated her even more.

  A hush fell over the crowd again and heads began to turn toward the door. Isabeau found herself following the gazes of the others. A guard, obviously one of Imelda's, pushed a wheelchair into the room. The occupant looked to be in his eighties, a thin, rather handsome man with thick silver hair. He wore his suit as if it had been made for him--which it probably had been. His smile was kind, even benevolent, and he waved to several people and greeted them by name as he was pushed through the crowd.

  People reached out to touch him. Each time someone greeted him, he stopped and talked for a few moments before moving on. Couples smiled at him. He seemed to know everyone's name and asked about children or parents. Imelda sighed and tapped her foot impatiently.

  "My grandfather," she announced. "He's very beloved."

  It seemed to annoy her that her grandfather was so popular with the people. Isabeau guessed it took the attention that she craved away from her. The man suddenly looked up and she could see his eyes through the thick glasses. Old and faded, they were more a gray than a black, but he seemed genuinely interested in those around him. She couldn't imagine that a creature as immoral and malevolent as Imelda could possibly be related to this man.

  "For heaven's sake, Grandfather," Imelda snapped and broke away from the group. "We have important guests," she hissed in his ear, shoving between his chair and the guard. She took control of the chair herself and pushed him through the remaining throng to their small corner of the room. "Come meet Marcos Santos and Elijah Lospostos. This is my grandfather, Alberto Cortez. He's a little hard of hearing," she apologized.

  Marcos and Elijah both shook his hand and greeted him with respect and a deference they hadn't shown Imelda. Alberto smiled at Isabeau. "And who is this?"

  "Elijah's cousin, grandfather," Imelda said, her tone waspish.

  "Isabeau Chandler, my cousin," Elijah presented her with a small, courteous bow.

  He took Isabeau's hand in both of his. Her cat hissed, her skin still too sensitive for contact. "Lovely dear, you outshine every woman here."

  Imelda rolled her eyes. "Please forgive the old man, he's always been a charmer."

  "You are very charming," Isabeau addressed him directly, not looking at Imelda, feeling a little sorry for him. Imelda treated him like a doddering fool, when it was obvious his brain was sharp and fully functioning. "I'm so glad you've come."

  He winked at her, also ignoring his granddaughter. "Are they talking business again?"

  "I think they were about to."

  "The music is a bit wild, but the food is good and the women are gorgeous. What is wrong with men today that business is everything? They don't realize that time speeds by and they should take time to enjoy the little things." He looked up at the faces around him. "Soon you will be old with little time left."

  Two red flags of color swept into Imelda's face. "Excuse him, please. He talks a lot of nonsense."

  "No, no, dear," Marcos patted her arm. "He speaks the truth. I intend to enjoy myself immensely while I'm here. I agree, entertainment and enjoyment are very important." His gaze swept the room and lit on Teresa, who was carrying an empty serving tray back toward the kitchen. "Just a small amount of business and then we'll have fun with friends, right, Elijah?"

  "Of course, Marcos."

  Alberto frowned. "Forgive an old man, Elijah, but I knew your uncle. I heard he died in an accident in Borneo. Accept my condolences."

  Elijah inclined his head. "I had no idea you two knew each other."

  "Briefly. Only briefly. You and your sister were very young when I met him. Where is your sister? I had heard that she disappeared as well. Such a tragedy, your family."

  "Rachel is alive and well. There was bad business." Elijah shrugged casually. His eyes were flat and cold. "An enemy stupid enough to try to use the threat of my sister against us."

  "She is alive then? Good. Good. A beautiful girl. I hadn't heard what had become of her. I should have known you would take care of any problems."

  Elijah sent him a cold smile. "I always take care of my own. And my enemies."

  "May I borrow your beautiful cousin while you talk business? Just for a little while. We can walk in the gardens. My man will be with us to watch over her. And perhaps one of your men can accompany us as well, if you prefer."

  Imelda scowled. "That's just silly, Grandfather. Philip has security everywhere. What could possibly happen to either of you?"

  Elijah thought it over. The garden was fully visible from Jeremiah's position. There shouldn't be any problem. He brought Isabeau's hand to his chest. "I think that would be nice for you, Isabeau, much better than listening to boring business." He tucked a strand of hair behind her head. "I'll send Felipe with you."

  "That's not necessary," Isabeau said. "I'd much rather he look after you."

  Alberto gestured to his guard. "This is Harry. He's been with me for ten years." He emphasized the pronoun, making a point.

  Imelda sighed and rolled her eyes. "Oh, for heaven's sake. Let's go. Philip, take us to your secure room. Grandfather and your little cousin can do whatever." Her eyes had already gone to the shadows, looking for Marcos's bodyguard.

  Conner moved the moment Marcos did, falling smoothly in behind him. He didn't look at them, but his gaze moved restlessly through the room, taking in everyone. He gave the appearance of being able to describe in detail every single person--and Isabeau was certain he probably could.

  "Come with me and make an old man's day, Isabeau," Alberto encouraged. "Let me show you Philip's garden. He's not a man you want to spend time with, but he does love beautiful things. His taste is impeccable."

  She had to agree that the house and artwork and even his furniture all bore the stamp of someone who loved beautiful things. They passed the case filled with instruments of torture and she shivered, afraid those things had been used numerous times on real people.

  Alberto reached out and patted her hand. Again her cat leapt and hissed and her skin burned from that casual touch. She was close to the emerging. Too close. And that was a frightening thought. She suddenly wanted Conner to hold her close. They were firmly entrenched in a house of deceit with ruthless killers pretending to be civil. The crowd seemed friendly enough, and very curious, but she couldn't trust any of them either.

  She pulled her hand away gently, trying not to upset him. Alberto Cortez had been the friendliest face she'd seen. "Have you always lived here?" she asked, trying to make small talk.

  "My family is one of the oldest in Colombia. Our holdings have expanded over time. My son was the first to have interest in Panama. I didn't agree with his decisions, but
he was strong-willed and his daughter is very much like him." He looked up at his attendant. "Isn't that right, Harry?"

  "That's right, Mr. Cortez," Harry agreed, moving easily through the crowd. His voice was good-natured and his tone affectionate.

  "How many times have I told you to call me Alberto?" the old man demanded.

  "Probably a good million, Mr. Cortez," Harry admitted.

  Isabeau laughed. She liked the old man better for his easy camaraderie with his bodyguard.

  Alberto drew his brows together. "And you, young Isabeau? Am I going to have the same problem with you? He makes me feel old."

  "He's being respectful."

  "He can respect Imelda. She seems to need it. I'd rather just be plain Alberto, growing my favorite plants in my garden."

  "You're a gardener?"

  "I love working with my hands. My son and granddaughter don't understand my need of the land and getting my fingers in the dirt."

  "I love plants," Isabeau said. "Someday I'm going to have my own garden as well. Right now, I've been cataloguing medicinal plants found in the rain forest. I've done so both here and in Borneo. I'd like to go to Costa Rica next. The plants are amazing with the various uses. People have no idea how valuable they are for medicines, and we're losing the rain forests far too fast. We're going to lose those resources if we don't get researchers moving on . . ." She broke off with a small laugh. "I'm sorry. It's a passion of mine."

  Harry reached around the chair to open the French doors leading to the garden. She held them open so he could take Alberto through. The garden was enormous, humid and vividly green. Trees shot up, sending umbrellas of greenery shielding them from the night sky. She walked to the bench most visible to the side of the forest where she knew Jeremiah was secreted. He would have them in his sight and she felt a little more at ease, knowing he was there.

  A small man-made stream ran over rocks, winding through the garden to culminate in a series of small waterfalls. Her body tightened just a little at the sound of water, reminding her of the feel of Conner's body moving inside hers. She took a deep breath and let it out, inhaling the scent of roses and lavender.

  Lacy fronds of various ferns lined the stream, and flowers turned one sloping bank into a riot of color. She recognized most of the plants and was amazed at how beautiful the layout was. "Philip has an extraordinary gardener. Look at how everything is placed. It's beyond beautiful."

  Alberto beamed. "I'm glad you approve."

  She turned her head, astonished. "You? You designed this garden?"

  He inclined his head. "A hobby of mine."

  "You're very talented. This is art, Mr. Cortez."

  Alberto began to laugh and Harry joined him.

  Isabeau grinned at him. "I'm sorry, Harry paid me to say that."

  Alberto roared with laughter. "You're very good for this old man, Isabeau. I think I spend far too much time alone. Take a look around and tell me what you think."

  "You don't mind?"

  "No, I've seen it all, remember? I just want to watch your face when you discover all the various plants. I think you'll appreciate this place more than any other."

  Isabeau's weakness was plants. She couldn't resist the invitation. Besides, she was curious.

  "The garden encompasses an entire acre. The stream winds through the entire thing, and the terrain is rolling, so I used that to my advantage when I was designing the layout," he explained. "I wanted everything to be natural but controlled."

  "Do you have a garden at home like this one?"

  "Not exactly. I didn't section it off from the rain forest. I just took what we had growing naturally and organized it a little."

  Harry snorted derisively. "He isn't telling the exact truth, Miss Isabeau. You've never seen anything like it. His garden is much more beautiful than this. Orchids are everywhere. They hang from the trees like chains of flowers winding up and down the trunks. Even the trees and vines are kept shaped . . ."

  Alberto patted Harry's arm. "I've made an enthusiast out of him."

  "I had no choice," Harry admitted.

  "He's my legs," Alberto said. "Once I was confined to the chair, I thought my gardening days would be over, but Harry found a way for me to keep going."

  Harry shrugged. "I'm not going to tell him I enjoy it. He's been wanting me to admit that forever, but I have to have something to hold over him for my raises."

  Isabeau laughed at his dry tone. "Okay, I'm going to take a look around and see what you've done. I'll bet I can identify most of the plants."

  "I'll be interested in discussing medicinal plants with you for my garden," Alberto said. "But you go now, and we'll talk when you've had a chance to see everything."

  It was obvious he was proud of the garden and wanted to share it with someone he hoped would appreciate it. Isabeau set out, moving down a well-worn path that took her to the southernmost end of the garden first. It was the most open and she wanted Jeremiah to feel comfortable with her walking around.

  She took her time, taking Alberto at his word. She enjoyed the night sounds. She could hear the pounding music in the distance, but the insects and the flutter of wings were more prominent--and musical--to her. She found the garden soothing, and the farther she walked away from the others, the more safe she felt. Her cat settled and her skin quit itching. There was no longer the scent of intrigue and depravity. Freshly dug dirt, the fragrance of flowers and trees took the place of cloying perfume and malicious intent. Maybe Alberto had sensed her need of peace and sent her out to allow her space. He was a perceptive man in spite of his age.

  She began to mentally name the various plants and their uses. Scarlet passionflower blooms attracted and were pollinated by the hermit hummingbird. The flowering bromeliad's nectar fed a variety of bats. An array of orchids grew both on the ground and up the trunks of trees, providing food for all kinds of birds and insects, including the orchid bee.

  Isabeau stopped to admire an epiphytic blueberry, the bright orange flower and bulbs a favorite of hummingbirds. Although they were usually found high in the canopy, Alberto had brought them within reach of the ground, which in turn brought the various species of hummingbirds closer to inspection.

  Many varieties of ferns grew taller than her, forming a beautiful, lacy jungle. All kinds of philodendrons in various shades of green, with different types of leaves, both split and variegated, towered above her as well. The winding path took her up a small slope where the brush was far thicker. Here, small animals made their homes. She could hear the rustling and even scent them in the burrows.

  The next bank of plants was her favorite, all medicinal. Alberto Cortez even had the Gurania bignoniaceae, a plant that had extensive medicinal uses. The leaves and flowers could be crushed and the material applied to infected cuts or sores that refused to heal, something that often happened in the humidity of the rain forest. The leaves and roots could be brewed into a tea and taken as a potion to remove worms and parasites. The flowers could be crushed and made into a poultice and applied to infected sores. She knew of a half dozen more uses for the plant for various ills, although depending on where it was grown, the roots could be toxic.

  She frowned when she saw the large variety of strychnos , used in making strong curare for blowguns. There were hundreds of plants, both toxic and medicinal, all mixed together. There was even the plant she knew Adan's tribe used for countering the frog's poison used in their darts when they accidentally managed to get the poison on their skin.

  The garden had everything from small brush to exotic flowers. She even found a little bed of daisies that pleased her. It seemed a little incongruous beside the more brilliant bird of paradise, but the simple beauty of the daisies was not lost on her.

  She found herself following the little bed of common flowers. Around it, the brush grew thick with variegated leaves and fronds. Some of the leaves were so large that when it rained, they formed little umbrellas and the water ran down in tiny streams to the beds below, erodin
g the dirt. She crouched closer to examine the beds to see if the plants below were getting damaged. Some of the stalks were brown and withered as if they weren't getting water--or had a fungus.

  Something--an animal--had been rooting around the flowerbed, digging for roots. There was evidence of birds as well, as though something had attracted them to this area. She crawled through the dying flowers to the middle of the bed and caught a whiff of decay. Her cat recoiled from the smell. Compost? She'd never smelled anything quite like it. It almost smelled like death.

  Her heart jumped and she looked around to make certain she was alone. The stench was overpowering and she could clearly see that animals had disturbed the area. She moved closer, her eyes examining the withered flowers. Around them, the dirt was freshly dug. Something small and white and shiny peeking out of the dirt caught her attention. Isabeau glanced nervously through the trees to see if Harry and Alberto could see her, but the foliage was too thick.

  Inching closer, she crouched low. The smell of decay grew stronger and her cat rebelled, urging her to flee. She brushed aside the dirt around that small white object and nearly leapt back. When she turned over the dirt, hundreds of small insects wiggled and protested. Very delicately, she pushed at the object to reveal more. She was looking at a partially decayed finger. There was a human body in the garden.

  Trying to breathe shallowly so she didn't take in the smell, she stood up and stepped back carefully, her heart pounding. Philip Sobre had his own burial ground. The garden was an entire acre. He could bury any number of people here. She swallowed hard and tried to think what to do. She didn't want any evidence of her discovery. With her hand, she carefully brushed over her footprints and made her way back to the main path, trying to cover up anything she might have disturbed.

  Did Alberto know? Surely he hadn't deliberately sent her out looking, hoping she'd make the discovery. Was it possible he had his own agenda? That he wasn't the sweet old gentleman he appeared to be? But what could be accomplished by her discovering a dead body in Philip Sobre's private garden? This place was horrible and she wanted out of it as fast as she could go.

  She made herself walk, not run, heading back toward the old man. Glancing over her shoulder for one last look at the burial ground, she hit something hard. Two hands caught her arms in a firm grip, steadying her, and the scent of an aroused male assailed her nostrils. She recognized him instantly. Ottila Zorba, one of the rogue leopards, and he was looking at her with a leopard's focused gaze--as prey. He stared down at her without smiling and slowly, almost reluctantly, released her.