“I’ve brought a personal friend along with me, Elijah Lospostos. I trust my secretary sent you a note, as I was already en route when I realized he was in your country. He is in the country to visit his cousin who resides here. She’s with us as well—Isabeau Chandler,” Marcos said. “If they’re not welcome, we can meet another time.” His tone was casual as only an extremely wealthy businessman used to getting his way could have been. “Elijah has his own security with him. One of his personal protectors is my own nephew. Elijah is like a son to me, as is my nephew.” He half turned as if he might leave.

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.