“Teresa!” Philip roared, his fist missing Isabeau by a mere inch as it shot toward the woman’s horrified face.

The crack of flesh hitting flesh was loud. All conversation ceased and the room went eerily quiet. Conner stood in front of the woman, Philip’s hand in his fist. No one had seen him move. He looked hard. Dangerous. His golden eyes burned into the smaller man.

“Perhaps you didn’t notice, but you bumped the woman and knocked her into Mr. Lospostos.” His voice was so quiet, Isabeau doubted anyone other than their small group could hear his words. “And you nearly struck Miss Chandler.”

Philip Sobre looked murderous and then the dark promise was gone from his eyes and he was smiling. “I guess I didn’t.”

Conner let go of Philip’s fist, his arm dropping back to his side. Isabeau knew the cameras had recorded every moment and Imelda would be intrigued with that interesting move on the bodyguard’s part. He’d stood up for a servant. And he’d moved so fast he’d be a blur on the camera. She’d be more than intrigued. She’d want to get up close to such a daring, dangerous man. Not once had he looked at Philip’s bodyguards, as if they were beneath his notice and no threat to him.

Isabeau’s heart began to pound, and she could taste fear in her mouth. Conner was setting himself up, and these people were all killers. She even suspected the weasel Philip—who was smooth and charming all over again and ordering his servers to help Teresa clean up the mess—of being a killer. He appeared to ignore Conner, but she saw him glance several times toward the shadowed wall where Conner had once more disappeared.

If Adan had known about Sobre, he would never have allowed her to talk him into bringing in a team to kidnap back the children. So how had Conner gotten his information, because they definitely knew something was wrong with the chief of tourism and had come prepared. What other sources did they have?

“Come with me, Isabeau, while I get a clean shirt,” Elijah commanded. With another smoldering look at Philip, he took her arm and walked her toward the entrance. “You’re biting your lip.”

“Am I?” She felt like she could breathe again, out of the presence of the chief of tourism and his penchant for hurting others.

“You do that when you’re upset.”

“How did you know about Sobre? He’s a sadist, isn’t he?”

“He’s a killer. He likes to hurt people. He gets off on it. Men and women both from what I understand and he’s got a perfect partner in Imelda. She shares his dirty little secret, in fact, she encourages it. As long as he kills his victims, she can control him.”

“They sound like a perfect couple.”