“I thought we were having a friendly conversation,” Elijah said. “Marcos assured me of that.”

Comprehension dawned. Imelda had been the one to suggest to Philip that he take advantage of his sexual hobby and make his servants available to his wealthier and diplomatic “friends.” Videotaping indiscretions, especially any fetishes or sadistic traits, made for instant obedience. Money and favors poured in. Fury burned through her. She spun around on Philip.

“How dare you!” There could be no mistake that she didn’t know he was taping their conversations. Imelda had her own sexual excesses. Whipping a man or woman and watching their skin stripe while they screamed in pain was such a turn-on, and she could rarely refuse herself the pleasure, especially if she was sharing it with someone who appreciated the sight, such as Philip. He was a connoisseur of torture.

He backed away from her. “Imelda. You know I wouldn’t.”

She looked from him to Conner’s implacable mask. Who to believe? Would Philip really be that stupid as to risk everything they had together? She fed him clients. She shared his sexual proclivities. He was terrified of her with good reason. “Show me,” she challenged Conner.

He didn’t obey her command. Instead he looked at Marcos, who nodded. That put her on edge. This was her territory and between Philip and Martin Suma, her head of security, she looked weak. Damn them for this. She needed someone like Conner running her security.

Conner indicated for Philip to lead the way back into the room. Philip glanced at his watch. “I have guests. If you want to tear apart the room looking for nonexistent equipment, you’re welcome to do so, but without me.”

“Philip,” Imelda hissed between her clenched teeth. “Get in that room.” She wanted to kill him on the spot. Where the hell was Martin? Or Ottila? Damn them as well. She glared at her lone bodyguard. “Get them here now,” she snapped.

Philip reluctantly went into the room, aware that Imelda would be furious when she found out what he’d done. He didn’t understand how the security guard had known. There was no evidence, there couldn’t be. So how? He despised Marco’s personal protector. Smug bastard. Imelda was already drooling over him like the bitch she was. He stepped back to watch the man play out his little drama. There was no way he could really know. But uneasiness had set in. Even if the man wasn’t able to prove it, the seed of doubt had been sown in Imelda. And that meant he’d have to leave fast. He’d built up millions. He was prepared, but this place had been perfect for a man like him.