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.”