“Why did you want me to find the bodies instead of just telling the cops your suspicions?” Isabeau asked. “Perhaps you could have stopped him sooner.”

Alberto shook his head, the picture of sorrow and guilt. “I could not. I couldn’t take a chance on our family name being involved in any way. You understand with your family.”

She frowned at him. “It was pretty ugly to make that kind of discovery.”

“I know. I’m sincerely sorry.”

If she hadn’t been leopard, she would have believed him. He was one of the best actors she’d ever run across. He delivered his lines with absolute sincerity and looked so sad and guilty she had the urge to reassure him even though she knew he was lying. She sighed. “What else can I do but forgive you? At least he’s been discovered, although what a horrible way to die.”

“Thinking of all those young girls and their families,” Alberto said, “I can’t say I’m surprised. And all the times he went out with Imelda . . .” He shuddered. “It could have happened to her.”

Isabeau found she couldn’t speak, so simply nodded, trying to look understanding. She suddenly realized why the old man had taken such an interest in her. She was their leverage, their hostage. She had been a hostage at the party and she was now. They hadn’t been able to keep Elijah from sending a bodyguard with her this time, but she was, in effect, the Cortez’s prisoner. They could kill her at any time if Elijah or Marcos made a hostile move.

She had to assume that not only Harry was armed, but Alberto as well and that both were ready to kill her at a moment’s notice. Was Conner close enough to stop them? Did he know? He was making them believe he thought any threat might come from an outside source, not them. Harry had backed away from Ottila the other night because he knew just how dangerous the man really was. He knew the truth, just as Imelda did—that Ottila and Suma were leopards. Imelda had shared her knowledge with her grandfather and his trusted bodyguard.

Alberto waved toward a looping path. “Harry, this way, I want to show Isabeau my favorite spot.”

“If you don’t mind, Alberto,” Isabeau said, “it’s getting difficult for me to walk. I thought we could take a look at the greenhouse and get off the uneven surface. Besides, I’d love to see the size of your vegetables if you’re using this soil.”

Alberto smiled at her. “I shouldn’t have even considered you coming out to the garden. I just wanted to show it to someone who would really appreciate it. We can go sit on the verandah and visit. The greenhouse has recently been sprayed and no one can go in for twenty-four hours.”