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.

Conner ran his hand, palm out along the wall, his expression still unchanged. If Imelda didn’t know that the conversations in the room were taped, and he was certain she didn’t know, he hadn’t smelled a lie, then that meant her rogues hadn’t told her. Why not? Why hadn’t her leopards warned her? They had to have heard the click as the recorders came on at the sound of voices. There was a faint hum as the conversation was recorded. What were the leopards up to? And why weren’t they protecting her now? They had to have known the recorder would be discovered.

Isabeau. His stomach knotted. Were they after Isabeau? She hadn’t pressed the little panic button built into her watch yet. He snapped a quick commanding look at Elijah, uncaring in that moment if the others caught it.

Elijah waited a heartbeat. Two. He turned and looked toward the door rather casually and then down to his watch. “My cousin has been gone a long while.”

“Your cousin?” Imelda echoed as if she’d forgotten Isabeau.

Conner realized she probably had. She didn’t notice anything or anyone unless it pertained directly to her. Her world was very narrow and self-involved.

“I want her found now,” Elijah snapped at Felipe.

Felipe turned abruptly on his heel and left.

Imelda sighed. “This is insane. The girl is in no danger and there is no one recording our conversations. She’s with my grandfather. He’ll see that no harm comes to her.”

Conner smashed his fist through the paneling, not bothering to find the hidden switch to reveal the audio equipment. It was much more satisfying and dramatic to rip through the flawless wall.

Imelda gasped and spun around to glare accusingly at Philip. “You treacherous worm,” she snapped. “Just who were you planning on giving the tapes to? The police?”

“I imagine you have the police firmly in your pocket,” Marcos said and sank into a chair, pulling a cigar from his pocket. “Do you mind, Imelda?”

She drew in a deep breath and forced herself back under control. “No, of course not, Marcos. Be my guest.” She said it deliberately. There was no escape for Philip. He was a dead man already and he had to know it. He might be foolish enough to try to get his security force to go to war with hers, but he had amateurs for guards. Her men were combat trained. And she had the leopards. No one else had the leopards . . . unless . . . She really looked at Conner, speculation in her shrewd eyes.

Conner met her stare with burning golden eyes, leopard’s eyes. He watched her gasp and then try to cover her pleased knowledge. He knew her brain was racing, trying to decide about the others. They had similar builds. They all carried that magnetic aura of danger. And she probably thought there was some kind of hierarchy in the leopard species and he was somehow superior to Martin.

Try loyalty. He felt contempt for a woman who wouldn’t recognize that if a leopard was willing to betray his own people, he would be willing to betray his employer twice as fast. She should know that.

“Philip, do sit down,” she snapped, tearing her gaze away from Conner. “You’re not going anywhere until we sort this out.”

“I had no idea that recorder was there,” Philip whined. “Do you think I have a death wish? I sit in here and talk with you. Anything that condemns you, condemns me. You have more on me than any other living person on earth. What would be the point, Imelda? Someone set me up.”

He was lying—he knew about the tape, but the setup was a possibility. If he hadn’t thought of it on his own, and he was right, what would be the point, then someone else had persuaded him to tape the conversations. The police? Was someone not already in Imelda’s pocket secretly investigating her? Conner turned the possibility over in his mind. Not likely. She had too many officials on her payroll and she would have gotten wind of it. No, it was someone else.

“Someone set me up,” Imelda mimicked. “Do you expect me to believe that, Philip?” Now that she knew Marcos and Elijah believed she was innocent, she could enjoy watching Philip squirm. He loved controlling others. He loved watching them beg him, try to please him, crawl to him and kiss his feet while he held pain and death over them. She’d watched him kill numerous times. Once he’d acted so lovingly to a woman after marking her viciously with the whip that she’d believed his act, all the way to the moment that he’d cut her throat while he ejaculated in her. The woman’s eyes had stayed on her the entire time and it had been . . . delicious . . . watching her die.