It was almost impossible to keep track of where the guard—he’d said his name was Santino—was leading her. She passed archway after archway, some fitted with doors, some open and leading to different areas of her uncle’s property. It was surprisingly empty, but she could hear distant voices and laughter, growing louder the longer they walked.

The shade was blissful. In some of the passages they walked through, misters filled the air with a dewy breeze that she inhaled happily after the long, dusty ride here.

Santino hurried forward, shifting his assault rifle aside as he pushed open a door. It was as large and heavy as the rest, turning on a pivot. Beyond, lay an entertainment area replete with pool table, a jukebox in one corner, what looked like a DJ stand to the other, a dance floor, and a few cocktail tables. A small club, nestled inside this village of a house. Palm trees in pots were placed strategically across the room, lending a tropical air to the place.

The entire opposite wall from where Cora stood comprised of glass walls and a big sliding door. Closed, presumably, to prevent the hot, dry air from outside spilling into this cool, air-conditioned sanctuary.

“¿Princesa?” Santino murmured, and she realized she’d been staring. Not at this room, and the wealth that seemed to ooze from the mahogany inlaid pool table and what had to be a state-of-the-art DJ booth, but at the scene outside.

A pool. Not round or rectangular or square. Oh no. That would have been too cheap. The swimming pool looked like a sculpture. It had different levels, and waterfalls, and small oases dotting the interconnected pools.

She suddenly felt dirty and greasy—her cheap, stolen clothes too stained and ragged for this place.

There were footsteps behind her. Finn. Lars. Maybe Miguel. Santino’s breezy wave drew her down the steps into the entertainment area.

The main pool, large enough for one lap to be pretty exhausting. The volleyball game churned the midday sun into slivers of diamond on the water’s choppy surface. A net had been strung across the coruscating water, and on either side a four-man team battled through the water to keep a bright yellow ball from touching the surface.

Most were men, but a pair of women—one on each side—graced those waters too. Dressed in tiny bikinis, one black, one white, as if they were pieces in a chess game.

More people were scattered about the pool. Some in loungers, others sitting at a bar, more yet on the perimeter with AK47s, black clothes, and grim expressions behind their anonymous sunglasses.

“Elle!” a voice boomed.

She jerked, and turned toward the sound.

A man sauntered toward her, dripping wet. He tossed silver-streaked black hair from his eyes, and gave her a broad smile that showed almost all of his brilliantly white teeth.

“Tío!” she said with a grin.

It had been a long time since she’d seen more than just a glimpse of Javier Martin. When he visited Swan Manor, he would disappear into her father’s study as soon as he arrived. Most of the time, he’d still be in there when Bailey ushered her to bed, and would be gone in the morning when she woke. He’d aged, but not drastically. The crow’s feet at the corner of his dark eyes were deeper, as were his laugh lines. He wore only swimming trunks—red and emblazoned with palm trees—so it was clear to see that his body was far from sagging or wasted. No wonder his nickname was ‘The Handsome’. And it went a long way to explaining how every woman’s eyes followed him as religiously as they would a priest strutting on the podium in a church.

She expected him to stop, perhaps hold out a hand. But he crashed into her, gripping her so fiercely that her breath left her in a whoosh. Instinctively, she brought her hands up and grabbed his shoulders from behind, more to keep her balance than to return the bear hug. But he tightened his grip, crushing her, and then held her at arm’s length. Dark, pupil-less eyes studied her as his smile slowly faded.

“I am so sorry about your father,” Javier murmured. He delivered those perfectly enunciated syllables in a voice thick with accent.

“Gracias,” she said quietly.

The corners of his mouth turned down, a deep frown line appearing between his thick brows. “I only wish there’d been more I could have done to protect him.”

She stared up at Javier, giving her head a mute shake. He took a step back, his hands sliding down her arms and clutching her wrists. Drawing them up as he washed his gaze down her.

“You have grown into such a beautiful young woman.” But then his eyes darted up to her hair, and his mouth went thin. “Was your journey rough?”

Cora snatched her wrists free of Javier and smoothed down her unruly hair. She hadn’t had a chance to brush it today—it probably looked like a bird’s nest.

She turned, waving a hand at Finn and Lars. “Tío, this is—”

“Yes, I know.” His voice dropped several octaves. He used his arm to move her aside—gently but insistently—and came to stand in front of Finn and Lars. Both men had a few inches on him, but he stared them down as if they were kneeling at his feet.

Lars shifted, giving Cora a frown over Javier’s shoulder. Finn stared back at Javier as non-plussed as she’d ever seen him.

“Mr. Finn.” Javier turned slightly toward Lars. “But you…I don’t know you.” A hush fell over the assembled crowd. It made Cora’s skin writhe. Her fingers strayed to the small of her back, but then she forced herself to hook her thumbs into her empty belt loops.

“Mr. Eklund,” Lars said reluctantly. Then he jabbed a thumb towards Finn. “I’m with him.”

Javier held out his arms. “I owe you a debt of gratitude,” he said. And then beckoned with his fingertips as if expecting both of them to come in for a hug. He had several gaudy rings on his fingers; some flashed red, others blue. Rubies and sapphires. Somehow those precious stones outshone the diamonds that encircled them. But not the diamond studs, one in each ear, tiny but glittering so brilliantly they had to be at least a carat each.

“Just doing our job,” Lars muttered, taking a step back as if worried that Javier would dart out and force him into a hug like he had done Cora.

Finn stayed where he was, but he lifted up a hand—palm facing her uncle—as if warding off the man’s affection.

Javier dropped his arms. The look he gave Cora was slightly disappointed, but then he ran his eyes over her again and widened them abruptly.

“Mi reinita, you’re soaked!” He laughed, tugging at the band of his swimming trunks and letting it snap back with a wet slap. “I did this to you. I am so sorry.”

He lifted a hand and snapped his fingers. One of the women playing volleyball climbed out of the pool and padded over to them. She ran her eyes over Finn and Lars, gave Javier a deep smile, and then held out her hands to Cora.

“Eleodora. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

Cora took her hand, and the woman shook it softly. Her hands were like cold silk, and she gave a light squeeze before letting go.

“This is Ana.” Javier slid an arm over the brunette’s shoulder. She had the shape of a model, slim and tall with big breasts that her tiny bikini barely contained. The smile she gave Javier brimmed with affection. “Show her to her room.” Javier turned to Cora. “You must want to freshen up after your trip. Dinner is in two hours.” He gestured at the villa, the vast property stretching out on the horizon. “I wish we didn’t have to resort to living in the middle of nowhere, but then I would have to put my PhD to use.”

This got a laugh from the few men nearby, and Javier half-turned to them to share in a round of quiet chuckles. Then he turned back to her, his expression solemn, and drew her into another hard hug.

With his ear close to her mouth, both hands on the back of her head, he whispered, “You’re safe now, mi reinita. Go rest your weary wings.”

Finn watched the woman in the white bikini lead Cora away and shifted his weight when Javier turned back to them. The man’s seemingly permanent smile evaporated. Javier gave him and Lars another long stare, and then his eyes flicked to Miguel, who’d come to stand a yard or so behind them.

“Where is he?” Javier asked, in a voice that could have grated steel.

“In the cells, jefe,” Miguel replied without hesitation. “You go see?”

“’Do you want to go and see,’” Javier corrected absently, as his eyes flashed back to Finn and Lars. “The trip must have been just as tiring for the both of you. I insist you stay for dinner.”

“Thanks,” Lars began, “but we’ve—”

“We’d love to,” Finn cut in.

Lars groaned.

“Wonderful!” Javier grinned wide. “I have more than enough room. You will stay for the night.”

“The night?” Lars stepped forward. “Listen, Mr. Martin—”

“Please!” Javier waved a hand at Lars. One of his rubies caught the light with a color eerily reminiscent of fresh blood. “Javier. Call me Javier.”

“Javier,” Lars said through his teeth. “Not to be rude, but—”

“We would have to leave first thing in the morning,” Finn said. This time, he caught Lars pressing his lips into a line from the corner of his eyes.

“Of course,” Lars muttered, just loud enough for Finn to hear. “Fucking first thing.”

“Wonderful,” Javier said again. He lifted one hand high and flicked his fingers. The woman who’d been playing volleyball opposite Ana, her bikini black but as scanty as Ana’s, got out of the pool with more than a handful of eyes staring after her.

The Latino woman paused to pick up a towel, and dabbed at her wet body as she came up to them. Her eyes remained fixed on Javier as she let out a sulky, “¿Qué?”

“Silvia will take you to your rooms. You ask anything of her, and she will provide.” Javier waved at the woman, and then nudged her with his fingers in the small of her back. “Irse,” he murmured, a light of annoyance touching his eyes.

“Estamos jugando,” the woman replied, pointing back to the pool.

There was a moment’s stiff silence before the woman dropped her eyes and turned to face him and Lars. “Follow,” she snapped. “Estamos perdiendo de todos modos,” she muttered under breath as she led him and Lars away.

Finn looked back at Javier. The man stared after him and Lars, both hands on his still wet hips, a considering frown knotting his eyebrows. Then, as if he’d been under a spell, his expression cleared and that wide smile came back abruptly. He turned, bellowed something in Spanish, and waded back into the swimming pool, tossing hair from his eyes as he came up from an impromptu dive.

As soon as the cool darkness of the entertainment room closed over them, Lars touched Finn’s elbow. Silvia walked on ahead, not noticing they’d fallen back a few feet.

“Dinner? Rooms?” Lars muttered. “When did this gig turn into a stint at the fucking Capo Four Seasons?”

“I want to make sure Cora’s—”

“If you say safe one more time,” Lars cut in, lifting a warning finger. “Fuck it, Milo, did you count the number of armed men between here and the fucking door?”

“Seventeen.”

“I stopped at twenty. Even an average between the two is more protection than any one person needs.”

Finn stared at Silvia’s back as if he could see through her. Lars was right, of course. Was the man ever wrong? But there was something in Javier’s eyes, the man’s quicksilver expressions. He sensed a volatility to him, especially when Silvia had seemed unwilling to take him and Lars away from the pool.

And where had Cora been ushered to? She’d seemed happy enough to go, but what if—

“Silvia!”

The woman had just cleared the staircase she’d led them up. Ahead stretched a corridor open to the emerald rectangle of a garden filled with trees and flowers and statues. She gave him and Lars a bored look, and then an annoyed shrug. “¿Qué?”

“Where is Cora?”

“¿Qué?” This time with a crooked eyebrow.

“Eleodora,” Lars said.

Another shrug. Then the woman gestured vaguely to the right and began walking down the corridor. “Bedroom.”

“Take us there,” Finn said.

Silvia shook her head, and then gave a surprised laugh. “No.” She stopped beside a door, keyed in a code, and opened it. She waved a hand inside, sarcastically gracious, when neither of them moved. “Snap, snap.” She clicked her fingers.

Lars murmured, “Chop, chop,” at her as he passed, and gave Finn a meaningful look on his way inside.

Silvia led Finn one door down, entered another code, and gave him the same sarcastic wave. “Señor,” she said dryly to him as he passed her.

“What’s the code?”

She shrugged at him, sticking out a hand and fanning her fingers as if she was worried they’d chipped during the strenuous trip upstairs. “It open now.”

“And if I want to close it?”

She shrugged, twiddled her fingers at him, and said “You safe here.”

“What about privacy?”

Silvia rolled her eyes at him before she sashayed away down the corridor, humming to herself and running her fingertips along the banister as she headed back to the staircase.