The scent of blood and death filled the room now, wiping away the sweet scent of sex and fear.
“Deke, get her on a plane,” Ian told him quietly. “I want her safe.” He wiped his hand over his face, suddenly aching as he stared at the mess Diego had made of Liss.
Ian had had no intention of hurting her. Frightening her, yes, convincing her to give him information, definitely. But God help him, he would never have hurt her.
“Should we have her interrogated?” Deke’s voice was just as quiet.
“On the plane.” Ian nodded. “I want her flying out of here to a safe house within the hour.”
The Cessna waited on a private airfield outside Palm Beach, just in case it was needed, the pilot on twenty-four-hour call.
“Come on, Eleanor.” Deke wrapped his arms around her and helped her from the bed. “Let’s get you dressed. Get you out of here.”
She stared at Ian, shell-shocked, desperate. “Don’t kill me, Ian, please.” Tears fell down her cheeks as her reddened lips trembled. “I am so sorry.” She held on to Deke’s arms as though terrified Ian would jerk her from the suddenly gentle embrace.
“I’m not going to kill you, Eleanor. Go with Deke. Let him take care of you.” Ian’s gaze moved back to Liss. “Have Liss buried. Quietly. Get this taken care of.” He turned and stared at Liss’s blank expression. “Son of a bitch, some days it doesn’t pay me to wake up in the morning.”
“You’d have to sleep first, boss,” Deke murmured as he helped Eleanor dress.
“Shut the fuck up, Deke,” Ian snarled.
He left the room, his gun still clasped in his hand, and headed through the villa to the one place where he knew he could find Diego at this time of the day. Nothing turned that bastard off his food. The son of a bitch could murder a woman and sit down to breakfast as though he were royalty five minutes later. And that was exactly where he was. At the breakfast table, a cup of coffee and a plate of fruits and sweets in front of him, his assistant Saul sitting across from him.
Before Ian realized his intentions, his hands were on the older man’s silk shirt, clenching the fabric in his hands as he jerked Diego from his chair and threw him against the wall.
Shocked, wide black eyes met Ian’s, then narrowed in fury. But no anger Diego could have been feeling could possibly come close to the rage building in Ian’s gut now. The remembered sight of Liss, slumped back, her brains splattered on the wall behind her, sickening him.
“Ever. Ever. Fuck me over that way again, and I walk. Do you understand me?” He was in Diego’s face, nose to nose, a killing rage pumping through him.
“She betrayed me,” Diego snarled.
“You stupid fucking bastard, she had information,” Ian rasped, murderous fury burning in his gut. “Information I needed. Do you understand me?” He threw his father away from him, his fists clenching, the need to do something, anything, raging through him. Damn Diego. Liss had been a fucking child. An easy-to-use, impressionable, filled-with-anger young woman who didn’t know shit about this world. And Diego had just killed her. Without a second thought. Without questions.
“Fuck it,” he muttered. “I’m out of here.”
“You would leave Sorrell to destroy us all?” Diego moved to place himself in front of Ian, his expression knowing, cold. “What of all your justice and belief in freedom,” he sneered. “I move to defend you and you whine over blood spilled. What will you do when Sorrell achieves his objective to strike at your precious country?”
Ice was forming in Ian’s soul now. This man, this fucking monster, was his father. A man who had just killed a fucking nineteen-year-old girl as though she were a diseased animal rather than a beautiful, vibrant young woman.
And he couldn’t walk away. No matter how much he wanted to, no matter how badly he wanted away from the blood and death, he couldn’t walk away. Not yet.
Ian clenched his teeth. His fingers tightened on the grip of the gun as a grimace contorted his features. “Stay the fuck out of this, Diego. Stay out. Or I walk.”
He moved away from Diego, stalking out of the breakfast room.
Deke moved into the foyer, his expression somber as he gave Ian a short nod. Ian breathed in a heavy breath. Eleanor was in safe hands and being escorted to the plane by the same hands that would bury Liss’s body. The only other agent Ian had been able to get into the Fuentes home would take care of her.
Stepping into the bright sunlight, Ian drew in a deep, cleansing breath, and swung his gaze to Kira’s villa. God, he wished he had stayed in the bed with her. Wished he were wrapped around her lithe, softly scented body, holding her warmth close to him. And it was the worst thing he could wish for. He was the most dangerous thing she could have right now. And she was the one thing he couldn’t allow himself.
DIEGO BREATHED A SIGH OF relief as the doors slammed behind Ian, leaving him and Saul alone in the breakfast room, the ramifications of his actions slamming into his brain.
He turned to Saul, his fists clenching, his muscles trembling, from the fear and fury inside his soul.
“A mistake,” he whispered. “That was a horrible mistake I made.”
“You must think first, Diego.” Saul’s face was pale as well. “You walk a very fine line with your son. Our rules that we see as so simple are not so simple to him.”
Diego wiped his hand over his face and slumped in his chair once more, the food before him suddenly unappetizing.
“He would not have done it,” he whispered. “My son, he would not have eliminated that threat.”
“And had we heeded his warnings about the servants, then it would not have been necessary,” Saul reminded him gently.
“I will make it up to him.” He pushed his fingers through his hair, his chest aching, his heart heavy as he remembered the pure, unadulterated hatred that had glowed in his son’s eyes. “How can I make this up to him, Saul?”
“Follow his wishes.” Saul was shaken as well. “We will do as he says, yes, Diego?”
Diego stared back at him, agonized when a sad smile suddenly shaped his lips.
“Do you know, Diego, who your boy reminds me of?”
He shook his head, uncertain about the flash of affection in Saul’s eyes. That old man cared for few people.
“Your father,” he said gently. “A young, proud, hot-blooded Aquiles Fuentes. This is who he reminds me of.”