The woman’s eyes flickered with brief scorn. Both Luke and themarquéssaw it.
“Ah,” Isabella said. “So you arranged for her to die in your place. Very clever.”
“Rosa.” There was a world of horror in themarqués’svoice.
“See, he knows it now, so you might as well admit it: you are La Cuchilla.”
There was a long silence. Isabella pressed the knife deeper, and the woman hissed, “Yes, yes, very well, yes. But it was a long time ago.”
Themarqués’s breath gushed out. Luke released him, and themarquéssagged onto a chair, looking suddenly old.
“Raul,” themarquésapleaded. “It makes no difference to you and me. We all did things in the war that we want to forget. Raul?”
He stared at her a long time. Then he said, “I married La Cuchilla,” in the oldest, weariest voice. He buried his head into his hands.
“Raul, please…” He didn’t move, and themarquésaknew she’d lost him. Lost everything. Her claws rose. Isabella moved the knife. Bright beads of blood appeared in a line across the pale cheek. Her eyes glittered hatred and she hissed with fury, but she did not move.
“You tortured my husband?”
“Yes.”
“And his friend. You murdered his friend.”
She snorted. “Michael? He was no loss to the world.”
“He was a loss to his family and friends.”
The woman looked at Luke and said deliberately,“Michael was a nuisance. A dead bore.”
It was an odd thing to say. Bella glanced at Luke. His face was stark and drawn, his fists clenched.
“Why do you say that?” Bella asked.
Silence.
“Was it because Michael gave you the information?”
The woman’s lush lips thinned in a sneer. “Every detail.”
“Is that why you murdered him?”
“No, I cut his throat to stop his whining,” La Cuchilla said coldly. “I despise weaklings.”
“Did my husband give you any information?”
“No. That one took twice the punishment and saidnothing.”
“And that is why you left him alive?”
She gave an infinitesimal shrug of her elegant shoulders. “He was beautiful and brave—a worthy enemy. Why would I kill him?”
“Why would you carve that, thatthinginto his flesh?”
“My pretty rose?” La Cuchilla smiled. “A whim. A little something to remember me by.”
A whim?To painfully brand a young man with a mark that she knew would shame him for the rest of his life? Luke would have seen it every day of his life since, a reminder that he had betrayed—or believed he had betrayed—his country and his friend.
It was pure, cold-blooded evil. Bella’s hand shook visibly with the desire to plunge the knife into the woman’s black heart.
