Saria's eyes met his. "Mahieu's all right?" She couldn't hide the question in her voice, or the sudden fear streaking across her transparent face, nor did she ask why he wanted the photographs of dead bodies.
Charisse gulped, her eyes widening until they looked like two drenched pansies pressed into her face. "Of course he's all right. Why wouldn't he be all right?" He saw her intelligence then, the quick mind fitting pieces of a puzzle together. "What's goin' on? Tell me right now if it has somethin' to do with Mahieu."
The crybaby was gone. In her place was a thinking, sharp woman. She bruI did away the tears and looked him right in the eye. "Tell me."
"What do you know about opium?" Drake asked, his voice quiet.
Saria had leapt to her feet, but she paused, turning back toward them. Charisse blinked. Frowned. Her gaze never left Drake's. She leaned toward him. "Quite a lot, actually. I study plants, but what would that have to do with Mahieu?"
Her voice was quite steady. Almost a challenge. As if he dared accuse Mahieu of anything and she might leap forward and claw out his eyes.
"Where are the soaps made for your company?"
Charisse frowned. "In New Orleans. We have a factory right there."
"Do you ever go there?"
"No. I have nothing to do with production. I work in my own laboratory developin' scents. What does this have to do with Mahieu--or opium?"
"Do you, personally, grow your plants?"
"In the greenhouse only. I experiment with developin' different hybrids for scents there."
"And the gardens in the swamp?"
"We have workers for that."
"Who? Specifically?"
Charisse frowned. "I don't know. We have a foreman. I don't talk to him myself. Armande or my mother handles that. I have enough to do in the laboratory. In any case, I never go out in the swamp. Sometimes I meet Saria at the picnic area and . . ." Her gaze darted to Saria. "And Evangeline meets me there."
"But never men."
"In the swamp?" Charisse's horror was genuine. She looked down at her clothes and gave a delicate shudder. "Never."
"What about when you allow your leopard out?"
She flushed a deep red. "She's never come out. That's why my mother said I was useless. Armande has a leopard, but mine has never emerged. I tried to tell my mother she was there inside of me, but my mother is embarrassed and humiliated that I can't shift. She says I'm a disgrace." Charisse gave a little sniff.
"Charisse! Focus on what's important here," Drake commanded. If she was telling the truth, and her voice held a ring of truth, then she couldn't possibly be the killer. The serial killer delivered death with the suffocating bite of a leopard. "I can assure you that your mother's opinion of you isn't worth shit. Saria, call your brother and get that team out into the Marsh."
"Mahieu?" Saria's voice was steady.
"The team may just save his life. Get moving."
Saria nodded and picked up the phone.
"Are you goin' to tell me what all these questions are for? This sounds like an interrogation."
"Believe me, Charisse. If I have to interrogate you, I won't be so fucking gentle," Drake snapped. "Someone is using your soaps to ship opium out of the country. They also have at least one local connection they supply, but more likely there are more."
Charisse sat up straight, her face going pale. "That's impossible. You're crazy. Our business is family owned and completely legitimate. I can't believe you would make such an accusation. Saria! Did you hear him?"
Saria put down the phone after talking to her brother and turned back to Charisse, leaning one hip against the table. "I heard him. I led his men through the swamp the other night, running to catch up with a boat. The Mercier boat, and they docked at your dock, Charisse. The Tregre brothers had delivered a shipment of soap in the middle of the night."
"No. No way." Charisse shook her head. "The Tregres have worked for our family for a long time. They work out of New Orleans and take the shipment to the docks, where they are inspected carefully. If there were drugs, the dogs would pick up the sce . . ." She trailed off, her face going dead white.
There was no way she could fake the color of her skin. Her brain was working things out, seeing possibilities and putting the pieces together, but Drake might have to concede he was way off-base looking at Charisse and that would mean that niggling suspicion was growing into a major scare. Because if he was right, Mahieu Boudreaux might already be dead.
"That's right, Charisse. You're the genius with scent, aren't you," Drake pressed her. He leaned close and looked her right in the eye, forcing her to lock gazes with him. "Tell us about the scent that inhibits others, even leopards, from tracking by scent."
Charisse shook her head, her fingers twisting tightly together until her knuckles were white. "You have it all wrong, Drake. Saria . . ."
She tried to turn her head, tried to escape the evertightening noose, but Drake refused to let her off the hook. "Damn you, don't look at Saria. She can't help you. Did you or did you not, develop something that inhibits the ability to smell, or perhaps deadens every scent gland?" he snapped.
Charisse drew herself up abruptly, her childlike expression going cool. "I don't have to stay here and listen to these accusations. I think the next time you talk to me, I'll have a lawyer present." She started to rise.
His low growl of pure menace rumbled through the cabin, stopping her. "Sit down," he snapped, his eyes going pure gold. "You're leopard, Charisse. You belong to a lair. I am the leader of that lair and as such, I am the only judge and jury and executioner that you or your family will ever have. There is a death sentence hanging over your head and as much as it would pain Saria, I will destroy your entire family for the preservation and good of the lair."
He raised his voice. "Look at me, not Saria. She can't save you. You need to convince me you have nothing to do with this mess, and right now, honey, it isn't looking all that good for you."
Charisse's hand went defensively to her throat. There was no getting around the ring of truth in Drake's voice. He heard Saria make a small, protesting sound, but he didn't look at her. She was going to be his wife. She needed to see the reality of what their life was like. Amos Jeanmard should have been cleaning up his lair years earlier. Regardless, it was all there in this dying lair, the depravity, the sickness and the greed for power and money. If he had to kill this woman, he would do so and without hesitation.
"It's not what you think. Yes. I experiment all the time with scents and the by-product of this very new scent I was workin' on turned out to have an unusual, very unique aspect to it."
Her voice changed completely again, Drake noted, suddenly animated, her eyes bright with eagerness. For the first time he felt he was looking at the real Charisse Mercier.
"I'd never seen anything like it. Not only was there no scent, but it consumed every other scent around it. Can you imagine the uses? I haven't perfected it yet, but I think it will be amazin'. Think of all the people with allergies to scents and that's just one use. I've been experimentin' with ingestin' it. That seems to yield the best results, but I have to study side effects."
"Charisse." Drake needed to bring her back to the reality of what was going on. Her brain had flipped a switch to pure scientist and she was no longer talking to him, rather talking aloud to herself to find a solution for some problem she'd obviously encountered. "Who else knows about this scent-masking product you've discovered?"
She frowned at him. "No one. What I'm doin' in the lab stays there until I have it ready to be tested and I register it."
"Not your brother? Your mother? You don't confide in them when you make a discovery?" he prompted, managing to keep from shaking her.
She licked her lips and her gaze slid away from his. "No."
He leapt to his feet, his leopard so close to the surface neither woman could fail to see him. Glittering eyes fixed and dilated, a predator's stare locked onto prey. He towered over Charisse. "Don't you fucking
lie to me. Do you think this is some kind of a game? I'm commanding you to tell the truth, as leader of this lair. You're not protecting anyone by not telling me, you're simply getting yourself into hot water."
Saria surprised--even shocked--him by not leaping forward to try to protect Charisse. He glimpsed her pale face and tight fists out of the corner of his eye, but she didn't say a word or make a move. He knew how difficult it had to be for her not to defend or try to protect her friend. She believed in Charisse, but maybe, like Drake, a building dread and worry for Mahieu was drowning out all reason, because he was damned sure, Saria's brother was in trouble.
Charisse trembled visibly. "If I tell you, you'll think my brother is guilty of all this. The opium, whatever else is wrong, but he would never, never betray me or our family. Armande is vain and sometimes selfish, but he isn't a drug dealer. You don't know him. He wouldn't ever do something like that."
"Just like he wouldn't hunt Saria through the swamp with a gun?" Drake spat out.
"Okay. Okay, I can see why that would make him look guilty to you. It was a terrible mistake. A misjudgment. He has a very bad temper, I'll admit that and he lets Robert talk him into things. Most women fawn all over him. He's handsome and charmin' and used to gettin' his way in all things. He's mama's golden boy, yet he still lives in hell. You have no idea what it's like to grow up with her."
Charisse clapped her hand over her mouth and her expression once more became that of a child's. Drake nearly groaned. Charisse had obviously been taught to keep all family secrets and j that small admission was a terrible sin.
"You're not going to hell for telling the truth," Drake pointed out. "I don't have all day, Charisse, and Remy will be walking through that door any minute. If he thinks Mahieu is in danger, he won't be nearly as gentle as I've been."
"I don't understand," Charisse wailed again. "What does Armande have to do with Mahieu's disappearance?"
"Did you tell him about the nonscent you were developing?" Drake roared.
"Of course I did, he's my brother and he fronts our business. Whenever I have a breakthough that may make us a great deal of money, of course I share it with him."
"Anyone else?" When she shook her head, he persisted. "Your mother?"
"My mother isn't in the least bit interested in anything I say or do. She could care less about any of my discoveries. Was she in the room when I told Armande? Possibly. We often talk in the evenin' when we're together, but I can't remember exactly when I told him about it."
"Is Armande your half-brother? Is he Buford Tregre's son?" Drake watched Charisse closely for the answer. She would know by scent, even if no one else could detect it.
She looked more shocked than ever. "No. Armande isn't his son." She looked down at her hands. "I know Mama was sleepin' with Buford, and he often beat her, but she always went back to him. But I know he's my full brother. He smelled just like daddy."
"And the flower? The Leopard's Lover flower?"
Charisse flinched. Her eyes went wide and her mouth opened in a perfect round O. "How do you know about Leopard's Lover? No one can know about that. We stand to make millions of dollars with that scent. I haven't quite perfected it yet, but I've been workin' on it for literally years. I'm close, and if I get it right, we'll be set for life and I'll be able to really pour decent money back into our community where it's needed. No one knows about that flower or the scent."
"The flower is growing wild in Fenton's Marsh and along the Tregre border and on their property." Drake waited, watching her face carefully.
Charisse sagged back in her chair, a look of utter horror on her face. She shook her head. "No. That can't be. That's a hybrid, not indigenous to our swamp. It can only be grown safely in the greenhouse. I've taken extra precautions. I have a special room in the greenhouse for it alone. You have no idea how much money that plant is worth--or how much damage it might do not only to our environment, but to people--our people--to shifters." She kept shaking her head, in genuine shock.
Drake had to believe her. She hadn't been in the swamp, or Fenton's Marsh, or she would have known the plant had escaped the greenhouse. By her own admission she knew Evangeline, but she claimed she met her in the Mercier picnic area, not in the swamp itself.
"Remy's here," Saria announced and headed to the door.
Even then she was careful to remember his instructions. Drake could have told her it was no longer necessary. Charisse Mercier hadn't killed anyone. If she'd picnicked with a victim in Fenton's Marsh, she would have seen Leopard' her engineered hybrid. But someone who had been in the greenhouse had carried seeds on their shoes or clothing and left them along the Tregre border as well as in the Marsh.
"I know you think Armande . . ." Charisse began.
Remy burst through the cabin door, nearly knocking Saria over. He caught her to steady her, his face grim. "Mahieu isn't answerin' his cell. He didn't come home last night. Where is he, Charisse?" he demanded.
"She doesn't know," Drake said. "It isn't her. Nor did she know about the opium. Was Armande home last night, Charisse?"
"Stop askin' me about my brother. I'm tellin' you, he has nothin' to do with opium. Talk to our workers. Neither of us have much to do with the outdoor gardens."
"But you both go to the greenhouse," Drake persisted.
"Armande is proud of my work. When I ask him, he always comes to see the new plants."
Remy stepped forward and thrust several photographs into her hand. "What about these? Do you think your brother had anything to do with this?"
Charisse looked down at the first picture in her hand. Her entire body went rigid. Still. She made one inarticulate sound, every vestige of color draining from her face. Twice she tried to speak before she managed to get the words out. "I know this man. Is he dead? Mon Dieu. He looks dead. I went out to dinner with him a few months ago. Armande introduced us. They were friends from college. He stood me up on our second date."
She swallowed hard and looked down at the second picture. A small scream escaped her and she threw the photographs back at Remy. "Why are you doin' this to me? I went out with him four months ago. We had three dates. He was a nice man. Who did this?"
Saria instantly went to her friend and sank down beside her to take her into her arms, rocking her back and forth. "I'm so sorry, Charisse. I'm so very sorry."
"You think someone is goin' to do this to Mahieu? Because of me? Is this about me?" Charisse raised her head from Saria's shoulder and looked Drake directly in the eye. "You don't believe my brother did this because of me, do you?" There was horror in her eyes, in her very tone. She looked on the verge of fainting.
"I don't know, Charisse, but someone is killing these men and if you are the connection," Drake said, "and you're also the connection to the opium . . ."
Charisse covered her face with both hands. "This can't be happenin'."
"I want you to look at some other photos as well," Remy said, his voice much more gentle. "There's been a series of murders around New Orleans. All female. Their bodies were dumped in the bayous and swamps and around the river. I just want you to tell me if you know any of these women."
"I don't want to look," Charisse protested. "I can't. You're tearin' apart my life and I won't have you accusin' my brother of runnin' drugs or worse, killin' people." She kept her hands clamped over her face and began to weep, a low heartbreaking sound.
Both Remy and Drake opened their mouths but abruptly closed them when Saria imperiously held uphand to silence them. She stroked Charisse's hair with gentle fingers, making a soft, soothing sound. Drake couldn't help think how she would look calming a distraught child.
"I need you to think of Mahieu, cher. If you know Armande didn't do any of this, you have nothin' to worry about, but Mahieu could be in terrible danger. You don't know, Charisse, perhaps there's a stalker out there, someone who is tryin' to make it look as if Armande or you is the guilty party. Please look. It may help us find my brother."
Charisse very slowly
lifted her face from her hands and looked up at Saria. The two women exchanged a long look before Charisse finally nodded very reluctantly. Saria smiled with encouragement at her and held out her hand for the photographs. Remy gave them to her.
The two women looked at the first picture of a woman's face, obviously dead, her features delicate, hair spilling around her like spider webs. Charisse sniffed and shook her head. Saria showed her the next photograph. Charisse gave a small cry and flung herself back against the sofa, trying to retreat from the dead woman.
"That's Lucy. Lucy O'Donnell. She was datin' Armande. He told me she left town abruptly, that her mother was ill." She looked up at Saria, a lost little girl. "I want to go home. I feel sick."
Saria handed the photographs back to her brother. "Drake will get you a glass of water and we'll go in a minute, Charisse. You didn't kill those men, and it's just as probable Armande didn't kill those women."
"He wouldn't," Charisse said. "He isn't like that."
"He attacked Saria in the grove just outside of town," Drake said, trying not to snarl. He glared at Saria. He didn't want her giving Charisse false hope.
"What?" Charisse's eyes widened. She took the glass of water and drank most of it before turning her gaze back to her friend. "He wouldn't."
Remy and Drake exchanged a long look. Charisse was lying. She knew all about Armande attacking Saria in the grove.
Drake deliberately loomed over her, knowing he was intimidating with his leopard riding him so hard, furious that another man had dared to put his mark on his female, and worse, had hurt her in the process. Saria sent him a look that clearly told him to back off--which he ignored.
"Before you get yourself into more trouble, Charisse," Drake cautioned, "you might remember I'll know if you're lying to me. I'm not all that happy with any member of your family."
"Mon dieu, Drake," Saria burst out. "Stop threatening her. Can't you see she's scared enough? You've told her about the opium and the serial killer and now you're practically accusin' her brother. Back off."
Drake looked at Saria's face. She was nearly as pale as Charisse. These were her friends. The interrogation was almost as difficult on her as it was on her friend. He wanted to gather her into his arms and hold her close. "I'm sorry, baby," he forced himself to say, although he wasn't as sympathetic toward Charisse as he should have been. She didn't seem to have the same loyalty toward Saria as Saria did toward her. There was no doubt in his mind that Charisse knew damn well her brother had attacked Saria.
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