“And Elie?” It had to be asked. Elie Jeanmard had called Saria’s brothers when Robert Lanoux and Armande Mercier had hunted them in the swamps. It sounded out of character for him to be a serial killer, but one never knew.
Amos opened his mouth to protest and then closed it, in an obvious attempt to give the idea thought. “I don’ think Elie is capable of murder. I really don’ . He was always a gentle boy, loved animals and I suspect someone capable of the kind of thing you’re describin’ would have shown tendencies in childhood towards killin’. Elie didn’t ever hunt gators.”
Saria nodded. “That’s true, Drake. Elie has always been one of the sweetest boys around.”
Drake paced across the room more to hide the sudden flare of jealousy than the need for restless movement. The sudden surge of dark emotion caught him off guard. He had confidence in himself, and more, he had trust in Saria. It made no sense that her innocent statement would make jealousy claw at his gut. He didn’t want to own Saria, he wanted to love her, be her partner, and share his life with her. He wanted the free spirit, that indomitable will that fascinated and intrigued him. He liked that she was open and friendly with everyone—even other men, yet he hadn’t been able to squash that flare of jealousy. It was an ugly feeling and one he didn’t want.
“Drake?”
Her voice was pitched low. Almost intimate. The sound washed through him, as clean and fresh as spring water, driving away his demons. He flicked her a quick look from where he stood in the shadows. He had gone still once again, holding himself apart until he could figure out what was wrong with him.
He glanced at Amos. The man wore a dark scowl, watching Drake’s every move closely with a suspicious expression. Drake glanced away, looking around the small parlor. This was a small room, the furniture more Victorian rather than modern. A small fireplace was the focal point of the room. A table with a lacy cloth covered the older wood. His gaze rested for a minute on the detailed, ornate vase on the floor beside the hearth. The vase was two feet high and sat on clawed feet. A large floral arrangement consisted of the same strange flowers he’d noticed in Fenton’s Marsh as well as ferns and other greenery.
He frowned and crossed the room to the study the arrangement. The flowers smelled wonderful, the petals looking dewy soft. Golden, with dark rosettes, they reminded him of a leopard’s pelt. “Where did you get these flowers?”
There was a long silence. He turned to look at Pauline, silently demanding an answer. Pauline frowned, the question obviously unexpected.
“They’re called Leopard’s Lover,” she said.
“Don’ answer that,” Amos snarled belligerently. “Are you accusing Pauline of somethin’? First my boy and now Pauline.” He half stood, his fists clenched.
Saria jumped to her feet as did Pauline. Pauline rushed to Amos’s side, taking his arm to soothe him.
“He didn’ mean that, Amos. What’s wrong?”
“Drake?” Saria asked.
Drake held up his hand. “It’s happening here in this room—the same thing that happened out in the marsh.” He raised his voice. “Joshua, Jerico, come on in here.”
Amos subsided back into the chair, but he still wore a frown. Pauline sank down beside him, one hand still resting on his arm as if she could stop him from attacking as he so clearly wanted to do.
“What happened in the marsh?” Amos demanded.
Joshua and Jerico came from different sides of the house, entering through different doors. Drake beckoned them to come all the way in.
“Do you feel anything? Do your leopards feel anything?”
Joshua was the first to nod. “He’s agitated. I feel hostile and aggressive and it’s coming from him.”
“Mine too, boss,” Jerico agreed.
“Mine as well,” Drake said. He looked at the older man. “And clearly your leopard is reacting too. But neither of the women feels it. Why is that?”
Drake approached the vase. His leopard clawed and raked at him as he inhaled. “Joshua, smell them up close.”
Joshua handed his gun to Jerico and cautiously crossed to the large vase. Leaning down, he took a deep breath, allowing the fragrant scent of the flower into his lungs. He gasped and stepped back. “My leopard went crazy, Drake. This flower is dangerous to us.”
Pauline and Saria both pulled a long-stemmed flower from the vase and held it to their nose. Drake could see it was actually two flowers, with one winding around the long stalk of the other. The leopard petals were larger and shaped like a champagne flute where the smaller flowers climbing the stark stalk were all dark chocolate, a beautiful, but obviously deadly flower.
“I don’ feel anything at all,” Pauline said. “Well, maybe . . .” She trailed off.
Saria shook her head. “My leopard’s not angry.”
Amos stood up and came to take a whiff of the flowers. He leapt back and continued backtracking until he was as far from the flowers as he could get. “My leopard went crazy, raging at me. He’s always calm, but he wanted to kill.”
“You said they were called Leopard’s Lover?” Saria asked, puzzled. “I’ve photographed them in Fenton’s Marsh, growin’ wild there. I’ve only seen them one other place. When I go to meet Evangeline Tregre on the edge of her property, where the Mercier corner is as well, those flowers are everywhere there. How did you know their name? I thought they were a new, undiscovered species.”
“My sister brought me the flowers last night when she came for dinner. I’ve always loved them. The Merciers grow hybrids all the time, looking for certain fragrances,” Pauline explained. She glanced at Drake’s frowning face. “Iris was married to Bartheleme Mercier. He died a few years ago, but it was really Charisse and Armande that built the perfume business up. They’re worldwide now. Iris is very proud of them and when I visit I go to the greenhouse where they develop new hybrids. Leopard’s Lover has been in development for years. Charisse was tryin’ to perfect the scent. She actually started the project before she was even in high school and she’s been workin’ on it ever since.”