Savage Nature

  "She won't let you protect her."

  Drake looked her straight in the eye. "I'll take care of her, Pauline. Nothing will happen to her, I give you my word. She can do whatever she wants, and I'll be right beside her. Where I go, my men will go and they won't make the mistake again of letting him get close. The killer pissed them off royally."

  Pauline started down the stairs and then stopped again, resting her hand on his wrist. "You won' take her too far from me will you?"

  "I don't think Saria will ever go far from you for long, Pauline," he said. "I want to show her the rain forest, but I know this is her home. This is the place she loves, and she is not going to be happy if she's away from you or the swamp."

  Pauline beamed at him. "I knew you'd understand." "I've lived my life all over the world," he said. "I've never had a home until I found Saria. She is home to me. It won't matter to me where I live, as long as I have her with me. I travel for work and will have to continue to do that for a while, but this will be our home base." He sighed. "After all, that man of yours tricked me into challenging for leadership."

  "It was a win-win situation for him. If you hadn't challenged, Remy would have, or one of Saria's other brothers."

  "He talked it over with you first. That old wily coot."

  "Of course he did. We both wanted to ensure Saria's best interests. If you hadn't challenged, you weren't in love with her and she shouldn't be with you."

  "I can't believe that old man skunked me."

  Pauline laughed. "That old man has a lot of tricks up his sleeve."

  Drake shook his head. Now that he'd had a brief glimpse at Amos Jeanmard, he could understand how he had achieved a leadership role. Now it was up to Drake to find out how much damage Charisse Mercier's hybrid flower, bad decisions and poor bloodlines had done to the lair and who among them was a serial killer.

  15

  ELIJAH Losposto

  s was a steely-eyed, extremely handsome man in a tough, scary way. He had a wealth of gleaming black hair spilling down into eyes the color of mercury one moment and as dark as night the next. Saria stood at the helm of her boat, winding her way through the choppy water, trying not to think about how dangerous he looked or why he would take orders from Drake Donovan. Elijah and his partner, Jeremiah Wheating, two more members of Drake's team, had spent the night in the swamp and they waited for nightfall for the entire team to return.

  The rain poured down in thick silvery bands, making it difficult to see as she tried to keep the boat in open water as much as possible on the way to the strip of land facing Fenton's Marsh. She had five men in her boat, all silent, all grim-faced and all knowing something she didn't. On the other hand, Drake hadn't hesitated in asking her to take them into the swamp. She had the feeling none of them needed her as much as she thought they did.

  She sent another quick look at the five men who took orders from Drake. They were all dangerous men. The lair had no idea how very dangerous these men were, and yet--they all took orders from Drake. A small frisson of fear slid down her spine. She didn't know Drake quite as well as she thought she did, not if he commanded men like these.

  She turned her face up to the skies. Dark clouds rolled and churned, driven by a vicious wind. Her legs absorbed the pounding of the boat as it skimmed over the rough water. She noted none of the men seemed adversely affected by either the foul weather or the bumpy ride. She wasn't certain why they were going out on such a night, but they were all armed. Whatever Elijah had told Drake earlier in the day, he had emerged from the meeting grim-faced, his eyes, usually s warm, were flat and cold and frankly quite scary.

  She hadn't asked questions as she normally would have, because he had told his men she was coming with them and his tone said not to question his judgment. She saw the shock on their faces, although they tried to hide it.

  "You warm enough?" Drake asked.

  He stood close to her, close enough for her to feel his body heat right through her windbreaker. He rested one hand lightly--possessively--on the small of her back. She felt her stomach do a slow tumble. It didn't matter that her brain was trying to warn her that she was in over her head with him, her heart--and all the rest of her body--reached for him.

  She nodded. "I'm used to the weather. Your friends?" She nodded toward the men in inquiry.

  He grinned at her, looking a little wild with his hair wet and dripping and his face a carved bronze. "They're used to it as well." He bent to put his lips against her ear. "I love storms. I find them invigorating."

  She felt the blush start somewhere in her toes and rush through her body like a heat wave. It was the way he said it more than the words. "Aren't they all leopards?" she hissed. "Because if they are, their hearing is excellent."

  His teeth closed gently on her earlobe. Someone coughed and someone else made a little snickering sound. Yeah, they were all leopards.

  She punched Drake in his rock-hard gut. "Back off, playboy. I've got a job to do and you're tryin' to distract me. I'm responsible for the safety of these men." She nodded toward the banks on either side of them. "Shine your light into the water and the banks on either side."

  Joshua and Jerico did so. Eyes stared back at them. Alligators hunted in the water and in the reeds.

  She smirked at Drake. "All those logs in the water are not logs."

  He laughed. "Is that supposed to scare me, honey?"

  "No," she admitted, because it was absurd to think he was afraid. She smirked again. "But I'm at the helm, and that should scare you." It was a clear warning and the boat suddenly zigzagged. Not enough to pitch him over the side, but enough that he grabbed her to steady himself.

  Joshua burst out laughing and Elijah hid a smile.

  "Having trouble with your woman, boss?" Jerico asked.

  "I can't very well pitch her out of the boat," Drake replied, "but I won't say the same for you."

  This time all the men laughed.

  "I don't know exactly what we're doin' out here," Saria said, "but if it involves stealth, sound carries on the water."

  "We've got a little time until we expect company," Drake said.

  She arched her eyebrow at him, locking her gaze with his. "What aren't you tellin' me?"

  "I didn't want to talk about this around Pauline," Drake admitted. "I'm sorry, Saria. You've been very patient not asking questions in front of her."

  She shrugged, hugging his apology to herself. He had wanted to tell her, he just hadn't found a safe opportunity.

  "Elijah and Jeremiah spent the night in your blind last night."

  She blinked, glanced at the two men and swiftly turned back to guiding their boat. "By the owl's nest? How did they find it? I don't tell anyone about it. I brought it piece by piece and built it myself."

  "It was very sturdy," Elijah said. "And I thank you for that. There was a lot of activity on the ground and I was appreciative of being up high."

  "You're welcome. But how did you find it?"

  Elijah looked a little uncomfortable. Drake came to his rescue. "You're a female leopard in the midst of the Han Vol Dan."

  "I stink?"

  He laughed. "You smell good, sweetheart. Good enough to . . ."

  She showed him her fist and he subsided.

  "So you spent the night in the blind and you were lookin' for what? The killer to come back?"

  "Not exactly," Elijah said. "I took a look at the water route and realized a boat could come in and rendezvous easily with another without being seen, unless someone happened to be spending the night in a blind in the swamp and what were the odds of that happening?"

  "I don' understand. What does that have to do with the killer?"

  "Nothing, and maybe everything. I happen to have a very odd expertise," Elijah admitted. "I inherited one of the most successful drug cartels in the world today. I know a drug running operation when I see one and this one is sweet."

  Saria whipped her head around, staggered and nearly fell. Drake's hands landed on her hips as she s
teadied herself. "You're crazy. No one I know is runnin' drugs here."

  Elijah shrugged. "I don't know who happens to be doing the drug running, but it's definitely going on and that's what you saw that first time you found a body. You were damned lucky they didn't see you. This is a huge operation and if you, someone who knows this swamp inside and out, hasn't figured it out, probably no one has. Probably you saw a killing provoked by a drug deal gone sour. That's why it looked different to you."

  So he was up to date on everything she'd said about the bodies. Of course he had to be. And he was so certain someone was running drugs. Absolutely certain. He'd inherited a successful drug cartel? What did that mean? What was he doing in the middle of the swamp in a fierce storm at night? What did she really know about any of them?

  Drake put a hand on her shoulder. She tried to shrug it off. He would feel her tremble and would know she was suddenly afraid.

  "He's not with the cartel, honey. He's with us."

  She didn't know what or who "us" was. She suddenly wished she'd told someone, her brothers or at least Pauline, what she was doing. Of course they deliberately hadn't told her until they were on the water. Drake's fingers tightened on her shoulder. He stepped closer, crowding her. She slowed the boat to slide a if you, a bend into the more treacherous water.

  "I need to concentrate."

  "I didn't mean to frighten you," Elijah said. "I wanted you to know I was telling the truth. The minute I saw the setup and took a look at the surrounding land . . ."

  "What surroundin' land?" She tried not to sound belligerent, daring him to accuse one of her brothers or any of her friends. They'd smelled her fear. All of them. She swallowed hard and blinked her eyes rapidly to clear her sight.

  "You see all those flowers we're passing? Fields of them. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them."

  "For perfume. In case no one told you, there's a worldwide very successful business here. They don't need to run drugs."

  "Did you take a look at the amount of poppies they're growing? They have fields of poppies mixed in with the other flowers, probably more than an acre's worth."

  "The Mercier family has a license to grow all kinds of plants others can't. Don't you think they're watched closely? The property is inspected on a regular basis. They have hundreds of plants, many poisonous."

  "And I'll bet at certain times of the year, they don't welcome anyone on their property," Elijah persisted.

  Saria hesitated. That much was the truth. "When they're harvestin' and Charisse is in the laboratory, they're workin' . Visitors are a distraction."

  "I'll just bet they are," Joshua murmured.

  Saria skirted the barrel roots of a large cypress grove as she maneuvered through a narrow passage. She didn't like where the conversation was going at all. She'd known Charisse all of her life. The woman was a little strange at times, but always, always a friend. There had been few girls in their area and they all were close friends, counting on one another. Saria couldn't remember a time that Charisse hadn't been in her laboratory, studying scents. She was considered brilliant in her field and mildly obsessive. That obsession had turned the Mercier family perfume business into a multimillion-dollar proposition.

  "I'm tellin' you, they sell perfume, lotions and soaps all over the world. They have no need to take a chance on sellin' something illegal." Saria tried to keep from being belligerent but it came out that way.

  "And they sell their perfume and all those little soaps packaged so nice in fancy boxes, don't they?" Elijah challenged.

  "Elijah." Drake said the name in a low voice. Nothing more, but there was silence. Only the wind and rain could be heard.

  "Let him tell me," Saria said. "If I'm wrong, I need to know. What do you think is in those boxes? Of course they sell them all over the world, perfumed soaps are part of their business."

  "And they have several wholesalers who take huge orders, don't they?" Elijah continued.

  "The boxes go through customs," Saria defended, lifting her face to the sky so that the rain washed away her anger. She liked Charisse and Armande. They donated money to schools, to the church and were huge in the community, more than most other members of the lair. They odd, but Charisse in particular had always been a friend to Saria.

  "Fancy soaps and perfume. Customs stamps them and off they go, with that nice little ball of opium right in the center of the soap."

  Saria shook her head. "They have drug-sniffin' d--" She broke off, her heart jumping suddenly. If a leopard couldn't find the scent of another leopard, then maybe whoever was creating scents could find a way to mask a scent.

  Her breath hitched in her lungs. She shook her head, her eyes suddenly burning with tears. The world was shifting out from under her. Of course all the evidence would point directly to Charisse. She was the genius behind the scents. But Saria knew Charisse. She was very childlike in some ways. Saria could almost believe that Armande might be that greedy, his mother had certainly indulged him, but Charisse . . . Saria shook her head.

  Although, Armande didn't have the talent Charisse had with scents. Nor did he have ambition or drive. Yet he was devoted to Charisse. He protected her from the bullies at school. She'd been the smart one, advancing to higher grades too fast to catch up emotionally. She just wasn't capable of running drugs on an international level. It wasn't in her makeup and Saria didn't care how much proof Drake and his team gathered against her.

  On the other hand, if someone was harvesting opium from Charisse's poppies, how could she not know? Saria stared straight ahead, aware of the silence in the boat. They'd all come to the same conclusion as she had. If a leopard couldn't be scented, then someone had developed a way to prevent dogs from sniffing out drugs--and that someone had to be Charisse.

  "You're wrong, Drake," she said in a low voice. "I know everythin' points to her, but she isn't capable of what you suspect. You're way off base."

  "I hope you're right, honey," he said gently.

  She hated the compassion in his voice. She glanced over her shoulder at his set face. "Charisse is incapable of drug runnin'."

  Drake slipped his arm around her waist. "And her brother?"

  Armande. He was a spoiled sulky boy who had grown into a spoiled sulky man. The only one he seemed to love was his sister. He could look past himself long enough to see her and for a few minutes get out of his very self-centered world. Saria honestly doubted if he was intelligent enough to pull off such an operation. Charisse had the brains, but she was too childlike in a lot of ways. Armande . . . She sighed. Armande was a selfish brat, but everyone liked him. He had charm when he wanted.

  "How do you plan on findin' out?"

  "We're going to follow them through the swamp to see where our drug smugglers go. Whoever is supplying is supplying to a local," Elijah said.

  "The swamp?" Saria echoed faintly. "Are you crazy? The swamp isn't like your rain forest. Scent isn't goin' to do you much good if you sink into a marsh. Snakes, alligators, you name it, the hazards are everywhere." She brought the boat around to the edge of the reeds. "Even gettin' onto land at night is extremely dangerous."

  "That's why we have a secret weapon," Drake said.

  She jumped onto the land, splashing a little in the reeds to tie up her boat. "What's that?" She poured sarcasm into her voice.

  "You. You're going to guide us."

  "Now I know you're crazy."

  "They'll hear a boat, but you know how to move from one strip of land to the next and you probably know shortcuts."

  "You want to run through the swamps at night?" Saria looked around for a place to sit down. She was feeling a little faint. They had no idea what it was like to travel in the swamp. "The land is a bog. There are pockets of quicksand. There's actually water under us with a thin layer of dirt and growth. You just don' understand." In agitation she ran her fingers through her hair, making it spiky and disheveled, but she didn't care. She felt like yanking it out by the roots. They were all crazy.

  "We're wel
l aware of that."

  "You can step through in places and just sink down. And have you ever heard of water moccasins? Because we have those too."

  "You hunt and trap and fish all through here. And you take photographs. You've been running wild in the swamp since you were a little girl, Saria," Drake pointed out. "You can do this and you know it."

  "I can do it, but not guidin' all of you. Drake, you can't ask me to be responsible for six people. There are at least three places we'll have to wade in reed-choked water where alligators are huntin'."

  "We have guns," Joshua pointed out.

  "Do you know where on an alligator you have to actually shoot to kill him? Do you have any idea how small the actual target on a gator is? It's about the size of a quarter and you'd better not miss. All of you may be a big deal out in your own environments, but you're amateurs here. Just the fact that you came up with this hare-brained scheme without first askin' someone who knows the swamp shows you're amateurs."

  All six men remained silent, watching her with steady, unblinking eyes. Cat's eyes. Hunter's eyes. They were unimpressed with her arguments. She sighed, giving up. She just shook her head, caught the rifle Drake threw to her and turned her back on them. Idiots. Even the youngest child in the swamp knew more than they did.

  Shaking off her thoughts, she concentrated on listening. Insects hummed. Bullfrogs called back and forth. The rain kept falling steadily. She hunched her shoulders and blocked out everything but the rustles in the thick foliage. She knew exactly where to step, but she often crossed paths alligators used to slide into the water.

  "Where to?"

  "We need a clear view of Fenton's Marsh and the best path to follow a boat heading toward the Mercier land," Drake said. "The leaves are off the poppies and they'll have harvested the opium. They'll be destroying the evidence now."

  She wasn't going to argue with him. But if by some miracle he was right, what did that mean? Because if dogs couldn't sniff out the drugs, that would mean the killer would have access to whatever kept him from having a scent. It was virtually impossible for Charisse to be a killer. She didn't have a mean bone in her body. She was clingy, and she drove everyone a little crazy with her eccentricities, but noone would ever say she wasn't one of the most compassionate people around.