Leopard 05 - Savage Nature

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