Leopard 05 - Savage Nature

point out.
    She shook her head. “I used to play in there when I was a child. It’s a hidden passage that was for the servants long ago when this area was a plantation. There’s a narrow hallway that leads downstairs to a rambling, condemned series of rooms that had been used at one time to house slaves. I haven’t been down there for years, but I can smell the blood. I’m certain, Drake.”
    A chill went down Drake’s spine. His leopard was close to the surface, yet he hadn’t scented the blood. There was no doubt in his mind that if Charisse said she smelled it—that she did—unless . . . He didn’t want to think he was wrong about her and she was leading them all into a trap. He glanced back at Remy and nodded with his head, silently telling the man to bring up the rear—to keep his eye on Charisse.
    “You do know Iris Lafont-Mercier can’t possibly be the killer, right?” Remy whispered as they waited for Charisse to locate the hidden door in the wall. He drew his gun. “She can’t shift. The killer is a shifter. You just pointed the finger at Mama to get Charisse to allow us to search her property right?”
    Drake glanced at him over his shoulder. “I’m leader of the lair, not the police, Remy. I don’t require or want permission to search anywhere in the lair. I’d just do it.”
    There was a bite to his voice he couldn’t help. Remy should have taken at him ovadership of the lair, but instead, Drake was stuck with it and Drake didn’t shirk his duty. He’d taken on the responsibility and that meant cleaning it up. He had no doubt he was after a very clever killer and right now, his radar was shrieking at him that he was leading Saria right into a trap. Iris didn’t need to shift all the way to be the killer. A partial shifting was unusual but certainly happened when bloodlines weakened.
    Charisse found the mechanism for opening the door. Drake waved her back and stepped into the darkened, dirty hallway. The scent of blood was stronger here, wafting up from below. He could smell a mixture of fragrances and an elusive scent his leopard cringed away from.
    Saria stepped into the space behind him and inhaled sharply. “I smell Mahieu—and Armande. They’ve both been inside this passageway recently.”
    “Baby, maybe you should . . .”
    “Don’t say it, Drake. Don’t.”
    No. She wouldn’t stay behind no matter how bad it got. Saria had too much backbone for that. He could hear her heart thundering in her chest, her ragged breathing. The smell of fear coming off of her was strong. She was terrified for her brother, but she wasn’t going to hide upstairs while he checked to make certain Mahieu was alive. Drake stopped abruptly at the top of another narrow staircase.
    “Those stairs are in disrepair,” Charisse said. “No one ever comes here.”
    There was an absence of spiderwebs and the steps had been repaired in places. Still, it looked as if a few of them might crack under a man’s weight. Drake tested each step cautiously. There were seven and they wound around a pillar down into another room and with each stair, the scent of blood grew stronger. Vines from outside had reclaimed the structure and pushed through the slats so that the swamp grew inside, snaking up the walls to the ceiling and down along the floor.
    Long tables spanned the room. Small, fancy boxes and colored tissue paper were crammed in the garbage cans. Remnants of perfumed soaps and stems of withered plants were strewn around the floor as if they’d fallen and no one had bothered sweeping up.
    “Here’s where they packed the opium into the soap,” Remy whispered.
    Charisse made a small sound and leaned down to examine a crack in the table. When she would have touched a small, hardened bead caught in the crack, Remy stopped her, touching her hand and shaking his head.
    Drake halted just past the second table. Fresh blood smeared the edge of the table, a bloody handprint where someone had grabbed the table to steady themselves. His heart plunged and he couldn’t help the small glance he spared for Saria. Her gaze was fixed there. She couldn’t fail to scent her own brother’s blood. The scent of Armande Mercier was strong in the room. There was no doubt he had been in the stuffy room quite recently.
    An open door on the far side of the room led to another hallway. Wood rot and vines crept through the cracked siding. As with most dwellings in the area, the house had been built a good seven feet above