Leopard's Prey

solid ground or in the water was dangerous. Cypress trees rose out of the water, long tails of moss hanging from nearly every limb, draping the branches and swaying with the slight wind.
    Remy stepped off the airboat onto the semisolid ground. His boots sank a few inches and he hastily moved to firmer ground. The swamp smelled of decay and death. The scent of blood was strong. Drake Donovan greeted him with a firm handshake.
    His brother-in-law always surprised him with his strength. He was rugged-looking, with his permanent five-o’clock shadow and his wide shoulders and thick chest. It wasn’t that Drake didn’t look strong, it was that his grip was crushing, and Remy was an extremely strong man himself.
    There was something steady and enduring about Drake, a calm most leopards couldn’t quite achieve. Drake not only had the hot passion and temper of the leopard under control, but he could lead a lair of alpha males and keep them loyal and working together. Remy considered Drake a fair man, as did the other leopards, which went a long way when the law of the jungle prevailed.
    “Saria okay?” Remy asked.
    Those cool green eyes went a little gold. “She’s just fine, thanks. Finding the body was a bit of a shock, but Saria doesn’t spook easily.”
    That was Drake’s way of saying Saria was his and no one else was going to tell her what to do. A definite back-off warning.
    Remy met those glittering eyes with a stare of his own. “She’s your responsibility, Drake, as is her guest.” His chin nodded toward the vomit on the ground a few feet from him. “That’s not Saria, so I’d say it was Bijou. Neither should have been out here without an escort, and you know it. That body could have been either of them. I don’ want my sister or any other woman seein’ this kind of thing.” Remy refused to drop his stare, something that could be construed as a challenge to the leader of the lair. Damn it all, Saria and Bijou had no business in the middle of a gruesome murder scene.
    Drake didn’t blink. “Saria is Saria, Remy. You and your family are responsible for the way she is. I don’t beat my wife because she was allowed to go her own way from the time she was in the cradle, nor will I ask her to change. I fell in love with an independent woman.”
    Remy shrugged, refusing to take the blame for his sister’s shenanigans now that she was married. “Perhaps you should accompany her into the swamp at night, at least until this killer is caught.”
    A slow grin softened the hard lines in Drake’s face. Laughter lit the green eyes, so that the gold was nearly gone in an instant.
    “You’re trying to get me killed, because you know if your sister thought for one moment I was protecting her in her precious swamp she’d probably stick a knife in me. If you want leadership that bad, Remy, say the word. It’s all yours. You tricked me into it in the first place, you and your hell-raising brothers.”
    Drake’s ability to defuse escalating tension was one of the traits Remy most admired in his brother-in-law—and what was most needed in a leader. Remy had never been able to keep Saria under control, and neither could her husband. She went her own way. When it was needed, Remy had no doubt that Drake would put his foot down and Saria, being sensible about most things, would listen—he hoped. He couldn’t imagine Saria defying her husband over her safety.
    He nodded, allowing a small grin to escape. “It’s not happenin’, bro. I’m not takin’ on the lair for you.”
    “I took on your sister for you,” Drake pointed out.
    Remy shook his head and turned his attention to the crime scene. They were all waiting for him and he needed to get on with it, but even after all the years on the force, he had to steel himself if it was the same serial killer from before.
    The body hung from the limb of a cypress tree, and just like the others he’d found in the courtyards of New Orleans four years earlier, death had been both gruesome and brutal. Blood ran in rivers, pooled in dark, dank puddles. Insects clung to every inch of the body. Sprays of blood soaked the nearby trees and brush, indicating the victim was alive when the killer had cut into him. The body had been hacked open, and the killer had harvested the rib and chest bones. The left hand had been hacked off.
    He closed his eyes for a moment. It was impossible not to recognize the victim, even with the swarm of insects clouding his face and body.