“What about when you allow your leopard out?”

She flushed a deep red. “She’s never come out. That’s why my mother said I was useless. Armande has a leopard, but mine has never emerged. I tried to tell my mother she was there inside of me, but my mother is embarrassed and humiliated that I can’t shift. She says I’m a disgrace.” Charisse gave a little sniff.

“Charisse! Focus on what’s important here,” Drake commanded. If she was telling the truth, and her voice held a ring of truth, then she couldn’t possibly be the killer. The serial killer delivered death with the suffocating bite of a leopard. “I can assure you that your mother’s opinion of you isn’t worth shit. Saria, call your brother and get that team out into the Marsh.”

“Mahieu?” Saria’s voice was steady.

“The team may just save his life. Get moving.”

Saria nodded and picked up the phone.

“Are you goin’ to tell me what all these questions are for? This sounds like an interrogation.”

“Believe me, Charisse. If I have to interrogate you, I won’t be so fucking gentle,” Drake snapped. “Someone is using your soaps to ship opium out of the country. They also have at least one local connection they supply, but more likely there are more.”

Charisse sat up straight, her face going pale. “That’s impossible. You’re crazy. Our business is family owned and completely legitimate. I can’t believe you would make such an accusation. Saria! Did you hear him?”

Saria put down the phone after talking to her brother and turned back to Charisse, leaning one hip against the table. “I heard him. I led his men through the swamp the other night, running to catch up with a boat. The Mercier boat, and they docked at your dock, Charisse. The Tregre brothers had delivered a shipment of soap in the middle of the night.”

“No. No way.” Charisse shook her head. “The Tregres have worked for our family for a long time. They work out of New Orleans and take the shipment to the docks, where they are inspected carefully. If there were drugs, the dogs would pick up the sce . . .” She trailed off, her face going dead white.

There was no way she could fake the color of her skin. Her brain was working things out, seeing possibilities and putting the pieces together, but Drake might have to concede he was way off-base looking at Charisse and that would mean that niggling suspicion was growing into a major scare. Because if he was right, Mahieu Boudreaux might already be dead.

“That’s right, Charisse. You’re the genius with scent, aren’t you,” Drake pressed her. He leaned close and looked her right in the eye, forcing her to lock gazes with him. “Tell us about the scent that inhibits others, even leopards, from tracking by scent.”

Charisse shook her head, her fingers twisting tightly together until her knuckles were white. “You have it all wrong, Drake. Saria . . .”

She tried to turn her head, tried to escape the evertightening noose, but Drake refused to let her off the hook. “Damn you, don’t look at Saria. She can’t help you. Did you or did you not, develop something that inhibits the ability to smell, or perhaps deadens every scent gland?” he snapped.

Charisse drew herself up abruptly, her childlike expression going cool. “I don’t have to stay here and listen to these accusations. I think the next time you talk to me, I’ll have a lawyer present.” She started to rise.

His low growl of pure menace rumbled through the cabin, stopping her. “Sit down,” he snapped, his eyes going pure gold. “You’re leopard, Charisse. You belong to a lair. I am the leader of that lair and as such, I am the only judge and jury and executioner that you or your family will ever have. There is a death sentence hanging over your head and as much as it would pain Saria, I will destroy your entire family for the preservation and good of the lair.”

He raised his voice. “Look at me, not Saria. She can’t save you. You need to convince me you have nothing to do with this mess, and right now, honey, it isn’t looking all that good for you.”

Charisse’s hand went defensively to her throat. There was no getting around the ring of truth in Drake’s voice. He heard Saria make a small, protesting sound, but he didn’t look at her. She was going to be his wife. She needed to see the reality of what their life was like. Amos Jeanmard should have been cleaning up his lair years earlier. Regardless, it was all there in this dying lair, the depravity, the sickness and the greed for power and money. If he had to kill this woman, he would do so and without hesitation.

“It’s not what you think. Yes. I experiment all the time with scents and the by-product of this very new scent I was workin’ on turned out to have an unusual, very unique aspect to it.”

Her voice changed completely again, Drake noted, suddenly animated, her eyes bright with eagerness. For the first time he felt he was looking at the real Charisse Mercier.

“I’d never seen anything like it. Not only was there no scent, but it consumed every other scent around it. Can you imagine the uses? I haven’t perfected it yet, but I think it will be amazin’. Think of all the people with allergies to scents and that’s just one use. I’ve been experimentin’ with ingestin’ it. That seems to yield the best results, but I have to study side effects.”

“Charisse.” Drake needed to bring her back to the reality of what was going on. Her brain had flipped a switch to pure scientist and she was no longer talking to him, rather talking aloud to herself to find a solution for some problem she’d obviously encountered. “Who else knows about this scent-masking product you’ve discovered?”