“Mon dieu, Drake,” Saria burst out. “Stop threatening her. Can’t you see she’s scared enough? You’ve told her about the opium and the serial killer and now you’re practically accusin’ her brother. Back off.”

Drake looked at Saria’s face. She was nearly as pale as Charisse. These were her friends. The interrogation was almost as difficult on her as it was on her friend. He wanted to gather her into his arms and hold her close. “I’m sorry, baby,” he forced himself to say, although he wasn’t as sympathetic toward Charisse as he should have been. She didn’t seem to have the same loyalty toward Saria as Saria did toward her. There was no doubt in his mind that Charisse knew damn well her brother had attacked Saria.

Charisse ducked her head again, looking ashamed. “I’m sorry, Saria, I really am. It’s my fault. I talked him into it.”

There was a long silence. Drake didn’t realize for a moment that he had snarled, the menacing sound filling the room and freezing all the occupants. When he looked down, he could see that Remy had thrown out a restraining hand, but had been prudent enough not to touch him.

Charisse trembled, drawing back as far from Drake as possible.

“It’s all right, Charisse,” Saria soothed. “That’s just Drake’s leopard gettin’ a little upset, no big deal. He knows I’m marryin’ him soon.”

Remy’s eyebrow shot up. “You are?”

“Yes she is,” Drake said. “But I’m interested in Charisse’s explanation. Why would you encourage your brother to attack Saria?”

“Not attack her. You don’t understand. Our mother wanted Armande to marry Saria because it was obvious Saria had a leopard. He told her that he didn’t love Saria and Saria didn’t love him, that they were just good friends. Our mother wouldn’t listen. She told him it was his duty. You don’t know my mother. She can be quite vicious when she wants something, especially with Armande. She cries and tells him he doesn’t love her. She won’t talk for days on end. She punishes us for any little indiscretion. She claims we’re not loyal and it goes on and on until every moment is pure, intolerable hell.”

She glanced at Drake and then looked away. “You have no idea what it was like growin’ up with her. Armande was desperate to appease her, so I came up with a plan. I told him if he used the product—we call it IDNS—basically for identification of nonscent—which wouldn’t allow even her leopard to scent him, most likely her leopard wouldn’t react or accept him, but he could tell mama he’d marked her.”

“Show her the scars on your back,” Drake snapped.

Saria glared at him. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“The point is, he hurt her,” Drake said.

“I know,” Charisse admitted in a low tone. “He told me. He cried. He said he could barely control his leopard—that his leopard went crazy on him the moment he was close to Saria. He couldn’t stop his cat from reacting to her. I hadn’t considered that and neither did he. Her leopard didn’t rise because she couldn’t scent his, and that made his leopard crazy. I should have known, but all I was thinkin’ about was getting’ Mama off his back.” She looked at Saria steadily. “I’m sorry. Armande was sorry too.”

“If your brother was so fucking sorry,” Remy snarled, “why did he go after my sister with a gun?”

Drake was very glad he wasn’t the one asking, but he would have if Saria’s brother hadn’t.

Charisse moistened her lips. “His leopard has been goin’ crazy lately and Robert’s too. It has to be the flowers, they must have been drinkin’ together somewhere in the swamp near the flowers. That’s the only explanation I can come up with. When I asked him, he shook his head and said he felt crazy inside.”

“Where’s Armande now?” Remy demanded.

“I don’t know,” Charisse said. “He went to bed around midnight, but I heard him leave again about five-thirty this morning. I was in my bedroom cryin’ and I heard him talkin’ on his cell phone and then he walked down the hall and paused by my door like he might come in and talk to me, but he didn’t. He went outside and I heard the car start up. I got up, went to Saria’s house lookin’ for her and then came here.”

“Was he acting abnormal last night?”

Charisse shrugged. “There was an upset last night. Mama was really ugly. She was so angry with me for being upset over breakin’ up with Mahieu. She broke all the dishes in the kitchen and tore up a sweater he bought for me when it turned cold on a date we went on. She tore it into strips and threw it in my face. She kept slappin’ me until Armande dragged her away. Then she began weeping and told him I was embarrassin’ her on purpose and ruining the Lafont name. He lost his temper and told her to shut up. Mama went very quiet and wouldn’t accept his apology. She just went away. When she’s like that you never know what she’s goin’ to do. He went to his room and I went to mine.”

The niggling suspicion in the back of Drake’s mind blossomed into a full-blown certainty. She tore it into strips. A woman’s rage. A female leopard’s rage. Saria’s clothes had been torn into strips. His clothes had been torn into strips. He’d believed the men coming to the inn to drive him from the lair had done it, but ripping up clothes wasn’t a man’s temper tantrum—it was a woman’s.