She frowned at him. “How is this goin’ to help us catch whoever is killing people?”

“We’ll want the cooperation of the lair. We can only get that through the leader.”

“What if . . . ?” She trailed off and bit her lip hard, turning away from him.

“Why do you persist in thinking the killer might be one of your brothers?” Drake asked. “What aren’t you telling me, Saria?”

The boat swept along the shoreline, giving him a great view of the plants and birds. The sun slowly burned off the fog, so that the gray veil lifted, revealing the true raw beauty of the wild region. To a man who needed an untamed environment in much the way he needed air to breathe, the swamp was a thing of absolute magnificence.

“I recognized the bottles near the last two bodies,” Saria admitted reluctantly as she poured on the speed to take them to the next location. “We make our own alcohol and we use very distinctive bottles. They were ours.”

“But you have a bar all of your neighbors go to, right? Do all the seven families who lease from Jake Bannaconni frequent your bar?”

“Yes, even the Tregre family. This is as close as I can get you to the Lanoux land. Their property is a V-shaped wedge. Their property line runs alongside of ours.”

Drake’s leopard roared a protest. He felt a burst of heat through his body. His jaw ached and he had to turn his head away from Saria. That information disturbed him. It shouldn’t have, but the thought of Robert and Dion Lanoux growing up close to Saria sent his leopard into a kind of fury. He felt the raking claws and a terrible need to destroy his enemies. He breathed away the need to hunt and forced himself to study the trees.

Saria slowed the boat to almost a crawl to allow him time to find rake marks in the trees. He fixed the powerful glasses onto one of the taller cypress trees on the edge of the marsh. He instantly recognized that there were two distinct rake marks over the older version—probably their father’s—and one had been Jeanmard’s challenger.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The wind was blowing away from the land, taking any scent with it, but he knew someone was watching them. More than once he’d had a high-powered rifle trained on him. It felt the same now, that itch in the center of his back. He kept the binoculars trained on the trees.

“Get us out of here, Saria,” he ordered.

She shivered, as if a chill had gone down her spine. She picked up speed and the boat swept around the bend and out into the center of the channel. “Someone was watching us.”

“I didn’t see him, but I sure as hell felt him,” Drake said.

“I don’ want to do this anymore, Drake. I think I’ve put you in a terrible position.”

“It’s almost lunchtime, Saria. Let’s find a place to eat and relax.” He didn’t want her bolting on him now. It was interesting to him that she was more afraid for him than for herself.

“I called Charisse last night and asked her if we could picnic on her property. She has more firm land than anyone else and I know a couple of good spots that are secluded and beautiful,” she agreed. “They developed one section just for picnics, with the idea they might bring in tourists someday to visit the gardens, although they don’ do it now.”

The landscape changed from the trees, shrubs and grasses to fields after fields of colorful flowers and exotic plants. Drake stood up in order to get a better view. Acres of flowers vied for space. The gentle wind sent them in motion, producing hypnotic waves of color, purples and blues giving way to dazzling yellows, oranges and reds.

“The Mercier gardens,” Saria said, answering his unspoken question with one word. “They can keep them growing longer than most wildflowers too. I think they use smudge pots like the vineyards do.” She laughed as she said it, half serious and half joking.“They’ve got every kind of flower you could imagine, native to Louisiana as well as exotics.”

“I’ve never seen so many flowers. They must have a huge operation.”

Saria nodded a little proudly. “Charisse really is a genius and she has incredible olfactory skills. A client can come into her shop and she can design a perfume for that individual that is so incredible there is no one that can rival her. She’s really made something of herself and I’m glad for her. She honestly doesn’t have the best social skills, but her brother Armande makes up for it. Everyone likes him. He fronts the store and deals with orders and shipping as a rule and she designs the scents and runs the laboratory. Of course the gardeners tend the plants. They make a great team, although the greenhouse and hybrids are all grown by Charisse for scent.”

“With an operation this large, they must make a good living.”

“They ship all over the world,” Saria confirmed. “And Charisse is generous with the community. She poured money into the school and kept our little schoolhouse going so the children wouldn’t have to commute so far when the state was cutting the smaller schools.”

She took the boat in to a small pier, securing it to the wooden structure. Drake wasn’t altogether certain the pier would take his weight, but Saria jumped out, dragging a large, rather ornate picnic basket and thick blanket with her.

He followed her, conscious of the wood sagging ominously beneath him as he hurried after her. The ground was spongy, the soil a rich, dark color.

“They must have acres of flowers.”

“They have all sorts of plants. Many of them native to Louisiana, like bearded pink orchid, brown-eyed Susan, honeysuckle and blue sage. Others, not native, are carefully controlled, such as lavender, poppies, and of course there’s all kinds of plants and grasses, too many to name. Charisse had the gardeners give me a tour once. The schoolchildren come out once a year and tour the gardens and then see how perfume is extracted from the plants and made. It’s all quite interesting.”