Saria felt herself turn white. If the killer had gotten into the inn with all of them sleeping, everyone had been vulnerable. “Pauline,” she whispered aloud. She jerked her hand out of Drake’s and turned and ran, fear sweeping through her body, threatening to choke her. As her fear rose, so did her leopard, she could feel the power and energy of the cat as it fed her strength.

Her birth mother had slipped away long before Saria had a chance to know her and her father had slowly but surely followed. He’d taught her the ways of the swamp and how to take care of herself, but it had been Pauline she’d run to all of her life. Pauline had soothed her when she cried, explained life’s mysteries, had bandaged every scrape and taught her how to cook and sew and cope with life. Pauline had been her surrogate mother and she loved her fiercely and protectively.

Behind her, she was vaguely aware of Drake racing after her down the long hall, calling her name, telling her to stop, to wait, but she couldn’t. Her heart pounded and there was a strange roaring in her head. Her lungs burned as she grasped the railing and leapt over it to the first floor below. She landed on her feet in a crouch and took off running again through the entryway to the living room and down the hall toward the back of the house where Pauline’s small apartment, basically the entire southern wing of the house, was located.

Drake was on her before she reached the door, his arms catching her around the waist, pinning her arms so she had no chance to fight. “Be still,” he hissed in her ear. “Let me see first.”

She shook her head mutely. Pauline was her mother whether there was a blood relationship or not. She’d always known it, but not like this—this terrible fear of losing her forever. Drake signaled Joshua and he stepped to one side of the door. Jerico had joined them and apparently Evan was circling around outside. It was all too late. She should have thought to protect Pauline above all else.

Drake stood to the right of the door and knocked. “Miss Pauline? Amos? Are you all right in there?”

For a heart-stopping moment his call was met with silence. Saria jammed her fist in her mouth. Her legs suddenly felt like rubber. Something stirred behind the closed door. There was a soft rustle, footsteps and Pauline opened her door, blinking sleepily at them. No one had thought to turn on a light, but Saria caught the flare of cat in her eyes. She might not have a leopard, but she had leopard blood flowing in her veins and had excellent night vision.

Saria flung herself into Pauline’s arms and to her horror, began to weep almost hysterically. The relief at seeing her alive was so overwhelming after such fear of what she might find, that she couldn’t stop herself, not even knowing she was making a complete fool of herself in front of Drake’s men.

She nearly bowled Pauline over, but the woman closed her arms around her firmly and held her close, murmuring soothingly as she looked over Saria’s shoulder to Drake for an explanation.

Jerico and Joshua immediately left, giving Saria some privacy. She noticed, but was too distraught to acknowledge their gentlemanly behavior.

“Saria, honey, tell me what’s wrong,” Pauline coaxed.

“I’m sorry, I can’t stop,” Saria admitted. “Hit me or something.”

“What did you do?” Amos demanded, glaring at Drake.

“Not him,” Saria hastened to explain, hiccupping. “The killer.”

“Killer?” Pauline echoed and glanced at Amos, mystified. “Saria, you aren’t makin’ sense. Come into the parlor.” She stepped back to allow them into her private wing of the house. The room they entered was a small sitting room. “Drake, pour a small glass of brandy.”

“I hate brandy,” Saria sniffed.

“Yes, I know,” Pauline soothed, “but it will help. Amos, stop glarin’ at the boy and bring that comforter. I think Saria’s in shock.”

Saria clung to Pauline. “You know I only went to school because you wanted me to. You know that don’ you? I did everythin’ you asked me to do. I didn’ listen to mon pere, to the church ladies or my brothers, only you. You know that, don’ you?”

“Of course I know that.”

“You’re ma mere, you always have been.” Saria tightened her arms around Pauline’s neck, burying her face on the older woman’s shoulder.

“Of course I am,” Pauline assured her. “You’re my girl. My child.”

“I thought I’d lost you. I can’t, Miss Pauline. I need you.”

“You won’t lose me. Amos and I have always loved each other, Saria, but you’re my daughter. No matter . . .”

Saria shook her head, knowing Pauline didn’t understand her, didn’t know how close to death she actually had been. Pauline peeled Saria’s arms from her neck and led her to a small, ornate sofa. She sank down, drawing Saria with her.

“You don’ understand,” Saria tried to explain. “He was here, in the house. I thought he might have killed you and Amos. No one heard him. He slides in and out of places and there’s nothing of him left behind. No trace.”

Pauline frowned as Drake held out the small glass of brandy. Saria didn’t take it, so Pauline did, holding it up to Saria’s mouth. Saria gulped the fiery liquid. It burned all the way down. She coughed and blinked back tears.

“Feeling better?” Pauline asked gently.

Saria pressed her lips together firmly and nodded. She glanced at Drake to see if he was horrified by her momentary madness. He looked relieved, but not about to run.