“I’m sorry,” she whispered to him.

Drake reached for her hand and brought it to his mouth. “Don’t be. You’re entitled. You’ve had a hell of a time now for weeks, for months. You’ve been through a lot.”

She wanted to protest. She’d met him because of all the terrible things and he had made every minute so worthwhile. Making love to him had been wonderful, but she wasn’t going to bring that up in front of Pauline and Amos. They were waiting for an explanation for her breakdown. The brandy burned like a fireball in her belly. She glanced up at Drake again for direction. She’d blurted out important, confidential information. Maybe too much information. Her brothers knew what was going on, but they couldn’t let the lair know, not before they’d had time to investigate everyone.

Drake nodded slightly, giving her permission to disclose the truth. Her face burned with embarrassment. She’d never been so out of control. The fear of losing Pauline had struck her like a ton of bricks and she’d panicked. She’d never felt that kind of fear before, that terrifying moment when one could lose that important person who meant the world to them.

“I was afraid for you, Miss Pauline,” she whispered. Even her throat was sore after the storm of weeping. “Someone broke into the inn tonight. Into my room.” She blushed, but met Pauline’s gaze steadily. “I was in Drake’s room, but Joshua discovered the intruder and chased him into the swamp.”

Amos frowned. “He’s leopard. He had to have his scent. We can . . .”

Drake shook his head. “That’s the problem. There is no scent.”

“That’s impossible. Everything leaves scent behind,” Amos protested.

“Let Saria tell us,” Pauline advised gently. “There’s much more to this story, isn’t there, cher?”

Saria nodded. She started from the beginning, when she’d first seen the lights around Fenton’s Marsh and she’d found the first body. Pauline and Amos remained silent while she grimly told them everything. Se didn’t leave out the attack on her, or the fact that the leopard had left no scent. Drake took up where she left off, revealing that Remy had been investigating a series of murders where bodies of women had been dumped on the edges of the city, along the river and in the bayou.

“And you think this killer was here in the inn?” Pauline asked.

Saria bit her lip as she nodded. “He was in my room, and he destroyed all my things.” For some insane reason her eyes brimmed with tears again.

Pauline patted her knee. “Then it was a good thing you were in Drake’s room, now wasn’t it, cher? Do you have any ideas who this killer could be, Amos? You know most of the families well.”

Amos shook his head. “Every one of us has secrets, but I can’t imagine anyone other than old man Tregre being a straight-up killer—and he’s dead.”

“One of his sons? Or his grandsons?” Drake prompted.

Amos sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “I doubt it. They don’ have much backbone. I can’t imagine any of them pullin’ off a homicide let alone as many as you claim.”

“And Elie?” It had to be asked. Elie Jeanmard had called Saria’s brothers when Robert Lanoux and Armande Mercier had hunted them in the swamps. It sounded out of character for him to be a serial killer, but one never knew.

Amos opened his mouth to protest and then closed it, in an obvious attempt to give the idea thought. “I don’ think Elie is capable of murder. I really don’ . He was always a gentle boy, loved animals and I suspect someone capable of the kind of thing you’re describin’ would have shown tendencies in childhood towards killin’. Elie didn’t ever hunt gators.”

Saria nodded. “That’s true, Drake. Elie has always been one of the sweetest boys around.”

Drake paced across the room more to hide the sudden flare of jealousy than the need for restless movement. The sudden surge of dark emotion caught him off guard. He had confidence in himself, and more, he had trust in Saria. It made no sense that her innocent statement would make jealousy claw at his gut. He didn’t want to own Saria, he wanted to love her, be her partner, and share his life with her. He wanted the free spirit, that indomitable will that fascinated and intrigued him. He liked that she was open and friendly with everyone—even other men, yet he hadn’t been able to squash that flare of jealousy. It was an ugly feeling and one he didn’t want.

“Drake?”

Her voice was pitched low. Almost intimate. The sound washed through him, as clean and fresh as spring water, driving away his demons. He flicked her a quick look from where he stood in the shadows. He had gone still once again, holding himself apart until he could figure out what was wrong with him.

He glanced at Amos. The man wore a dark scowl, watching Drake’s every move closely with a suspicious expression. Drake glanced away, looking around the small parlor. This was a small room, the furniture more Victorian rather than modern. A small fireplace was the focal point of the room. A table with a lacy cloth covered the older wood. His gaze rested for a minute on the detailed, ornate vase on the floor beside the hearth. The vase was two feet high and sat on clawed feet. A large floral arrangement consisted of the same strange flowers he’d noticed in Fenton’s Marsh as well as ferns and other greenery.

He frowned and crossed the room to the study the arrangement. The flowers smelled wonderful, the petals looking dewy soft. Golden, with dark rosettes, they reminded him of a leopard’s pelt. “Where did you get these flowers?”