Savage Nature - Christine Feehan [119]
“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?”
There was a long silence. He turned to look at Pauline, silently demanding an answer. Pauline frowned, the question obviously unexpected.
“They’re called Leopard’s Lover,” she said.
“Don’ answer that,” Amos snarled belligerently. “Are you accusing Pauline of somethin’? First my boy and now Pauline.” He half stood, his fists clenched.
Saria jumped to her feet as did Pauline. Pauline rushed to Amos’s side, taking his arm to soothe him.
“He didn’ mean that, Amos. What’s wrong?”
“Drake?” Saria asked.
Drake held up his hand. “It’s happening here in this room—the same thing