Drake put a hand on her shoulder. She tried to shrug it off. He would feel her tremble and would know she was suddenly afraid.

“He’s not with the cartel, honey. He’s with us.”

She didn’t know what or who “us” was. She suddenly wished she’d told someone, her brothers or at least Pauline, what she was doing. Of course they deliberately hadn’t told her until they were on the water. Drake’s fingers tightened on her shoulder. He stepped closer, crowding her. She slowed the boat to slide a if you, a bend into the more treacherous water.

“I need to concentrate.”

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Elijah said. “I wanted you to know I was telling the truth. The minute I saw the setup and took a look at the surrounding land . . .”

“What surroundin’ land?” She tried not to sound belligerent, daring him to accuse one of her brothers or any of her friends. They’d smelled her fear. All of them. She swallowed hard and blinked her eyes rapidly to clear her sight.

“You see all those flowers we’re passing? Fields of them. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them.”

“For perfume. In case no one told you, there’s a worldwide very successful business here. They don’t need to run drugs.”

“Did you take a look at the amount of poppies they’re growing? They have fields of poppies mixed in with the other flowers, probably more than an acre’s worth.”

“The Mercier family has a license to grow all kinds of plants others can’t. Don’t you think they’re watched closely? The property is inspected on a regular basis. They have hundreds of plants, many poisonous.”

“And I’ll bet at certain times of the year, they don’t welcome anyone on their property,” Elijah persisted.

Saria hesitated. That much was the truth. “When they’re harvestin’ and Charisse is in the laboratory, they’re workin’ . Visitors are a distraction.”

“I’ll just bet they are,” Joshua murmured.

Saria skirted the barrel roots of a large cypress grove as she maneuvered through a narrow passage. She didn’t like where the conversation was going at all. She’d known Charisse all of her life. The woman was a little strange at times, but always, always a friend. There had been few girls in their area and they all were close friends, counting on one another. Saria couldn’t remember a time that Charisse hadn’t been in her laboratory, studying scents. She was considered brilliant in her field and mildly obsessive. That obsession had turned the Mercier family perfume business into a multimillion-dollar proposition.

“I’m tellin’ you, they sell perfume, lotions and soaps all over the world. They have no need to take a chance on sellin’ something illegal.” Saria tried to keep from being belligerent but it came out that way.

“And they sell their perfume and all those little soaps packaged so nice in fancy boxes, don’t they?” Elijah challenged.

“Elijah.” Drake said the name in a low voice. Nothing more, but there was silence. Only the wind and rain could be heard.

“Let him tell me,” Saria said. “If I’m wrong, I need to know. What do you think is in those boxes? Of course they sell them all over the world, perfumed soaps are part of their business.”

“And they have several wholesalers who take huge orders, don’t they?” Elijah continued.

“The boxes go through customs,” Saria defended, lifting her face to the sky so that the rain washed away her anger. She liked Charisse and Armande. They donated money to schools, to the church and were huge in the community, more than most other members of the lair. They odd, but Charisse in particular had always been a friend to Saria.

“Fancy soaps and perfume. Customs stamps them and off they go, with that nice little ball of opium right in the center of the soap.”

Saria shook her head. “They have drug-sniffin’ d—” She broke off, her heart jumping suddenly. If a leopard couldn’t find the scent of another leopard, then maybe whoever was creating scents could find a way to mask a scent.

Her breath hitched in her lungs. She shook her head, her eyes suddenly burning with tears. The world was shifting out from under her. Of course all the evidence would point directly to Charisse. She was the genius behind the scents. But Saria knew Charisse. She was very childlike in some ways. Saria could almost believe that Armande might be that greedy, his mother had certainly indulged him, but Charisse . . . Saria shook her head.

Although, Armande didn’t have the talent Charisse had with scents. Nor did he have ambition or drive. Yet he was devoted to Charisse. He protected her from the bullies at school. She’d been the smart one, advancing to higher grades too fast to catch up emotionally. She just wasn’t capable of running drugs on an international level. It wasn’t in her makeup and Saria didn’t care how much proof Drake and his team gathered against her.

On the other hand, if someone was harvesting opium from Charisse’s poppies, how could she not know? Saria stared straight ahead, aware of the silence in the boat. They’d all come to the same conclusion as she had. If a leopard couldn’t be scented, then someone had developed a way to prevent dogs from sniffing out drugs—and that someone had to be Charisse.

“You’re wrong, Drake,” she said in a low voice. “I know everythin’ points to her, but she isn’t capable of what you suspect. You’re way off base.”