“I could get used to this.”

“You’re going to get used to a lot of things,” he predicted.

Her smile was drowsy. “You’re so sure of yourself.”

“I know when I’m good at things.”

She burst out laughing, a soft musical sound that tightened his groin. He drew back the comforter and placed her in the middle of the bed. Before she could scoot over, he stretched out beside her. It had begun to rain and the sound through the open French doors created an intimate rhythm on the balcony.

“Don’t you love the sound of rain?” she asked.

“Yes.” But it was her laughter he loved. He wrapped his arm around her waist and scooted her tight against him. “Where’s your knife?”

“My knife?” She echoed the word, her tone dripping with innocence.

He bit her shoulder gently. “I know you have it here somewhere. You sleep with the damn thing.”

Her laughter was taunting. It slid inside him and wrapped around his heart. “Does that scare you?”

“Hell yeah,” he said. “One of these nights you’ll get angry with me and . . .”

“Wait!”

Saria started to sit up and then retreated when he refused to move his arm. He pinned her with one leg draped over her thigh.

“What is it?”

“Lojos and Gage came home one day very angry, about two years ago. They’d been off trappin’, and I’d never seen them in such foul moods. They aren’t like that, you know? They laugh a lot and tease the way men often do, but Gage actually punched the wall outside and Lojos was like a bear with a sore tooth. At first I thought they got in a fight, but then I heard them talkin’ to Dash. Someone had gone along their trap lines and tortured the animals. Most were still alive, and the boys killed them to put them out of their misery.”

“What were they trapping?”

“You know nutria isn’t native to Louisiana. They came here from South America to fur farms and were released. No one knows if it was accidental or on purpose, but they’re impacting our wetlands adversely. A huge study was done to put in place a plan to control the population and we participate. But we don’t torture animals, Drake. There’s a huntin’ season, just like with alligators. We want the swamp to flourish. With oil spills and hurricanes and everythin’ else we have to contend with, almost all of us here conform to the regulations. And no one that we know would ever torture an animal for fun.”

“Did they find out who did it?”

She frowned. “That was the strange thing. There were no tracks.”

“And no scent,” he guessed.