“You hated your daughter because she was everythin’ you aren’t. She’s beautiful and intelligent. She’s worth millions of dollars and she brought fame to a name you despise. You hated your husband because you couldn’t hold him,” Saria continued. “Everyone knew it. I heard whispers when I was a child. He wasn’t faithful to you, was he? You couldn’t hold a man like that. You couldn’t hold either of them, could you? Buford or Bartheleme.”

Drake waited for the perfect shot. Another inch, baby. I need her to turn another inch just to be certain. He could make the shot if there was no other choice, but she still might be able to slice through Charisse’s throat and she was vicious enough to take her daughter with her just for spite.

Iris bared her teeth and a slow hiss emerged. “I was the one who had affairs, not that idiot of a husband. He didn’t think I was clever. Only Charisse. Always his precious Charisse. If Charisse is so beautiful and intelligent, how come every one of her boyfriends slept with me? How come they all did anything I asked of them? Charisse is so damned stupid she didn’t even know what was happenin’ under her nose.”

“The opium? You and Buford cooked that up between you.”

Drake was so proud of Saria’s steady voice. She spoke as if she’d known the truth for years, as if she wasn’t guessing at all. She took another step toward the right and her hand slid down to the knife at her belt.

His heart jumped, but he didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just waited for that one moment that was certain to come. Not too close, he silently advised, wishing he could leap in front of Saria, but he had to trust her—trust her leopard to protect her. Iris was insane and her leopard was just as mad. There was no telling what she would do now that she was cornered.

“Stupid girl. Buford and I made so much money right under her uptight goody-goody nose.” Iris’s gaze shifted just for a moment to the moldy chests stacked to the back of the room. Vines climbed around them, but each one had a brand new lock. Her treasures. “We fucked in Bartheleme’s bed all the time and even in her bed. She never knew, not even with her precious nose—the nose her father wanted to insure.” There was such a mixture of loathing and contempt in her voice, Charisse began to weep.

“Maybe you did,” Saria conceded, “but you needed the nonscent Charisse developed, didn’t you? Buford used you for his own gain. While he was fuckin’ you, he was doin’ the same to a hundred other women.”

“Whores. They were whores throwin’ themselves at him. I killed them and left their bodies to rot with the gators.”