"That's because you hero-worshipped him when he didn' deserve it," Saria pointed out, laughing all over again. "He has a bossy attitude and never lets you forget he's the one runnin' the show."
Color crept up Bijou's neck into her face. "I did not hero-worship him," she denied. "He was bossy back then too."
"There's a difference between bein' bossy, which I wasn't, and bein' the boss, which I am," Remy said, in his mild voice. "In any case, worshippin' me is a good idea. I'm all for it."
Saria rolled her eyes and laughed, the sound joyful. Remy hadn't seen Saria for a couple of weeks and he forgot how he felt in her company. She seemed relaxed and happy, her home always open and her smile ready. When had his sister become so different than the wild child he remembered? Sure, she still went her own way, but she was confident, not defiant. He liked being in her company. Her happiness radiated from her, surrounding everyone close to her. Her joy lifted those around her. She was definitely a woman, all grown up, married to a man closer to his age than hers. And she was happy.
"You know you'll have to stay with me." Saria turned to Bijou, all serious, her mercurial nature showing. "At least until Remy checks everythin' out and we know you're safe. It will be fun," she added. "I've missed you."
"That's a good idea," Remy said. "Make certain I get all of the threats, Blue, anything you have, paper, recordin's--all of it."
Bijou shook her head. "I feel like I'm being railroaded. I don' recall anyone ever bein' able to do that to me, not since I turned thirteen."
"Someone needs to look after you," Remy said. "Especially if you're goin' to run wild with my sister."
Saria kicked him under the table. "I don' run wild anymore, Remy. I'm a workin' girl these days. I spend so much time takin' pictures I barely have time to run this place properly or do guidin'."
"Guidin'?" Bijou echoed. "You take tourists out in the swamp and bayous?"
"That's how I met Drake," Saria said. "I was his guide. Maybe you should take over my business. You could meet . . ."
Remy slammed his coffee mug onto the table. "Okay, that's it. I'm drownin' you in the bayou, Saria. I should have done it when you were born. I knew you were goin' to be giving me trouble. Blue is not takin' strangers into the swamp. I'd be shootin' someone before nightfall."
Saria leaned across the table and mouthed Bossy at Bijou.
"Clearly you don' have enough to do, Remy," Bijou observed. "Or you've been deprived of shootin' someone for a long while now."
"A little of both," Remy said. "But now that I've got your sassy ass back in New Orleans no doubt I'll have my hands full."
"No doubt."
"You're really goin' to make your home here?" Remy asked. "For good?"
Bijou nodded, her vivid blue eyes meeting his. "I'm tired of fightin', Remy. I've made so many mistakes trying to be someone I'm not. I just plain don' like the life, traveling, living in hotels, the bodyguards and constant paparazzi and crowds. I think for a while there, I felt as if I had to compete with Bodrie, which, of course, was impossible."
"You have a beautiful voice," he said, drumming his fingers on the table. Once more that restless, dangerous feeling was building. He could feel his muscles coiling, his body going still, as if at any moment he would leap on his prey. He was very aware of Saria sending him an uneasy glance. She was leopard and her senses would pick up the shift in his body instantly, going on alert herself.
"Thank you. The thing is, I have to sing. I have to write music. It's there in me and I have to get it out. I don' expect anyone to understand. I just have this personal need. I'm done with the big tours and singing rock and roll all the time. I'm not Bodrie, nor do I want to be. I love the blues, and jazz. I play the piano, not a guitar. I love the saxophone. I can rock with the best of them, but that's not my real dream. Everyone says if I switch from rock and roll to what I prefer, I can't make it. My fan base won't follow me, but this is something I have to do. My manager said I didn't have the talent for blues and jazz, but I love it so much and I want to try."
"That's bullshit, Blue, you've got talent." Remy felt the clawing at his gut. His cat needed to run, and he'd better get out of there soon. He had no idea why he was so reluctant to leave. Saria just made the place too comfortable.
"We'll see, won't we?" Bijou flashed one of her small smiles. "I'm singin' occasionally in my own club, so we'll see if I can draw anyone in."
Saria shot him a look that clearly said, "What the hell is wrong with you?" He couldn't very well tell his baby sister that everything about Bijou Breaux set his leopard off.
"Oh, no doubt you'll do fine," Remy said, meaning it. Her voice was special, sultry and filled with sex and sin. She'd have all the local single men flocking to her club. Every male tourist in town wanting to get laid would be there as well. Just the thought made him want to grind his teeth. His leopard flexed his claws and raked at him, adding to his deteriorating mood.
His skin itched. Every joint ached. His jaw hurt. Every sense heightened. Lavender drifted through the room into his lungs, and he took the scent deep. He could find Bijou Breaux on the darkest night, no matter how faint the trail.
"Did you know, Remy, when the light hits your eyes a certain way, they change color?" Bijou observed. "You have the darkest blue eyes and they suddenly go green or sometimes, they glow, like a cat in the dark. I remember a couple of times when I was a little girl, I fixated on your eyes. I used to dream about them."
Saria's frown deepened. "Did his eyes scare you?"
"I suppose they should have, but no. I found the change sort of comforting." Bijou gave Remy another tentative smile that sent another hot surge of blood rushing through his body, straight to his groin. "For all his bossy ways, your brother can be rather comfortin'."
Remy eased the painful ache by stretching out his legs, taking a moment to breathe, rather pleased that she wasn't afraid of his cat. She didn't know the glowing eyes signaled his cat was close, but that didn't matter. He didn't want her afraid of him--well, maybe that wasn't altogether true. One of them had to have good sense, and clearly his leopard was reaching for supremacy.
He gathered up the photographs and the two sealed statements. "Gage will be askin' you questions later so expect him. Tell him I have the pictures you took and your written statements. He's asked me to consult on this one so I might be back askin' questions as well." He stood up and pinned his sister with cool eyes. "Stay the hell out of the swamp until this nutcase is caught. He's dangerous." He waited. Still. His leopard coiled and ready.
Saria sighed. "I'm not quite the idiot you think I am, Remy. I have no intention of runnin' around in the swamp while a vicious serial killer is out there."
"I've never considered you to be an idiot, just very adventurous," he corrected.
Now that he had his sister's agreement he allowed himself to focus on Bijou. The moment he centered his attention on her, he knew it was a mistake. She looked up at him with her impossibly blue eyes and all those long lashes, the cloud of silky hair tumbling around her face and that mouth that needed to be outlawed and he knew he was lost. It wasn't going to matter that she was his sister's age. Hell, nothing was going to matter. Bijou Breaux was going to be seeing a lot of him.
"I want everythin' you have on those death threats, Bijou. Bring them by my office tomorrow around noon. And don' give me any trouble over it."
She sent him a faint smile and gave a small salute. He didn't wait for sass. He turned abruptly on his heel and got the hell out of there before he--or his leopard--did something disgraceful.
3
REMY stared down at the photographs Saria took of the crime scene. The forensic photographer's photos were scattered across his desk along with those of his sister. He kept frowning at them, because they damn well didn't add up. Saria was a pro. She didn't make mistakes. She'd used her zoom lens to record each section of the crime scene. She'd been methodical, so much so that if he'd put the pictures together, they would form a very accurate and detail