"She inherited millions. And the money's still pouring in," Gage pointed out. "Just sayin', bro. Money can make up for a lot."
"Trauma and neglect? I don' think so," Remy said. "Her daddy was crazy. Everyone in the bayou and in New Orleans knew it, but he got away with it. He had everyone in his pocket. The cops, the teachers, everyone said she was a problem child with no talent, and moody as hell."
"Maybe she was a problem child," Gage argued.
Remy sent him a steely glance, the sliver of moon lighting his face for one brief second so that the lines etched deep seemed carved into stone. "Or maybe her father paid them off, like he did the cops and judges and everyone else he came into contact with. Maybe you're just a little too young to remember what Bodrie Breaux was really like."
"Aren't all rock stars into women and drugs?" Gage gave a little shrug. "His music was awesome. It couldn't have been that bad bein' the daughter of someone who is a legend."
"Really? I heard the kids taunting her on the street more than once. And her best friend slept with her father in high school and then tried to blackmail him, at least that's what Saria said, and I believe he did sleep with the girl, even though Bodrie denied it and accused both Bijou and the girl of lying. With a father that famous, how was it possible to tell a real friend from someone who just wanted to use you to meet your daddy?"
Gage sent him a look over his shoulder--one that made Remy uncomfortable--but he wasn't certain why. He felt sorry for the child, he always had. She was all eyes and thick, wild hair, a sullen expression, moody and ready to fight at the drop of a hat.
"You seem to know a lot about this girl."
Remy gave a casual shrug. "I helped her out a time or two. And sometimes Saria would talk about her when I came home." Twice he'd pulled Bijou and Saria out of a party when things got out of hand. Both times the girls had been sober, but a few of the very drunk boys thought they had easy targets. Well, they were lucky to have walked away intact. Bijou Breaux was no easy mark and neither was Saria. They'd had to fight for themselves almost from the moment they were born. Each had a soft heart, one that could get her in trouble if the wrong man came along. It was no surprise that Saria and Bijou had become friends. Both were loners and had to grow up fast.
"When she was young," Gage, said, "I'll admit I didn't care much for her. She always had such an attitude. I never saw her smile, not one time."
Remy remembered her small, tentative smile, as if she feared with one smile she might be giving too much of herself away. She'd held both arms tight around herself, her long hair hanging in her face, drawing his attention to her eyes and her feathery, impossibly long lashes. Her bow of a mouth curved reluctantly, and for one moment his heart had stuttered. He'd seen a glimpse of a young girl, already far too old for her years, holding on by a thread.
"She smiled. Maybe you were just too much like everyone else, judging her for how you thought she should be. I'll bet you thought she was stuck-up."
Gage kept his eyes on the black, shiny water, maneuvering the airboat around a bend and through a narrow opening in the tall grass to the canal that veered off toward the swamp.
"She was stuck-up."
Remy shook his head, watching the water ahead of them for alligators. Bijou Breaux had been a mixed-up kid, born into a rotten situation. All the money in the world didn't fix what went on in that mansion. Just once he'd caught her with drugs and he'd been ice-cold, his reaction so ferocious he couldn't comprehend his own emotions. He dumped the drugs, not caring who they belonged to. His leopard wanted to be unleashed on the others in that upscale, expensive hotel room, and he'd barely managed to keep the animal under control while he beat the three men to a bloody pulp and then yanked Bijou out of the room and out into the night.
He'd done the unforgivable, shocking himself. His anger had to go somewhere and, God forgive him, he didn't know what to do with her. He sure as hell wasn't going to put her in the system. He gripped her shoulders with hard fingers and shook her like a rag doll until her head lolled on her shoulders and tears filled her eyes. She didn't blink them away, and she didn't stop staring at him. He knew he couldn't hide his fury. Worse, he knew he was angry at her father, at her situation, at the corrupt department he worked for at the time, not at such a young, mixed-up little girl. He was frustrated by his helplessness and was taking it out on her.
She'd been eight years old and should have told her daddy on him or had him brought up on criminal charges. He'd never struck a woman in his life, let alone a child. He would have beaten a man for shaking a child so hard had he caught him doing it. She'd endured it stoically.
He'd put her back on her feet hard enough to rock her. She didn't utter a sound, just looked at him, puzzled. She should have threatened him. Talked back. Done any number of things a smart-ass child with too much money would do or say, especially one whose daddy could buy and sell them all without noticing the cost. He expected it. He waited for her reprimand.
She'd studied his face for a long time. Serious. Sober. "Why did you do that?" There was true curiosity in her voice.
"What the hell's wrong with you, Bijou?" He'd turned away from her, restless, his leopard on the prowl, fury still holding on to him with both fists. Those getting ready to party with her had all been older--eighteen to twenty-five--all friends of her father and, ominously, all men. He'd wanted to unleash the leopard on them, not just beat them. "You aren't like him." He knew she was aware exactly who he was talking about. Her rock star father, a legend revered by everyone--everyone but him. "You're like your mother, not him. What the hell were you thinkin'? Are you lookin' to let him completely destroy you? Is that what you want?"
She frowned, pressing her lips together tightly for one moment and then taking a small breath before answering. "No one gives a damn."
"I do. I give a damn. And you should too. Do you have any idea what could have happened here tonight if I hadn't come along?"
"I expected to die." She sounded old--too old. Oh so weary and very honest. She wrapped both arms around her middle and held on tightly.
His heart had nearly ceased beating. Worse, his eyes burned. How could her father expose her to the kind of people who surrounded her day and night? It was the very first time he thought of his own young sister, running wild in the swamp, home alone, caring for their drunken father while he and his brothers lived life.
He wanted to shake her all over again, and he wanted to pick her up and carry her somewhere safe. But where? There was nowhere he could take her that her father wouldn't come after her and buy his way out of trouble.
"I ought to beat you within an inch of your life for even suggestin' such a thing. You're not a coward, Bijou, and don' you ever act like one again." His hands did settle on her thin shoulders. Hard. But he stayed still, resisting the urge to make her a target for his rage all over again. She looked at him without wincing. "Do you understand me? This will never happen again. Will it?"
Her eyes on his, she shook her head.
"Say it. I want to hear you say it. You're done with drugs, alcohol and anything else that father of yours has to offer."
"I'm done with drugs and alcohol," she had repeated in a low, steady voice.
"I'm takin' you home and havin' a word with your daddy." He planned to beat the man within an inch of his life, just as he'd promised her he'd do to her if he caught her with drugs again.
That's when she'd given him that smile. That so small, tentative smile, as if she knew what he wanted to do. "It won't do any good, but thank you all the same."
The child was standing there thanking him and he'd just committed an unpardonable sin, shaking her hard enough to injure her. And she was right, which only infuriated him more. Even his chief wouldn't back him up. He would have to take her back to that mansion with its swimming pools, home theater, bowling alley and all the drugs and alcohol and blatant corruption and immorality that went on there.
She didn't say a word as they made the journey from the hotel
to her home. The gates were manned by a guard who waved them through and frantically called up to the house. He stopped her as they approached the door to the ten-thousand-square-foot mansion.
"You know what I did, layin' my hands on you like that, was wrong. No one, law enforcement or not, has the right to ever touch you, especially in anger."
She nodded solemnly, her gaze steady on his, a rather disconcerting stare for one so young.
"Are you sorry?" she asked.
There was nothing in her voice or on her face to give away her feelings on the matter.
He frowned, thinking it over. She deserved the truth, but he wasn't certain he knew the truth. His gut had reacted. His leopard, snarling. Raging. But, no, it wasn't right, yet . . .
"I don't know the answer to that, Bijou," he said, brutally honest with her, with himself. "I don't know what else I could have done to get your attention or to . . ." He faded off, knowing he'd been frustrated, not having any idea what to do with an eight-year-old child who was already an adult and heading down a path of destruction he couldn't stop.
He wasn't a fool. Good people often took bribes. They had families and needed the money. Cops had extra work when Bijou's father was in town, hiring out as bodyguards and security. Often the extra perks included young, good-looking women. Bodrie Breaux was never going to have to answer for his deeds, unless there was truly a judgment day. Neither were the others whose job it was to protect this child, but took his money instead.
He could arrest Bodrie, but he'd lose his job, just as Bijou said. He couldn't argue with her, and he couldn't explain why the sight of her in that hotel room was so disturbing, surrounded by drugs and men who surely would have taken advantage of her had not another guest become upset at seeing a child with three older men going into a hotel room.
He reached past Bijou and opened the front door, indicating for her to precede him. She straightened her shoulders and her chin went up. A sulky, sullen expression crept over her delicate features as she shook her wild mane of hair to let it settle in her eyes. She marched in with Remy behind her.
There were needles lying around the marble floors; a bowl filled with pills and lines of cocaine lay out on a mahogany coffee table. Empty bottles of various strong alcoholic beverages along with empty wine bottles were scattered around the room. Several band members in different states of undress lay huddled on pillows, or on couches with one and sometimes two young women. Boxes of unused condoms were scattered around the room and used condoms were on the floor and the expensive rugs. Bodrie Breaux sprawled naked in a stupor between two naked women.
Bijou didn't look at any of them. She kept her too-old eyes on him. There was no doubt she could read the distaste on his face. "Don't do it. If you arrest him, he'll be out in an hour and you'll lose your badge. Don't bother. I'd rather have you around."
"Who are they?" He nodded toward the two women with Bodrie. One had lipstick smeared across her face. Someone had drawn on her breasts with lipstick, and cocaine still clung to her belly.
"One is my tutor and the other is my governess. They get paid a fortune for something that has nothing at all to do with me." There was no bitterness in her voice, only weariness, and acceptance. "When he gets tired of them, he'll fire them and hire new ones."
"Can I take you somewhere else?"
She shrugged. "Where? I have no other relatives. I have no idea who my mother's people are. There's me and Bodrie." She shrugged a second time. "I've got this. This is a nightly occurrence."
"I can't leave you here." Remy shook his head. He'd shoot himself first. He'd never ever sleep again if he left a child in such an environment. He could sort it all out at the station once he got her out of harm's way. "Get out to the car. I'm taking you to Pauline Lafont. She owns the Lafont Inn."
"I know her," Bijou responded. She looked around the room, and for the very first time, she looked like the child she was. Her shoulders sagged, and for one moment, tears swam in her eyes. She blinked them away and nodded, bolting past him for the door.
Once in the patrol car, he scribbled his private number on a piece of paper and handed it to her. "You get into trouble, call me."
Pauline had taken her in for the night, just as he'd known she would. He'd gone back and talked to his supervisor and then, on suggestion of the captain, took a leave of absence. It took a long while for the sick feeling to leave his gut and an even longer time to forgive himself for the way he'd handled the situation. Bijou needed someone to treat her with a little caring, not shake her until her teeth rattled. And he damn well should have stood up to the department, even if it did cost him his job. He'd been so disgusted with them, himself, and especially Bodrie Breaux.
The encounter with Bijou had changed his life. He'd left New Orleans and joined the service. He traveled as often as he could, to see if more of his kind were in the world and, if so, how they handled the savage nature of their leopards. He had resolved to be more in control and to come back home and change things, make more of a difference. He'd run into Bijou a couple of times after he'd returned home, mostly when she was in some kind of trouble, but she avoided his eyes. To his knowledge, she didn't drink or do drugs, although she was often at the parties.
"She's just a little kid, Gage," Remy murmured aloud. "Cut her some slack."
Gage laughed, a taunting, annoying sound that made Remy wish he wasn't always striving for control. He had the urge to shove his brother out of the airboat.
"Well, Bijou is no little girl anymore. She's stop-traffic, drop-dead gorgeous."
Remy's heart stuttered and, deep inside, his leopard snarled and unsheathed his claws at the note of interest in Gage's voice. He still felt protective over that child and he was damn well going to look at her like she was a child, even though he knew Gage was right about the way she'd grown up. Something in Gage's smug, secretive attitude raised an alarm. He was missing something. His head went up and he fixed eyes that had gone a cobalt blue on his brother.
"Saria didn't bring that girl out here, did she?" He knew the answer before his brother answered. A snarl escaped, a low sound that set the swamp into a frenzy of warning calls. "She's not home two minutes and they're already in trouble together."
Gage shot him a look and then hastily turned his attention to picking his way around a cypress grove. He cut the speed of the boat and maneuvered around the large broken knobs sticking up in the water. "They found a dead body, bro. They didn't actually kill the guy."
"Fils de putain," Remy snapped, swearing under his breath. "It's bad enough to have Saria runnin' the swamp at night, but draggin' Bijou with her is ridiculous. Don' think for a minute those two aren't goin' to get into trouble. Damn Drake anyway."
"Well, you can take it up with him," Gage said. "He's guardin' the vic, keepin' the gators and other creatures off the corpse."
Bright lights lit up the swamp just ahead as the boat eased its way around the bend. The sound of a generator matched the steady drone of insects. Alligators bellowed disapproval from various directions, reminding them that every step they took on solid ground or in the water was dangerous. Cypress trees rose out of the water, long tails of moss hanging from nearly every limb, draping the branches and swaying with the slight wind.
Remy stepped off the airboat onto the semisolid ground. His boots sank a few inches and he hastily moved to firmer ground. The swamp smelled of decay and death. The scent of blood was strong. Drake Donovan greeted him with a firm handshake.
His brother-in-law always surprised him with his strength. He was rugged-looking, with his permanent five-o'clock shadow and his wide shoulders and thick chest. It wasn't that Drake didn't look strong, it was that his grip was crushing, and Remy was an extremely strong man himself.
There was something steady and enduring about Drake, a calm most leopards couldn't quite achieve. Drake not only had the hot passion and temper of the leopard under control, but he could lead a lair of alpha males and keep them loyal and working together. Remy considered
Drake a fair man, as did the other leopards, which went a long way when the law of the jungle prevailed.
"Saria okay?" Remy asked.
Those cool green eyes went a little gold. "She's just fine, thanks. Finding the body was a bit of a shock, but Saria doesn't spook easily."
That was Drake's way of saying Saria was his and no one else was going to tell her what to do. A definite back-off warning.
Remy met those glittering eyes with a stare of his own. "She's your responsibility, Drake, as is her guest." His chin nodded toward the vomit on the ground a few feet from him. "That's not Saria, so I'd say it was Bijou. Neither should have been out here without an escort, and you know it. That body could have been either of them. I don' want my sister or any other woman seein' this kind of thing." Remy refused to drop his stare, something that could be construed as a challenge to the leader of the lair. Damn it all, Saria and Bijou had no business in the middle of a gruesome murder scene.
Drake didn't blink. "Saria is Saria, Remy. You and your family are responsible for the way she is. I don't beat my wife because she was allowed to go her own way from the time she was in the cradle, nor will I ask her to change. I fell in love with an independent woman."
Remy shrugged, refusing to take the blame for his sister's shenanigans now that she was married. "Perhaps you should accompany her into the swamp at night, at least until this killer is caught."
A slow grin softened the hard lines in Drake's face. Laughter lit the green eyes, so that the gold was nearly gone in an instant.
"You're trying to get me killed, because you know if your sister thought for one moment I was protecting her in her precious swamp she'd probably stick a knife in me. If you want leadership that bad, Remy, say the word. It's all yours. You tricked me into it in the first place, you and your hell-raising brothers."
Drake's ability to defuse escalating tension was one of the traits Remy most admired in his brother-in-law--and what was most needed in a leader. Remy had never been able to keep Saria under control, and neither could her husband. She went her own way. When it was needed, Remy had no doubt that Drake would put his foot down and Saria, being sensible about most things, would listen--he hoped. He couldn't imagine Saria defying her husband over her safety.
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