He took her hand, ignoring her. “Let’s go inside.”
“Remy, you aren’t listenin’ to me. I’ve consulted professionals about stalkers and you could have just set yourself up as a target . . .” She trailed off, understanding flooding her chaotic mind. He’d kissed her, not because he’d wanted to, but because he knew the paparazzi was there and would publish a picture of the two of them. He’d deliberately set himself up and made a complete fool of her in the process.
She stiffened. “I’m leavin’.”
“You’re goin’ inside where cameras aren’t going to catch that foul little temper of yours,” Remy said, reaching past her to open the door. He thrust her inside. “We can talk about this when we’re alone.”
Bijou glared at him, waiting until he had closed the door. “I don’ need savin’, Remy. I’m not that eight-year-old child anymore, just in case you hadn’t noticed. You can quit being the white knight chargin’ around trying to save me.”
He grinned at her. “I noticed, Blue. I wouldn’t have been kissing that eight-year-old like I just kissed you.” He looked past her, his smile widening. “Eulalie, so good to see you.”
Bijou let out her breath and turned around to face the owner of the store. Eulalie Chachere was absolutely beautiful with flawless, dark skin and chocolate eyes with feathery lashes. She was tall, with an amazing figure and made Bijou feel like the little kid Remy had just reduced her to.
“Have you come for a love potion, Remy?” Eulalie teased and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him on first one cheekbone and then the other.
Bijou’s breath hissed out of her. Her fingers flexed. Ached. Her nail beds hurt. Her jaw felt as if someone had punched her. Eulalie’s form swam in front of her eyes, shimmering like a heat wave, red and yellow images.
Remy kissed Eulalie’s cheek and then firmly put her to one side, keeping his body between Bijou’s and the voodoo priestess. He reached for Bijou’s hand, his fingers soothing the aches running down the back of her hand to her fingers. He rubbed her knuckles gently, although he didn’t look at her, which, she decided, was a good thing. Fury burned through her for no apparent reason. She had a visceral reaction to Eulalie so intimately and blatantly touching Remy as if they were old friends—or lovers.
“I don’ think a love potion will be necessary . . . yet,” Remy said. “We’ll see. I may come beggin’ later.”
Bijou ran her tongue over her teeth. Remy sounded like such a flirt. Clearly he flirted with every woman he came near. Unexpectedly she wanted to claw and rake at him—or Eulalie. She couldn’t decide who would be the best target.
Remy’s hand tightened around Bijou’s and he stepped close to her—so close the heat from his body washed over her. She could feel strength flowing through him. His fingers bit into her hand. She glanced at him. His eyes had gone that strange green, nearly glowing. He shook his head, an almost imperceptible movement as he brought his mouth close to her ear. “Just breathe.”
“I’m glad you called ahead, Remy,” Eulalie continued, clearly unaware of the tension in the room. “I was about to leave for a couple weeks. I put off traveling until tomorrow so I could look at this for you. Is it the same man that was killing a few years ago when you brought me the photographs to look at?”
Bijou was aware of everything in the room. The position of each item. Scents. The windows. She knew someone else lurked in the back room behind the veil of beads—a man, and he was somehow connected to Eulalie. Her scent was all over him. Sounds were acute, so much so that she could hear conversations outside the shop and knew that several fans as well as a couple of paparazzi were outside waiting.
Remy’s pressure on her hand kept her grounded and she forced her lungs to work. In and out. That strange, elusive wildness unfurled, stretched and retreated, leaving her feeling limp and wrung out. What in the hell was wrong with her? She’d always been accused of being moody, but now she really was. Moody. Edgy. In desperate need of sex. Her skin itched, felt too tight on her body, and she could feel the beginnings of a bad headache.
Remy dropped his arm around her shoulders, tucking her close to him. As much as one minute ago she had wanted to claw his eyes out; now she just felt grateful that he was there, holding her up. She was going to have to go back to her therapist. Her emotions were all over the place.
“I believe he’s the same man, Eulalie,” Remy answered the voodoo priestess, keeping her attention centered on him. “Did you take a look at the photographs?”
Eulalie frowned. “If this is the same man, he’s evolved as far as his altar from several years ago, but he is not a true practitioner.”
“Clearly he’s practicing black magic, summoning demons to aid him, right?”
Eulalie smiled at him. Bijou couldn’t help noticing how the rows of long braids emphasized her beautiful cheekbones and the way her smile lit up her dark eyes. “You’ve been reading. I suspect he’s reading as well, but he’s never gone to a practitioner before. He’s mixing things up. His altar is far better than a few years ago, I’ll give him that.”
“But he isn’t really a follower of voodoo?” Remy prompted. “A bokor perhaps? One who focuses on dark magic rather than light?”
Eulalie shook her head. “Certainly not in the traditional sense. In traditional voodoo, a human sacrifice would be considered extremely objectionable. I can’t say it doesn’t ever go on. In any religion you have people with sadistic natures who covet power above all else, but certainly he would be the exception, and, Remy, I would hear of him.”
Remy frowned and brought up their joined hands, rubbing Bijou’s knuckles back and forth over his jaw. The gesture was not only unnerving, but she found it intimate. He was so used to being flirtatious he didn’t even seem to notice, but she couldn’t summon the will to pull away from him.
“Why don’ you believe he’s a real practitioner, Eulalie?”
It was her turn to frown. “Nothing is right about any of his rituals. He changes them to suit him and you just can’t do that. I would have to say he’s never had a teacher, at least that’s my best guess. Where I might use water, he had blood. He has a sacrifice. I’d use an apple, he has an actual heart.”
“He’s bastardizin’ actual rituals,” Remy asked, trying to understand.
“Yes. Exactly. But he’s also mixing them up, which makes me think he’s just getting everything out of a book. The hanging man’s hand must be cut off while the victim is still hanging, but then it’s dried over a fire. If he truly knew what he was doing, he could eventually create a handyman as it were to carry out his orders. He did tie candles to the fingers, which, if you didn’t dip the hand in oil ahead of time to use as candles, then you’d do it that way.”
“I’m particularly interested in the string with the knots.”
Something in Remy’s voice, although he sounded very casual, maybe too casual, centered Bijou’s attention on the answer. Whatever that string meant, Remy considered important.
Eulalie nodded. “Ah, yes, that is a definite misfit of a ritual in the middle of all this. The seven knots in the string can be used to bind a woman or man to you, to ask for them to love you, but the string should be put under your pillow, not into a bowl of blood. He turned the string red using the blood, but it isn’t the same thing. The candle is thrown into running water. And there were no symbols on the ground anywhere. No protections. No god or deity or even a demon he’s distinctly calling on. Nothing at all to say what he’s doing. Remy, these rituals are sacred. We don’t abuse them and we don’t dare make mistakes. You don’t play around with this.”
“Thanks, Eulalie,” Remy said. “Can I call you on your cell if I need to discuss more with you?”
“Of course. I’ll help in any way I can,” she assured. “Why was the string so important?”
“Because he’s never done it before,” Remy said.
5
IN the dark of Saria’s kitchen, Remy paced restlessly back and forth. He was silent, not making a
sound as he moved across the tiled floor. His leopard was riding him hard and he knew he had to let the animal out for a run, but there was danger if what he suspected was true.
Blue was leopard. Well . . . maybe she was leopard. Remy considered the ramifications for her. Bijou had no idea who her mother was, and in any case, her mother, had she lived, would not have been able to tell her daughter about her heritage, just in case Bijou couldn’t shift. Bodrie was no leopard, and he certainly hadn’t known what he had in Bijou.
Female leopards didn’t emerge unless the human counterpart and the leopard both came into cycle at the same time. Only at that time could a woman’s leopard emerge for the first time. It was an extremely dangerous time for all male leopards. Blue would be extremely alluring and yet, if not ready, moody and edgy.
A few days ago, there in the store, Bijou’s eyes had changed from that amazing blue to a lethal glacier blue when Eulalie had kissed him on the cheek. Maybe Remy had wanted Bijou to be the one. He had all but given up looking for a mate, and now Bijou was back in his territory and in spite of the age difference, he couldn’t get his mind off of her. She was beautiful and intriguing. He knew she was intelligent. She was talented and had a good sense of humor. He liked being in her company.
He was man enough to admit to himself that he was a strong dominant and needed a woman who could stand up to him when he became too overbearing, as Saria often accused him of being. His career was important to him. He believed what he did made a difference and often he was gone long hours. He needed a woman with her own life, career and independence, yet one who would need him the way he would her.
Earlier in the week in Bijou’s company, without warning, his leopard had gone from a jealous, snarling lethal cat to . . . oh baby . . . there you are. The moment was gone, the scent of a female close to her time was gone, but for whatever reason—his cat accepted Bijou Breaux.
He scented his sister just before she stepped into the kitchen. Like him, she was silent when she walked, and she didn’t bother with the lights. She froze and turned very slowly toward the corner where the darker shadows hid him completely.
“Remy?”
“Why aren’t you sleepin’, Saria?” he asked.
“Drake’s not here. He left yesterday for Texas to see Jake and Emma. We were hopin’ to persuade them to come for a visit, but Emma just found out she’s pregnant and Drake says Jake is freakin’ out. The doctors weren’t certain she could ever have another baby. She nearly died in childbirth. Jake was adamant that they not have another child, but apparently birth control doesn’t always work on leopards.”
“Jake Bannaconni? Freakin’ out?” Remy shook his head. “That man is stone.”
“True, unless he’s around his kids or Emma,” Saria said. “Drake said Jake is scary crazy over Emma. He was pretty upset that she was pregnant again. Drake went to calm him down.”
“Drake’s pretty good at that.”
“I miss him. I thought if I drank some hot chocolate I’d feel better.” She sent him a small smile. “Chocolate will keep me out of the swamp. I hate sleepin’ without Drake, and nights when he’s gone I usually make my trips to do my night photography so it isn’t so bad without him.” She sounded distracted, as if she was leaving an important piece of information out.
“Thanks for not goin’,” Remy said, choosing his words carefully. “I know it’s difficult for you to change your routine, especially when you’ve got a paying client. I really appreciate that I don’ have to worry about you.”
“You sound tired, Remy.”
He toed a chair around and sank down into it, studying his sister’s face. She looked strained, something rare for Saria. She was self-possessed, sure of herself and uncaring of other people’s opinions of her. It was unlike her to be so restless with Drake gone.
“I am tired,” he admitted. Handling Saria took care. One didn’t leap in with her. You gave a little to get something back. He was a skilled interrogator and once in a while he could coax his independent sister to tell him what was troubling her—and something definitely was. He rubbed the back of his neck knowing her cat’s eyes would be able to see the gesture there in the dark. “Talk to me.”
Saria crossed to the counter, putting her hand on the coffeemaker to test the heat. “You aren’t drinkin’ coffee are you?”
“No. I figured I’m already jacked up, I don’ need coffee to keep the buzz goin’.”
“You always get this way when you’re worried, Remy. Is it Pete’s murder?”
Remy shrugged. “If the killer stays with the pattern he had four years ago, he’ll be hittin’ tonight or tomorrow night and I’m no closer to catchin’ him then I was when he struck back then. For all the evidence he leaves at the crime scene, so far, nothin’ links anyone. I don’ even have a single suspect, and he’s goin’ to kill another innocent person. Someone with a family. Pete was a damned good man.”
Saria put a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Yes he was. You’ll get him this time, Remy, I know you will.” She pulled up the chair beside his and sat down, leaning toward him. “I know you always think you’re responsible for everyone around you, but you aren’t. You can only do so much.”
“I suppose that’s the truth,” he agreed. “But it doesn’t make me feel any better. Gage and I have worked night and day on this case, and we’re no closer to findin’ the killer. I’m just really grateful you’re stayin’ out of the swamps no matter the reason.”
Saria pressed her lips together and pushed back into her chair. There it was. She was on the verge of telling him, but obviously hesitating. Remy made a show of massaging his neck, wincing a little.
“I do have some news,” Saria said reluctantly, not looking at him directly. “Part of the reason I’m not going into the swamp is because I’m going to have a baby and I don’ want to risk a problem.”
“Saria!” He hadn’t been expecting that. He leaned toward her, covered her hand with his. “Aren’t you happy about it? What’s wrong? Have you told Drake?” He’d kick his brother-in-law in the ass for leaving her when she was obviously upset.
Saria shook her head. “I haven’t said anythin’ to him. I wasn’t certain before he left and after he was gone, I took a test. I wasn’t really sure I wanted to know, but the thingie came up positive, which I have to tell you was a little shockin’.”
“So you were using birth control,” Remy guessed. “And it didn’t work for you?”
“It certainly did not. Male leopards ought to come with a warnin’ label.” She gave a small sniff and kept her head turned away from him.
Remy didn’t know if she was sniffing in disdain at male leopards, or if she was on the verge of tears—and Saria rarely cried. He was treading a minefield if Saria was crying. “Do you want a baby, Saria?” He asked the question straight out. Skirting around the issue wouldn’t do any good and would only make her clam up. She hadn’t told Drake and she could have called him, but she hadn’t. “Is everythin’ all right between you and Drake?”
Saria pressed her hand to her forehead, leaning her elbow on the table in a gesture of weariness. “Drake and I are fine. It’s not that.” She sighed without lifting her head. “It’s me, Remy. I never had a mother, or father for that matter.” She did look at him then and there was stark fear in her eyes. “How would I possibly know how to be a decent parent? It’s not like babies come with manuals. You’re supposed to know all that before you ever have one. I was being so careful so this wouldn’t happen.”
Remy didn’t make the mistake of reacting. He turned over what she’d revealed in his mind, studying her statement from every angle. She feared becoming a parent, and truthfully he didn’t blame her. She wasn’t old enough to remember their father as a happy man. He’d gotten drunk when his wife got sick and stayed that way permanently after she died. Saria had practically raised herself.
“I can see what you’re thinking,” Remy conceded in a thoughtful tone. “You didn’t have the best example in the wor
ld of parenting, did you? I certainly wasn’t any help.”
“I didn’t mean that,” Saria said hastily, her dark eyes meeting his. “Maybe I was angry at all of you for a few minutes there, but mostly it was because I felt left out, not because I was alone with mon pere.”
“Still, I should have protected you more. He was never really present in your life.”
“I never was very good at accepting protection, Remy,” Saria confessed. “And you were gone. In the service, travelin’. All of you had lives.”
“That’s no excuse, Saria. But, the point is, you took care of mon pere. By yourself. When you were just a little girl. You kept the house and you cooked for him. You even ran the bar when he was too drunk to do it. You fished, shrimped, and you hunted alligators. You can do anythin’. Having a baby will be nothing for you.”
“That’s nice of you to say, Remy,” Saria said. “I wish I could believe you. I’m absolutely terrified.”
He frowned at her, trying not to be upset. “Are you thinkin’ of getting rid of the baby and not tellin’ Drake?” He couldn’t conceive of Saria doing such a thing. She was honest almost to a fault.
She looked so horrified he had his answer.
“Of course not. I’m goin’ to tell him. I just need to get my head right is all. And lately, it hasn’t been so right.” She rubbed at her temples as if she had a headache. “It was just as well Jake called and needed Drake to make the trip to Texas. I haven’t been so nice lately.”
“To Drake?” Remy prompted.
“It’s just that I’m horribly moody. Or edgy. I don’ know the right word for it.” She made a face, her eyes filled with self-loathing. “I found myself getting’ jealous of Bijou, and she’s one of my oldest friends.” She made the confession in a little ashamed rush. “I’m not a jealous person. I’m really not, Remy. Bijou’s—broken. She needs friends. She needs me and I’m actin’ like an idiot. Oh, not to her face, but inside, especially when Drake’s in the house, I find myself wantin’ to claw her eyes out.”
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