Leopard's Prey

night. You saved my life. That’s what you did. You saved me. Never for one minute believe that I’d be here without you, because I wouldn’t.”
    She didn’t flinch when he bunched her shirt in his fist, fury rising all over again at the thought that a child would want to take her own life.
    “I wouldn’t be here without you, Remy,” she repeated, honesty in her voice.
    “Damn it to hell, Blue, you’re goin’ to get us into trouble if you keep this up. Why the hell aren’t you afraid of me? You don’ have good sense.”
    “Who says I’m not afraid of you? You’re a very scary man. Even I can see that. Eat. You skipped breakfast.”
    He forced himself to loosen his grip on her. What was he going to do? Yank her across the table, lay her out and devour her? It might be what he wanted, but he had learned control. He just needed a break from that faint temptation of lavender.
    “I am hungry,” he admitted, meaning it. Not caring if she read his true meaning.
    Evidently she had no problems translating. Color tinged her flawless skin. “Just eat, Remy. Everyone is starin’ at us.”
    He sighed and took a bite. The food was spicy and every bit as good as he remembered. Emile was an extraordinary chef. “His dinners are even better. You can’t make a reservation here, and people wait for hours for one of his meals.”
    “The food is outstandin’,” Bijou agreed. She sent him a little grin. “I have to admit, I love to eat good food.”
    “That’s one of the hazards of bein’ from New Orleans. We love great food, music and fun.”
    “Which means I have to work out daily,” Bijou said, “but if I can eat this kind of food, it’s well worth it.”
    Remy’s gaze dropped to the package of threats. “You were tellin’ me why you suddenly, after all this time, became uneasy with these threats.”
    Bijou made a face at him over her fork. “You’re like a pit bull.”
    He nodded his head solemnly. “Proud of it too.”
    “Bodrie owned several properties beside the mansion and I inherited those along with the copyrights to his music, his record label and everything else. One of the properties was a camp he liked to go to party.” She lifted her lashes and there was faint humor in her eyes. “Because, you know, he didn’t party enough at any of the hotels, his home or anywhere else.”
    “Poor man. I can’t imagine Bodrie Breaux stayin’ for very long at a camp, even if he has every luxury. One swarm of mosquitoes and he’d be out of there.”
    “So true. That was his number one complaint. But he liked to play up his Cajun heritage. He almost always took a camera crew out with him, to document his need to go back to his roots.” She ate another forkful of food, chewing thoughtfully while she looked at Remy. “I went to the camp a few days ago and there was a huge eye painted on the walls inside. The first few times I came across that eye, I thought it was a childish prank. Like, ‘I’m watchin’ you,’ but each of the properties had the eye painted on a wall, includin’ the mansion. I haven’t gone there, but the caretakers said someone broke in and ruined the wall in the entryway.”
    “And?” Remy prompted when she fell silent.
    “At the cabin, someone left a dead animal, killed inside the house, right by the eye. It was all very dramatic with
‘You’re next’
written in the animal’s blood. I took photographs just in case it was a real threat and not some idiot trying to make the tabloids.”
    He swore under his breath. “Bijou, what the hell were you thinkin’ waitin’ so long to come to me about this?”
    “I didn’t want to be rescued again,” she admitted reluctantly. “I hate that you saw me like that, in need of rescue.”
    He resisted the urge to swear again. She did bring out his protective instincts, there was no denying that, but damn it all, she’d been eight years old. “Tell me the rest.”
    She blew out her breath as she glared at him. Remy couldn’t help laughing. “Now that’s the girl I remember. No one can duplicate that exact look. I’m sorry I’m annoying you, Blue . . .”
    “You certainly don’ sound like it,” she contradicted, putting down her fork to study his face.
    Her hand went to the fine silver chain she wore, fingers curling around it. She twisted the links absently, drawing the pendant up out of the neckline of her shirt, giving him a glimpse now and then of the artsy piece. It looked expensive—and it looked like a piece