Leopard's Prey

looking for.
    “No one else can find exactly what I need for each project. I actually scheduled a visit to the gallery here because I need some of the colors I can get from this little cache. I can get the banded agate, but here . . .” He broke off, using the brush like an archeology tool, exposing the rock beneath. “Here I can find various hues you don’t find very many other places.”
    “I had no idea,” Bijou admitted, finding the entire idea of elegant, sophisticated Arnaud Lefevre, in his thousand-dollar suit, mining for stone in a dangerous, mosquito-infested swamp fascinating. He was totally focused on the task of gently brushing away the dirt to find his hidden treasure. She’d seen him in the studio and he clearly hadn’t even noticed anyone around him, time passing or anything else. He was the same way now, taking the same care with his hunt for the perfect color agate for his sculpture.
    His patient brushing revealed a small vein of pale blue, almost purple and blue-green rocks. He continued brushing away the loose dirt so more colors were exposed.
    Bijou gasped. “Those colors are beautiful.”
    “Even more so when I work with them,” he said almost absently. He took the fork and meticulously began prying the pastel purple rock free. He was careful not to scrape it, digging around the edges to free the small stone.
    “Do you already know what you’re goin’ to use it for?” Bijou asked. “Do you actually have a sculpture in mind?”
    He nodded. “I draw what’s in my head and then figure out which mediums I’m going to use and how best to get what’s in my head to come to life.”
    “Arnaud.” She waited until he turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. “You know you’re a genius, don’ you? No one in the world can do what you do.”
    He studied her face for a long time. “No one ever says the things to me that you do, Bijou, not and really mean them. I can see honesty in your eyes and hear it in your voice. You always have inspired me with your generosity of spirit. Sometimes when I read the tabloids, I find myself getting angry at the way they portray you, and it surprises me. I don’t get angry, or feel much emotion unless I’m creating.”
    Bijou couldn’t help but hear the sincerity in his voice. He wasn’t making a declaration of love—he never did. She could tell he felt great affection for her, as she did him, but something just didn’t quite gel between them, not in a romantic way.
    “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, Arnaud. Thank you,” she said. “And yes, the tabloids seem to really enjoy making up an entirely different life for me. There’s one photographer who is the biggest pain in the neck. He loves to follow me around, take pictures when I’m unaware and then make up some ridiculous story behind the photograph.” She sighed. “He’s here in New Orleans and already dogging my every footstep.”
    Arnaud turned back to brushing away dirt from the stones. “Can’t you file a harassment suit? There must be some way to get rid of him.”
    She shrugged. “Someone else would just take his place, and I guess it’s a case of the devil you know. Bob Carson used to live with my father. He was about fourteen or fifteen when I was born. When he moved out of our home, he’d still come over every day to see Bodrie.”
    “So he was your friend and now he hounds you to make money off of you?” Arnaud asked, as he carefully began to pry the small stone free.
    “I wouldn’t say we were ever friends. By the time I was old enough to know who he was, he was takin’ advantage of the women around Bodrie, usin’ drugs and drinkin’. He traveled with Bodrie as his personal photographer and made a huge name for himself in the business. Of course he always made Bodrie look good.”
    Bob Carson had taken her to the hotel the night Remy found her, bringing his friends and drugs and alcohol. She was still embarrassed to be around him. Remy hadn’t recognized that young man he’d beat to a bloody pulp that night—or if he had he hadn’t said anything to her when Bob had photographed him kissing her.
    Arnaud glanced at her over his shoulder as if reading her mind. “He makes you uneasy.” He dropped a purplish stone into his bag.
    She hadn’t meant to reveal so much. “All paparazzi make me uneasy,” she hedged.
    He laughed softly. “The thing is, Bijou, you can’t lie worth a damn. It’s one of the many reasons why you