He kept up a harsh pace, driving into her over and over, his hand alternately soothing her bottom and smacking it. Each time he did, hot liquid poured over him. He loved the feel and intensity of it. He loved the scent of arousal and sex. He loved her sweet, hot, tight channel. He loved that no matter how rough he got, she met his every need with her own.

He held out as long as he possibly could, ignoring her cries and pleas, taking them both higher than he’d ever gone. Her muscles clamped so tight, the friction burned like hell and he was lost, exploding jet after jet of hot seed deep inside her. Her body wanted every drop, milking and draining him, while her cries disturbed the alligators in the bayou.

He fought for his breath, holding her still for a long moment, until reluctantly he slipped out of her. Remy was gentle as he helped her to straighten up. “When we get home, chere, I’m going to do slow and easy with you. I’ll show you what making love is.”

She had to lean against him, her legs unsteady. His seed trickled down her thighs, a sexy reminder that just made him want her all over again. He would never get enough of her.

“You have your clothes on,” she pointed out when he lifted her to walk around the car. “I’m all sticky.”

He kissed her hard. “I like you sticky, and I’m very fond of your high heels and garter. Let’s go home. I want to make love to you in a bed.”

17

REMY put down his phone, shaking his head, resisting the urge to punch the wall. A fat lot of good it did putting criminals in jail when a corrupt judge put them back out onto the street. He sank down on the edge of the bed and dropped his head in his hands. How was he going to stop murderers from killing again when he didn’t know when and where they would strike next?

Bijou shifted her body, sitting up, pulling the sheet around her as she stroked caressing fingers through his hair. Her touch felt like heaven. He hadn’t realized just how alone he often felt when he was in the middle of a murder investigation and kept coming up short, feeling as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders. He took his oath seriously, and he felt deeply the need to protect his community.

“What is it? Another murder?”

“Not yet,” he said and turned toward her. She looked far too beautiful and innocent to be having a conversation about murder at six in the morning. He still couldn’t believe that she belonged to him. She was a miracle, especially right at that moment when he couldn’t help but feel despair.

“Judge Thomasson set bail for Jean and Juste Rousseau. He convened a special hearing and no one said a word to me. The DA was told at the last minute and didn’t make it there in time, obviously on purpose, so you can bet there’s goin’ to be another murder. It’s just a matter of when they find the body.”

His gut told him in no uncertain terms that the Rousseau brothers wouldn’t make a run for it, not without trying to clean up loose ends—or get revenge. They were arrogant, and they believed themselves above the law. After managing to get a judge to risk his career for them, they had to feel more powerful than ever.

“Is that even legal?” Bijou asked. “How can a judge do that?”

“No, but he did it all the same and there must be a reason for it. Maybe they threatened him, I don’ know and it doesn’t matter now. They’re out there, and either they’re runnin’ or they’re killin’. They can’t get to Robert, Brent or Tom, so I have to try to figure out who they’d go after.”

“You, Remy. They’ll come after you and Gage. You’re the ones who figured it out, and got the evidence against them,” Bijou pointed out, her voice anxious.

He had been hoping she wouldn’t think of that, but he should have known that would be her first guess. “I doubt they’re that stupid. Gage and I are always armed. We’re not easy targets. No, they’ve got someone else in mind,” he said to distract her.

“The dancers at the strip joint who agreed to testify against them? You got some of them to agree but they were very scared,” Bijou suggested. She massaged his back with one hand, trying to soothe him. “Are you certain Robert, Brent and Tom are all safe? Is there a way they can get to them in jail? Because if witnesses disappear . . .” She trailed off. “That’s what you’ve been afraid of all along, isn’t it?”

“There are many voodoo practitioners here in the city as well as in the outlyin’ areas. If it’s widely known that Jean and Juste are bokors, black magic priests, then there will be a great deal of fear of retaliation through voodoo spells as well as violence.” Remy ran his hands through his hair again. “The worst part, Blue, is I don’ think they’re the bone harvesters.”

“I thought you found human bones in their camp in the swamp.”

He turned and swept her under his arm, needing the feel of her close to him. She was warm and soft and all his. She leaned into him without hesitation, nuzzling his neck with her lips, her breath teasing his skin.

“They killed those women, I know they did, but they didn’t take their bones. Those bones were old. They robbed graves, they had to have. Look at what they do. They intimidate using voodoo. They prey on the elderly. Most of the dancers have no one looking out for them, so they make easy targets. Tom has a mean streak in him. He was always a bit of a follower and liked to hang with the bullies. Ryan was the same. Naturally they’d gravitate toward the Rousseau brothers. Robert and Brent are weak and self-indulgent.”