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 of jewelry a man very interested in her would give as a gift.

“You could be right. Just tell me everythin’ right now because I’m goin’ to get it out of you eventually.” He reached across the table, unable to stop himself—another loss of control she caused—and pulled the silver chain until the pendant was completely exposed.

The piece was round, three-dimensional and beautiful. He recognized the work of Arnaud Lefevre, a renowned sculptor who made rare jewelry pieces as well. His work went for tens of thousands for the jewelry and hundreds of thousands for his sculptures. One of the most prestigious galleries in New Orleans carried his work. Occasionally, Arnaud visited the various galleries around the world displaying his art and it was always a huge gala event.

“Where’d you get this piece?”

“Arnaud gave it to me,” Bijou said. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“You two goin’ out?” He asked the question casually, but he wasn’t feeling casual.

She frowned at him and carefully put down her fork. “I thought we were talkin’ about the threats to me.”

“We were. Now we’re talkin’ about you steppin’ out with Arnaud Lefevre.”

4

BIJOU studied Remy’s completely expressionless face. His eyes had gone strange, from a brilliant cobalt blue to a deeper shade of green that almost glowed. He looked—dangerous. His gaze was focused on her, unblinking, mesmerizing and a little exhilarating. She found herself staring at him, unable to look away. Remy had a commanding presence. He exuded absolute confidence. There was no back up in him. He was even more of a steady rock than she remembered.

Remy truly fascinated her. For most of her life she’d thought of him. With her every adversity he’d been there, forcing her to do her best, believing in her, even if it had been a child’s imagination. He had become her white knight, the man who had come charging in and saved her in her darkest hour. She’d clung to his belief in her. The words he’d said to her became her mantra to live by. He believed she was strong—wasn’t a coward—and she’d done her best as a child to live up to his confidence in her. She’d never broken her promise to him. Not once, no matter how tempted she’d been.

He was so beautiful—in a very masculine way. There was nothing feminine about Remy other than maybe his eyelashes. His shoulders were wide and ropes of defined muscles rippled every time he moved. She’d flirted—how could she help it—and he’d flirted back. Strangely, she was more at ease with him than she ever was with anyone.

“Arnaud is a friend. I’ve admired his work and bought one of his sculptures several years ago at a gallery in New York. He was having a show there and I met him. He apparently enjoys my music.”

“Everyone enjoys your music.”