Robert stirred, winced and tried to drink from swollen lips. He cleared his throat several times, glancing warily at his brother.

Dion scowled at him. “Spit it out, Robert, if you’ve got somethin’ to say.”

“There was one other thin’ I didn’t mention, but you’d better know before Drake gets home.” His guilty gaze flicked to Saria’s face and then moved quickly away.

Dion stiffened. “What the hell else have you done?” he demanded.

Robert hunched more. “I was drunk, Dion.”

He sounded whiny, and Bijou took the chair closest the counter where the knives were. She’d calculated the distance and in her mind practiced drawing the chosen blade over and over until she was certain she could do so smoothly. It was evident that Saria had confidence in herself and that she knew both men very well—she spoke to them in a tone reserved for close friends one could get angry with—but Bijou didn’t trust anyone. Saria was pregnant, and as far as she was concerned, the two men hadn’t left when Saria told them to. She would sit and listen, but she’d be on alert every single moment.

“I came here last night,” Robert blurted out. “Remy had pissed me off. I was hurt, but not feelin’ it so much because of the drinkin’ . . .”

“You know we can’t drink,” Dion interrupted, fury gathering in his eyes. “Drake lives here with his wife. He’s the leader of our lair. What were you thinkin’? If Drake had been here, were you plannin’ on challenging him? He’d wipe up the floor with you. You’d already gotten your ass handed to you by Remy, and you were damned lucky you weren’t killed, but challenging Drake is just plain stupidity, especially after the beatin’ you took.”

Saria stirred as if she might say something, but Dion slammed his coffee cup down on the table and leaned toward his brother. His eyes were all glowing now, cat’s eyes, his temper rising to the surface.

“You’re not getting’ me killed, Robert. Drake is savin’ this lair. Savin’ all of us, and I’ve had enough of your drinking and your lousy friends and the trouble you’re always in. If you think I’m goin’ to be turning on Drake or defendin’ you to him, you’re dead wrong.”

Robert kept his head down, portraying an absolutely miserable man, but Bijou wasn’t buying it. He was obviously good at manipulating his brother. Dion felt responsible for him, and Robert was taking his outburst as another lecture, not an absolute vow.

Saria pushed the warmer containing beignets toward Robert. “What did you do here, last night, Robert? Perhaps if you just tell us what happened, we can figure this all out.”

“I went to her club last night,” Robert said, making it an accusation—a whiny one at that. He jerked his thumb toward Bijou but still didn’t look at her. “She’s still as hoity-toity as she always was. She passed right by me without sayin’ a word.”

Bijou gave a little sniff. “I’m so like that.”

Saria coughed, holding her hand over her mouth. Dion glanced at Bijou and then away. Faint color crept up his neck. Bijou wasn’t certain what that was all about. He’d insulted her the moment he’d seen her and yet he refused to look at her for more than a second or two. Each time he did, he looked red and uncomfortable.

Robert glared at her. “I told my friends I knew you, that you grew up here, but they didn’t believe me. They took bets.”

“What friends?” Saria asked. “We all grew up in the same lair . . .”

“Not leopard,” Robert snarled. “I don’ hang out with just leopards like the rest of you. I have a life and lots of other friends.”

Dion snorted. “They aren’t friends when they’re gettin’ you in trouble all the time, Robert. You get stinkin’ drunk with them and they put you up to all sorts of things.”

“You’re just jealous because I have friends,” Robert countered. “You think you’re so high and mighty, Dion, but you slave away in that stupid office of yours and you’re jealous because I don’ have to.”

“You might not work, but you always have money, don’ you, Robert,” Dion accused. “Wherever you’re gettin’ it, you certainly don’ want to admit where it comes from, which means you’re ashamed. You know damn well you shouldn’t be doin’ whatever it is you are.”

“It’s none of your business,” Robert whined. “I don’ have to tell you how I make my money.”

Saria heaved a very loud sigh. “Robert, focus. I need to know what you did when you came here last night.”

Robert ducked his head again, his defiant gaze sliding away quickly. “It was Remy’s fault.” He lifted his head and glared at Bijou. “And hers. They got my leopard riled up and I couldn’t control him last night. First he went after her, and when Remy went so crazy, hitting me from behind when I wasn’t even doin’ anything, my leopard just lost it.”

“I see. None of this is your responsibility at all,” Saria said.

Robert didn’t seem to notice the sarcasm in her voice. “No, it isn’t. Look, I did a few drugs with the guys. Nothin’ big, not like heroin, but my brain was a little scrambled. So after the snotty woman lost me the bet and I owed big-time, I drank a little on top of it and that made it difficult to control my leopard. All she had to do was acknowledge me,” he said. “That’s not askin’ so much, is it?”