“Trauma and neglect? I don’ think so,” Remy said. “Her daddy was crazy. Everyone in the bayou and in New Orleans knew it, but he got away with it. He had everyone in his pocket. The cops, the teachers, everyone said she was a problem child with no talent, and moody as hell.”
“Maybe she was a problem child,” Gage argued.
Remy sent him a steely glance, the sliver of moon lighting his face for one brief second so that the lines etched deep seemed carved into stone. “Or maybe her father paid them off, like he did the cops and judges and everyone else he came into contact with. Maybe you’re just a little too young to remember what Bodrie Breaux was really like.”
“Aren’t all rock stars into women and drugs?” Gage gave a little shrug. “His music was awesome. It couldn’t have been that bad bein’ the daughter of someone who is a legend.”
“Really? I heard the kids taunting her on the street more than once. And her best friend slept with her father in high school and then tried to blackmail him, at least that’s what Saria said, and I believe he did sleep with the girl, even though Bodrie denied it and accused both Bijou and the girl of lying. With a father that famous, how was it possible to tell a real friend from someone who just wanted to use you to meet your daddy?”
Gage sent him a look over his shoulder—one that made Remy uncomfortable—but he wasn’t certain why. He felt sorry for the child, he always had. She was all eyes and thick, wild hair, a sullen expression, moody and ready to fight at the drop of a hat.
“You seem to know a lot about this girl.”
Remy gave a casual shrug. “I helped her out a time or two. And sometimes Saria would talk about her when I came home.” Twice he’d pulled Bijou and Saria out of a party when things got out of hand. Both times the girls had been sober, but a few of the very drunk boys thought they had easy targets. Well, they were lucky to have walked away intact. Bijou Breaux was no easy mark and neither was Saria. They’d had to fight for themselves almost from the moment they were born. Each had a soft heart, one that could get her in trouble if the wrong man came along. It was no surprise that Saria and Bijou had become friends. Both were loners and had to grow up fast.
“When she was young,” Gage, said, “I’ll admit I didn’t care much for her. She always had such an attitude. I never saw her smile, not one time.”
Remy remembered her small, tentative smile, as if she feared with one smile she might be giving too much of herself away. She’d held both arms tight around herself, her long hair hanging in her face, drawing his attention to her eyes and her feathery, impossibly long lashes. Her bow of a mouth curved reluctantly, and for one moment his heart had stuttered. He’d seen a glimpse of a young girl, already far too old for her years, holding on by a thread.
“She smiled. Maybe you were just too much like everyone else, judging her for how you thought she should be. I’ll bet you thought she was stuck-up.”
Gage kept his eyes on the black, shiny water, maneuvering the airboat around a bend and through a narrow opening in the tall grass to the canal that veered off toward the swamp.
“She was stuck-up.”
Remy shook his head, watching the water ahead of them for alligators. Bijou Breaux had been a mixed-up kid, born into a rotten situation. All the money in the world didn’t fix what went on in that mansion. Just once he’d caught her with drugs and he’d been ice-cold, his reaction so ferocious he couldn’t comprehend his own emotions. He dumped the drugs, not caring who they belonged to. His leopard wanted to be unleashed on the others in that upscale, expensive hotel room, and he’d barely managed to keep the animal under control while he beat the three men to a bloody pulp and then yanked Bijou out of the room and out into the night.
He’d done the unforgivable, shocking himself. His anger had to go somewhere and, God forgive him, he didn’t know what to do with her. He sure as hell wasn’t going to put her in the system. He gripped her shoulders with hard fingers and shook her like a rag doll until her head lolled on her shoulders and tears filled her eyes. She didn’t blink them away, and she didn’t stop staring at him. He knew he couldn’t hide his fury. Worse, he knew he was angry at her father, at her situation, at the corrupt department he worked for at the time, not at such a young, mixed-up little girl. He was frustrated by his helplessness and was taking it out on her.
She’d been eight years old and should have told her daddy on him or had him brought up on criminal charges. He’d never struck a woman in his life, let alone a child. He would have beaten a man for shaking a child so hard had he caught him doing it. She’d endured it stoically.
He’d put her back on her feet hard enough to rock her. She didn’t utter a sound, just looked at him, puzzled. She should have threatened him. Talked back. Done any number of things a smart-ass child with too much money would do or say, especially one whose daddy could buy and sell them all without noticing the cost. He expected it. He waited for her reprimand.
She’d studied his face for a long time. Serious. Sober. “Why did you do that?” There was true curiosity in her voice.
“What the hell’s wrong with you, Bijou?” He’d turned away from her, restless, his leopard on the prowl, fury still holding on to him with both fists. Those getting ready to party with her had all been older—eighteen to twenty-five—all friends of her father and, ominously, all men. He’d wanted to unleash the leopard on them, not just beat them. “You aren’t like him.” He knew she was aware exactly who he was talking about. Her rock star father, a legend revered by everyone—everyone but him. “You’re like your mother, not him. What the hell were you thinkin’? Are you lookin’ to let him completely destroy you? Is that what you want?”
She frowned, pressing her lips together tightly for one moment and then taking a small breath before answering. “No one gives a damn.”
“I do. I give a damn. And you should too. Do you have any idea what could have happened here tonight if I hadn’t come along?”
“I expected to die.” She sounded old—too old. Oh so weary and very honest. She wrapped both arms around her middle and held on tightly.
His heart had nearly ceased beating. Worse, his eyes burned. How could her father expose her to the kind of people who surrounded her day and night? It was the very first time he thought of his own young sister, running wild in the swamp, home alone, caring for their drunken father while he and his brothers lived life.
He wanted to shake her all over again, and he wanted to pick her up and carry her somewhere safe. But where? There was nowhere he could take her that her father wouldn’t come after her and buy his way out of trouble.
“I ought to beat you within an inch of your life for even suggestin’ such a thing. You’re not a coward, Bijou, and don’ you ever act like one again.” His hands did settle on her thin shoulders. Hard. But he stayed still, resisting the urge to make her a target for his rage all over again. She looked at him without wincing. “Do you understand me? This will never happen again. Will it?”
Her eyes on his, she shook her head.
“Say it. I want to hear you say it. You’re done with drugs, alcohol and anything else that father of yours has to offer.”
“I’m done with drugs and alcohol,” she had repeated in a low, steady voice.
“I’m takin’ you home and havin’ a word with your daddy.” He planned to beat the man within an inch of his life, just as he’d promised her he’d do to her if he caught her with drugs again.
That’s when she’d given him that smile. That so small, tentative smile, as if she knew what he wanted to do. “It won’t do any good, but thank you all the same.”