Mahieu didn’t seem to be the least bit affected by her tone. His grin didn’t diminish in the least. She was beginning to believe the Boudreaux brothers lived to tease one another. She couldn’t help herself, she wanted to laugh. Mahieu was enjoying himself far too much at her expense.
“I don’ think you have a clue what you’re talkin’ about, Miss Breaux, but that’s perfectly all right. We do love the way you’ve got our big brother dancin’ like a marionette on a string. Please keep it up.”
She gave a little sniff. His laughter was infectious and she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. “I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about. Remy doesn’t dance to anyone’s beat but his own. You know that.”
“We all thought that,” Mahieu said. “But times have changed. And her name is Bijou Breaux.”
Bijou tried not to feel elated. Mahieu was giving her hope where Remy hadn’t given her any. She was not going to be wanted for her leopard. She’d come home to New Orleans to live her life her way. She wanted to be loved for herself. Not for being Bodrie’s daughter. Not for her money. Certainly not for her leopard. Maybe what she was asking was impossible, but she’d rather not be with anyone at all than to be with someone for the wrong reasons. Remy wanted her for all the wrong reasons, but his family didn’t seem to understand that.
She shook her head. Drake appeared to be madly in love with Saria, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that Saria loved Drake. They weren’t together because of their leopards.
She stayed silent until they pulled up to the curb and Mahieu parked. She sat for a moment, trying to calm her suddenly rapidly beating heart. She detested that she was so excited at the prospect of seeing Remy. She could admit to herself that he was the man she dreamt of, the one she considered a hero, the man no other man could measure up to, but she absolutely refused to believe she might be falling in love with him. Not now. Not when she knew there was nothing between them but leopards and sex. Everyone had choices. Her choice was not to be in love with a man who didn’t love her.
Mahieu came around and opened the door for her. “I texted Remy to let him know you’re here. He’s in interrogation, but he’ll come out as soon as he’s done.” He walked with her up to the door of the station house and reached to open that door for her.
“I’ll be fine. You don’ have to wait with me,” Bijou assured.
Mahieu gave her his cocky grin. “Not a chance, Bijou. Remy doesn’t want you goin’ anywhere without an escort right now. He’s gotten all paranoid between the murders, you getttin’ harassed last night at the club and Robert actin’ like an idiot. You’re goin’ to have to be a little patient with Remy until he figures things out. He’s got a protective streak a mile wide when it comes to you.”
“I’d love to feel very special, Mahieu, but the truth is, Remy feels protective over everyone. That’s why he’s a cop.”
She went inside and stepped back to allow him to lead the way. The truth was, everyone was going to stare at her, and she didn’t mind Mahieu running interference. He was a big man, much like his brother, all muscle with that smooth, fluid way of walking. He exuded confidence, just like all the Boudreaux brothers and Saria. She wanted to be like that and was determined that she would be, given a few months. For too long she’d tried to be someone she wasn’t and in the end she just couldn’t sustain it.
Following Mahieu through the bull pen, she rounded a corner to find the homicide division. Remy’s office was in the corner, with several desks out on the floor. Mahieu waved her to a chair, but there were several policemen looking at her, staring, some sporting grins. She didn’t feel like sitting there on display for them all. Mahieu went over to talk with someone he knew, and she wandered around the room, trying to get a feel for Remy’s work.
Set up in the middle of the largest wall was a huge whiteboard with pictures of Pete Morgan and the altar. Alongside that were pictures of Ryan Cooper and the altar. The pictures were in horrible, gruesome detail, and although it was one of those situations where one could almost not stop looking at the train wreck, she managed to shift her gaze.
In a line down either side of the grisly murder pictures were photographs of men. Her manager, Rob Butterfield, and his friend Jason Durang were among them. Bob Carson was up on the wall as well. She recognized a few other faces from the men who had been in her club and had harassed her. She couldn’t imagine why any of them had been singled out and would be considered suspects.
Above the pictures, a map caught her eye. It was of both the United States and Europe. There were red pins in various cities. She moved closer and studied the map. It took a moment or two for the significance to sink in. She stood there, staring, biting her lip, suddenly very much afraid.
“Come away from there,” Remy said.
She whirled around to face him, one hand going defensively to her throat. She felt the color drain out of her face. “What is this, Remy?”
“Don’ be lookin’ at that, Blue,” he cautioned. “Come into my office. You shouldn’t see that. There’s no reason.” He took her hand and tugged.
“No, I need to know. What is this?”
He sighed, his fingers stroking the back of her hand in a caress. “It’s a murder board. It helps me keep all the facts straight. Putting everything up, I can work the pieces like a puzzle until eventually it all comes together.”
“You have Rob Butterfield up there. You even have Bob.”
“I’m not calling them suspects, but they are persons of interest. All of them were here four years ago when the first series of murders happened here in New Orleans. All of these men were. I have to rule people out and so far, I haven’t quite gotten there with them, but I’m certain I will. Among others, I’m talkin’ with them now. Of course not together. I like to keep my persons of interest separated so they can’t come up with the same story.”
“Why would they even be suspects?” She wasn’t buying his “persons of interest” story for a moment.
“They were in the wrong place at the wrong time with no real alibi.” He gave a careful, casual shrug. “Come away from here now.”
Bijou resisted the tug on her hand. “Why are all those cities flagged with red pins?”
Remy went very still, her actions suddenly really catching his attention. “Do you really want to know?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t,” she replied. Her heart pounded hard. Her mouth went dry. She felt the rise of her leopard coming close to the surface as if offering to take her place.
“These are his kills over the last four years. The first that we found with the same pattern was in New York City.”
Bijou closed her eyes briefly. “And the days, months and year written above each pin are when he killed?”