in the sight of Bijou. She did smell like the bayou, but it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered to him was that she was alive. He didn’t give a damn what she said or thought. He yanked her into his arms, holding her tightly against his body, his hands moving over her, reassuring himself she was uninjured. She didn’t melt into him, but rather held herself very stiff and aloof. Yeah, he was in trouble.
Bijou pulled away from him almost immediately. “I’m getting you all wet and you’ll have to throw away those clothes.”
“Do you think I give a damn about clothes? You could have died. What were you thinkin’? You should have stayed put and waited for me.”
She shook her head, a slow crimson creeping up her neck at the memory of waking to the ruined room and having to possibly face Saria, not knowing where Remy went or even if he intended to return. “No, Remy, you should have stayed put.”
She turned on her heel and walked away from him. Head up. Shoulders square. She looked regal in spite of the mud and wet clothes. She looked . . . magnificent.
“You got it bad, bro,” Gage whispered as he walked past Remy, a wide grin on his face. “You might want to close your mouth before somethin’ flies into or out of it.”
Bijou went straight to her car and stood, unmoving, looking at the damage. Arnaud came up beside her, setting Remy’s teeth on edge. She didn’t look at Arnaud as if she wanted nothing to do with him.
“What a mess,” Arnaud said. “Why would someone do this?”
Remy watched Bijou carefully. She inhaled sharply and stiffened. She knew. She’d caught the scent. The leopard in her was merging with her, becoming part of her, and with her acute sense of smell, she recognized the scent of the man who been stalking her.
“Who is it, Blue?” Remy asked.
She shook her head.
“You know. He trashed my apartment this morning and left behind the picture of me kissing you. It wasn’t pretty, Bijou. He’s escalating his behavior.”
“It doesn’t make sense. Bob Carson grew up in Bodrie’s house. I’ve known him my entire life. He wouldn’t do this.”
Remy’s eyes met Gage’s. Gage nodded. The moment he’d caught Carson’s scent out on the road, he was certain it was the photographer who was stalking Bijou.
“Don’ kid yourself, honey,” Remy said. “Tell me why he would take an eight-year-old child to a hotel room with a bunch of men and try to pump her full of drugs. He was probably figuring he’d get rid of you and Bodrie would leave everything to him.”
“You did remember him then. You didn’t say a word.”
“I had a very primitive reaction to seeing him—I wanted to pound him into the ground.” Remy paused, his gaze holding hers. “And you didn’t say anything.”
“He has no reason to want to hurt me.”
“Of course he does. His mother lived with Bodrie until your mother came along. He probably fantasized he was Bodrie’s son. If he could prove he was, he would have come forward already, so that means his fantasy became a reality in his head. You took it all away from him, the house, the women, the drugs, the lifestyle. He became a photographer and inserted himself back into Bodrie’s life, and once again he was somebody. But he couldn’t have it all because there you are, standin’ in his way.”
Bijou shook her head.
“On one hand, he probably fantasizes you’re his sister, and on the other, he wants you gone so he can inherit.”
She scowled at Remy. “I’m not stupid, I have a will.”
“Which is probably the only reason you aren’t dead. He hasn’t figured out a way to inherit everythin’ from you.”
“I don’ know if it’s him,” Bijou insisted. “You can’t do anything without proof anyway, so don’ go after him, Remy. Please. I have to think about this.”
“You know it’s him,” Remy said quietly. “Bijou, you don’ have a mean bone in your body. This man is escalatin’ in his behavior and we both know it. That’s why you even considered allowin’ me to see the letters, otherwise you would never have said a word about them. You knew you were in trouble with him.”
“He’s got to be ill,” Bijou said. “To do this, he has to be ill.”
She touched the hood of her car. The tires were slashed and punctured repeatedly, obviously with a knife. The seats had been slashed and punctured, the insides ripped