Leopard's Prey
Page 18
Remy was well aware of the deep breath Bijou took as she turned her head toward the girls, a welcoming smile curving her soft lips.
“Can we have your autograph?” one asked while the other looked as if she might faint.
“Of course,” Bijou answered readily. She took the proffered pen and tablet. “What’s your name? Do you live here in New Orleans?”
“I’m Nancy, Nancy Smart, and this is my cousin, Alexandria. We both live here,” Nancy volunteered. “We went to your concert in Lafayette. It was so much fun.”
“That was fun for me too,” Bijou said as she wrote on the tablet. “The Lafayette concert was like comin’ home and bein’ with people I know after travelin’ so much.”
“I heard you bought a place here. Are you goin’ to be singin’?” Nancy ventured as she took the tablets and hugged them to her. “Can underage get in?”
“That’s a good question. I should think about how we can do a few special nights for everyone,” Bijou said. “Thanks for mentionin’ that.”
Nancy beamed. “I hope you do.”
The two girls nearly tripped over one another, giggling as they hurried back to their booth. Bijou twisted her fingers together and sent him a small smile. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’ apologize. That comes with the territory.”
“I hope I can still keep the younger crowd listening to me,” she said. “The kind of music I love isn’t always the most popular with them.”
Her voice when speaking was amazing. The blend of smoke and sultry heat slipped under his skin and stroked like caressing fingers.
“Did you bring the threats against you?”
She nodded and drew a packet out of her tote bag. The stack of letters was at least an inch and a half thick and was in a plastic bag. “These are the ones I’m mostly concerned about. There’s a lot more, but these are the worst. My manager told me to keep them inside somethin’ to keep fingerprints off of them.” She pushed the packet across the table with one finger. “They’re all yours. I hope you have fun readin’ them. You’ll need a really good sense of humor.”
Her fingers fiddled with the water glass, idly turning it in circles.
“Bijou.” Remy used his lowest, most commanding voice. “Look at me.”
Her lashes lifted and the impact of those vivid cornflower blue eyes hit him hard. “Has someone or something scared you?” She didn’t respond, but he saw the answer in her eyes. “You can tell me. Just say it.”
Her hand went defensively to her throat, to the thin silver chain that dipped into the neckline of the shirt she wore, almost as if that chain was a talisman. “It’s silly really. I’m becomin’ a little paranoid. I thought if I stayed with a friend—with Saria—I could sort things out. She’s very grounded.”
He resisted the urge to snort his opinion of that. The truth was, for all her wild ways, Saria was grounded and she made a loyal friend.
“I used to get a few threats before Bodrie’s death, nothin’ really scary, just that I didn’ know what a good daughter should be like to her daddy and I was goin’ to learn a few hard lessons.” She nodded toward the packet. “I could recognize his patterns. He’s been writing me a very long time. When I started singin’ on my own, a new theme started. I had no talent. I shouldn’t be tryin’ to capitalize on my daddy’s good name and if I didn’ stop, I was goin’ to find myself in a dangerous position.”
She closed her mouth abruptly, pressing her lips together tightly as Remy swung his head toward two more people approaching. This time it was a couple. They looked to be in their sixties.
“Ma’am. Miss Breaux?” The man held out a napkin. “Would you mind autographin’ this for us? Mr. and Mrs. Chambridge.”
The woman smiled hesitantly. “We try to go to all your concerts.”
“We’ve got all your music,” Mr. Chambridge added.
“Of course,” Bijou said, “I’d be more than happy to give you an autograph. I can’t believe you’re so kind as to come to my concerts and support me.”
As if she’d thrown open the gates to a fancy mansion and invited everyone in, the others in the café quickly rose and pressed close, thrusting paper, shirts, napkins and even a backpack at Bijou to sign. She didn’t hesitate, but was gracious and sweet to every single person jarring the table and crowding around them. The temperature went up fast. Remy found himself wanting to shove everyone back away from her, especially those that touched her arms and shoulders, or “accidentally” brushed her hair.
It was as if the floodgates had opened, and there was no going back. Remy began to feel uneasy. His leopard snarled and raked at him, so close his skin itched and he could feel fur rippling beneath the surface. The closer the crowd pushed on Bijou, the edgier he became. Anyone wishing her harm could easily slip up behind her and plunge a knife into her back or shoot her.
His jaw ached and he rubbed it, trying to soothe the tense muscles developing so quickly. Bijou continued to sign autographs and talk briefly with each person, and just as she predicted, individuals became bolder, asking for pictures with her. Bijou posed with that same soft smile on her face. Over and over.
More people poured into the café, brought, no doubt, by the text messages of friends. Two men pushed their way through the crowd. Thereze protested as she tried to get through the mass of people to deliver the food. The men pushing at Bijou were obnoxious, pressing for her phone number, where she was staying, and when she simply smiled and shook her head, one swore and called her bitch.
“Can we have your autograph?” one asked while the other looked as if she might faint.
“Of course,” Bijou answered readily. She took the proffered pen and tablet. “What’s your name? Do you live here in New Orleans?”
“I’m Nancy, Nancy Smart, and this is my cousin, Alexandria. We both live here,” Nancy volunteered. “We went to your concert in Lafayette. It was so much fun.”
“That was fun for me too,” Bijou said as she wrote on the tablet. “The Lafayette concert was like comin’ home and bein’ with people I know after travelin’ so much.”
“I heard you bought a place here. Are you goin’ to be singin’?” Nancy ventured as she took the tablets and hugged them to her. “Can underage get in?”
“That’s a good question. I should think about how we can do a few special nights for everyone,” Bijou said. “Thanks for mentionin’ that.”
Nancy beamed. “I hope you do.”
The two girls nearly tripped over one another, giggling as they hurried back to their booth. Bijou twisted her fingers together and sent him a small smile. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’ apologize. That comes with the territory.”
“I hope I can still keep the younger crowd listening to me,” she said. “The kind of music I love isn’t always the most popular with them.”
Her voice when speaking was amazing. The blend of smoke and sultry heat slipped under his skin and stroked like caressing fingers.
“Did you bring the threats against you?”
She nodded and drew a packet out of her tote bag. The stack of letters was at least an inch and a half thick and was in a plastic bag. “These are the ones I’m mostly concerned about. There’s a lot more, but these are the worst. My manager told me to keep them inside somethin’ to keep fingerprints off of them.” She pushed the packet across the table with one finger. “They’re all yours. I hope you have fun readin’ them. You’ll need a really good sense of humor.”
Her fingers fiddled with the water glass, idly turning it in circles.
“Bijou.” Remy used his lowest, most commanding voice. “Look at me.”
Her lashes lifted and the impact of those vivid cornflower blue eyes hit him hard. “Has someone or something scared you?” She didn’t respond, but he saw the answer in her eyes. “You can tell me. Just say it.”
Her hand went defensively to her throat, to the thin silver chain that dipped into the neckline of the shirt she wore, almost as if that chain was a talisman. “It’s silly really. I’m becomin’ a little paranoid. I thought if I stayed with a friend—with Saria—I could sort things out. She’s very grounded.”
He resisted the urge to snort his opinion of that. The truth was, for all her wild ways, Saria was grounded and she made a loyal friend.
“I used to get a few threats before Bodrie’s death, nothin’ really scary, just that I didn’ know what a good daughter should be like to her daddy and I was goin’ to learn a few hard lessons.” She nodded toward the packet. “I could recognize his patterns. He’s been writing me a very long time. When I started singin’ on my own, a new theme started. I had no talent. I shouldn’t be tryin’ to capitalize on my daddy’s good name and if I didn’ stop, I was goin’ to find myself in a dangerous position.”
She closed her mouth abruptly, pressing her lips together tightly as Remy swung his head toward two more people approaching. This time it was a couple. They looked to be in their sixties.
“Ma’am. Miss Breaux?” The man held out a napkin. “Would you mind autographin’ this for us? Mr. and Mrs. Chambridge.”
The woman smiled hesitantly. “We try to go to all your concerts.”
“We’ve got all your music,” Mr. Chambridge added.
“Of course,” Bijou said, “I’d be more than happy to give you an autograph. I can’t believe you’re so kind as to come to my concerts and support me.”
As if she’d thrown open the gates to a fancy mansion and invited everyone in, the others in the café quickly rose and pressed close, thrusting paper, shirts, napkins and even a backpack at Bijou to sign. She didn’t hesitate, but was gracious and sweet to every single person jarring the table and crowding around them. The temperature went up fast. Remy found himself wanting to shove everyone back away from her, especially those that touched her arms and shoulders, or “accidentally” brushed her hair.
It was as if the floodgates had opened, and there was no going back. Remy began to feel uneasy. His leopard snarled and raked at him, so close his skin itched and he could feel fur rippling beneath the surface. The closer the crowd pushed on Bijou, the edgier he became. Anyone wishing her harm could easily slip up behind her and plunge a knife into her back or shoot her.
His jaw ached and he rubbed it, trying to soothe the tense muscles developing so quickly. Bijou continued to sign autographs and talk briefly with each person, and just as she predicted, individuals became bolder, asking for pictures with her. Bijou posed with that same soft smile on her face. Over and over.
More people poured into the café, brought, no doubt, by the text messages of friends. Two men pushed their way through the crowd. Thereze protested as she tried to get through the mass of people to deliver the food. The men pushing at Bijou were obnoxious, pressing for her phone number, where she was staying, and when she simply smiled and shook her head, one swore and called her bitch.
