“It was Pete Morgan, wasn’t it?” Saria asked, stepping back.
She wasn’t fast enough. Remy caught the faint scent of fear and felt her body tremble. His sister was a tough little thing, but finding the body of a friend, one murdered in such a vicious, gruesome way, had to have been distressing. She flipped on the light and crossed to the counter to get a glass of water.
“Yes. I’m sorry, Saria. It must have been horrible for you.”
She turned and faced him, leaning back against the counter. “How do you do it? Gage and the others break up fights most of the time and go after idiots, but you have to look at murders all the time.”
He was very aware of Bijou across from him blinking rapidly as if the light bothered her. He knew better. She’d always acted tough, as if she didn’t care, but she had a soft heart. “Most murders around here are pretty straightforward. Stupid arguments, revenge. That sort of thing, not a serial killer who rips apart people I know.”
“I don’ think I’ll get that image out of my head for a long time, if ever,” Bijou admitted.
Remy’s gaze jumped to her face. He didn’t need the light on to see that her eyes were haunted. He cursed his sister silently. “What exactly were you doing in the swamp tonight?”
“I was showing Bijou a nest I’ve been taking a series of photographs of. I landed a really big contract with a company that provides stock photos and they wanted the swamp at all hours along with the wildlife and plants,” Saria answered. “I’m supposed to capture the feel of the swamp throughout all seasons.”
Remy swallowed his sarcastic reply. Sending in the pictures of the murder would certainly show the company that gave his baby sister the contract what kind of danger they put her in, but Saria would ignore his bad humor and good advice. She went her own way and made her own decisions. He couldn’t blame her. Maybe it was guilt that made him so overprotective of her now. When she was a child running wild and free in the swamp, he hadn’t paid attention. Like Bijou, she hadn’t had supervision and she’d been the adult in the home, not her drunken father.
“Remy.” Saria sounded loving.
He looked up at her. She looked so young, but so adult. Just like Bijou. Of course they’d gravitated toward one another and been secretive about it. For good reason. He sighed.
“I had a good childhood,” she said. “Stop beating yourself up. I love that you want to protect me, but I’m all grown up now. You can’t take care of all of us.”
“I can damn well try,” Remy replied. His gaze jumped to Bijou’s face.
She sent him a faint smile. “I see why you were so insistent on me explainin’ the threats. You have a strong protective instinct, but really, Remy, you have enough family to look after without addin’ me to the mix.”
He wished that was all it was. “Don’ kid yourself, Blue,” he snapped without thinking.
Color swept into her face and she frowned at him. The hell with it. Let her figure it out on her own. Clearly, no matter how often he told himself she was a baby, his body said other things. He was leopard enough to know there was more going on than he could see. Instincts were strong in leopards and never once had he found himself in such a predicament.
Saria stared at him in shock. She looked from Bijou to Remy and shook her head, dropping into a chair.
“Tell me about your mother, Bijou,” Remy ordered, slipping the photographs into an envelope without more than a cursory inspection. He had no doubt they were excellent. Saria’s skills were known throughout the country, her reputation building fast. He didn’t want to distress Bijou any further.
“My mother?” she echoed, her voice even softer, taking on more of that smoky, sultry flavor. “I don’ know anythin’ at all about her. Well, just what Bodrie told me. He met her backstage at a concert and she was strikin’. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. But honestly, Bodrie couldn’t take his eyes off of most women.”
Remy was aware of Saria’s sharp glance from him to Bijou and back. She was smart, and she knew Remy didn’t bother with small talk. He interrogated people for a reason. He was good at it, sounding conversational and interested, putting whoever he was interrogating at ease and slipping in questions so easily no one knew how much information they actually gave up. If he was bringing up the uncomfortable question of Bijou’s mother, he was doing it for a reason.
He flicked one look at his sister, and she pressed her lips together, getting the message to keep her mouth closed.
“Did he ever talk about her family? Where she was from?”