“Frenchman?” she asked faintly.

He lifted his head, a faint grin on his face. “That’s my woman. Forget about that filthy rich, suave, very talented artist. What could he possibly have that I don’?”

“I can’t possibly imagine,” she said, smiling back at him.

He noticed she didn’t offer to stay home from the gallery showing if he couldn’t make it back in time or had to work the next night.

16

BIJOU dressed carefully for the gallery showing of Arnaud Lefevre’s work. He was always very elegant in his attire, his suits impressive and his manners impeccable. He moved in a far different world than Remy’s. She’d lived so long like Arnaud that dressing up was second nature to her. Red carpets, cameras and the right clothing were a way of life.

She liked her blue jeans and casual clothes, but there was something amazing about wiggling into a designer gown, one that covered her back and arms to hide all the evidence of her crazy sexual nights with Remy. She styled her hair in an elegant updo and put on her makeup carefully. Strappy heels and swinging sapphire earrings completed the look, making her feel very feminine.

Remy. She sighed and stared at herself in the mirror. Apparently they’d torn up the swamp looking for evidence, and it had taken them all night and most of the day to complete their search. They found what was left of three bodies—all women—anchored in the water. One was the dancer Robert had spoken of.

Remy sounded tired when she’d spoken to him on the phone. She couldn’t imagine what it must do to him to see the horrific things he often had to contend with. His voice had been low, almost so quiet she could barely hear him, but there was sorrow for those women. Sorrow and guilt. They lived where he worked and he hadn’t known—hadn’t saved them.

The forensic team had gathered human bones and a human skull as well as all sorts of items taken from the homes of the elderly. Remy was certain that prints and blood would match the Rousseau brothers. He hoped the human bones would tie them to Pete Morgan and Ryan Cooper’s murders, but he definitely had enough evidence to arrest them for the robberies and beatings. Remy was certain he could get Brent Underwood to testify against them. With Robert’s testimony as well, Remy believed he could keep the brothers from getting bail, giving him more time to find evidence against them to connect them to the other murders.

She touched her earring, her fingers caressing the glittering stone. She wanted to see Remy, to hold him close to her and ease his mind just a little. Instead, he was going to work all night and she was going to take her mind off his work by going to Arnaud’s showing. Maybe she’d find something special in the gallery for Remy.

“Are you ready, Bijou?” Saria asked, sticking her head through the open doorway.

Bijou smiled at her. “You look beautiful, Saria. I knew that gown would be perfect on you. Does Drake look incredibly handsome?”

Saria nodded. “Yes, he does. When that man decides to dress up he takes my breath away.”

Bijou burst out laughing. “That man takes your breath away all the time, and I’m betting even more so when he’s not dressed.”

Color crept up Saria’s cheeks. “Okay, I’ll concede that’s the truth, but don’ tell him. Seriously, he already knows I’m crazy about him.” She didn’t sound in the least upset about it, in fact, she sounded very happy. “You look so amazin’, Bijou,” Saria added. “Every time I see you, whether you’re in jeans or dressed up in your gowns, I’m always shocked at how truly beautiful you are.”

“Thank you, my friend.” Bijou gave her a little bow. “You always boost my confidence. Have you gone to one of Arnaud’s shows? Lots of press. He’s very famous and the critics and very wealthy buyers turn out in droves.” She knew she sounded proud of him—she couldn’t help it. “He really is a genius when it comes to his work. Some of his sculptures are on display in the Louvre. That is an amazin’ achievement.”

“Poor Remy,” Saria said, a cheeky grin on her face. “He’s goin’ to take one look at you in that dress hangin’ on that hot Frenchman’s arm and he’s goin’ to go completely ballistic.”

“No, he won’t,” Bijou denied. “I told him I was goin’ and he was fine with it. He knows I’m friends with Arnaud.”

“Knownin’ it and likin’ it are two different things,” Saria pointed out. “He’s very territorial where you’re concerned. He always has been. No one could ever say anythin’ about you even when you were a teenager or he’d get upset.”

Bijou’s heart jumped. “Umm, sweetheart. I love you, I really do, but Remy was gone most of the time when we were teens.”

“Most of the time, but he visited once in a while and he always asked about you and how you were doin’. Gage and the boys thought you were a little stuck-up and Remy didn’t like that.”

“Everyone thought I was stuck-up except you,” Bijou said.

It was strange how the memories of those days still hurt. She knew she was partially to blame. She hadn’t wanted anyone to know just how awful her father and his bandmates and groupies really were. She was embarrassed by his behavior. She didn’t dare take a friend or teacher home for fear Bodrie might seduce them—which of course he had on more than one occasion. She was always the one blamed when he’d refuse to see the person again—not Bodrie.