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restless energy. She was sitting across the table from him, but damn it all, he wasn’t that big of a pervert. He had to stop thinking of her as a woman and think of her as a victim. Someone in need of a policeman. There were threats against her life, of course he’d be upset on her behalf. As an officer of the law, it was his duty to make inquiries and ask her questions. She was his sister’s friend, staying at Saria’s Inn. If Bijou was in danger, so was Saria. He had every reason to be disturbed over the threats.
    Sadly, he was too damn old to listen to anyone’s bullshit—especially his own. “This has been goin’ on since Bodrie’s death?”
    Bijou nodded. “Yes. Apparently his home should be made into a sacred shrine to him.”
    “If you didn’t inherit, who would have?”
    “I’m his only proven heir and he named me specifically. There were plenty of children who came forward to claim they were his, but DNA disputed it.”
    “How much money are we talkin’?”
    Bijou’s gaze met his. “You don’ listen to the news, do you?”
    “Too depressin’. All those murders. Gives me a bad outlook on life.”
    Her answering smile was faint. “Hundreds of millions and growing every day.”
    He went still inside. She dismissed death threats she received, and she was worth hundreds of millions of dollars? People killed for a pair of shoes, let alone that kind of money. “Did the threats come in the form of letters?”
    Bijou shook her head. “Remy, you’ve got a real murder to solve. This is silly stuff. Some of Bodrie’s fans were crazy. They worshipped him and apparently still do. I’ve lived with it all of my life. I’ve come home, bought a club and intend to live out my life in the place I love. Bodrie isn’t goin’ to dictate my life to me, not anymore.”
    She had all the money in the world and she wanted to come home to the bayous. Something wild and feral deep inside him settled. He could breathe again, his body once more his own, his cat relaxing, stretching lazily. He took another long, satisfying drink of coffee, regarding her over the rim of the mug.
    “Nevertheless, I want to see those letters, Bijou. If you don’ have them, give me the name of your lawyer, or your contact at the FBI and I’ll take it from there.” He wasn’t a man who took no for an answer and his tone said it all.
    “If you insist.”
    Now that he knew he was getting his way, he relaxed even more. “How long have you been home?” Because if it was longer than a couple of days, he was going to drown his sister.
    Bijou looked around the large, homey kitchen. “Isn’t it funny what makes a place a home? Miss Pauline was so good to me. I used to come here or go to Saria when I couldn’t stand bein’ in that house. Neither ever ratted me out, no matter how much money Bodrie offered around the bayous and swamps for my location.”
    She was painfully beautiful, with her skin and tumbling hair, that drawling, sexy voice and perfectly kissable lips, and hearing her use the term
ratted out
made him want to come across the table and find out just how kissable her lips really were.
    “I traveled for several years,” Remy said, deciding it would be far more prudent to converse with her rather than assault her. “And I knew this would always be my home. The heat, the mosquitoes, all of it—is home.”
    “I agree.” She leaned her chin into her palm, her gaze steady on his. “Why did you call me Blue? You did that once before, a long time ago.”
    “I did? I think I have a good memory, and I don’ recall makin’ that mistake when you were a child.” And he’d better start convincing himself she was still a child. Her eyes were too old, held too much knowledge for her age.
    “I didn’t mind,” she admitted. “You were one of the few people who ever seemed to give a damn about me. Callin’ me Blue just meant you’d given me a nickname. People do that when they care, at least that’s what I thought at the