The kitchen door pushed inward slowly and Robert slunk in, walking carefully, hunched over, his face swollen and black and blue. He kept his arms in close to his sides as if protecting broken ribs. He didn't look at either woman, but gratefully took the chair his brother toed around for him.
"Milk? Sugar?" Bijou asked, feeling a little more solicitous now that she could see Robert wasn't a real threat. Remy's leopard had really done injury to him.
Both men shook their heads. Even when she set the coffee in front of him, Robert still didn't look up, but appeared more miserable than ever.
"We really need Drake, Saria. He's the only one who can prevent Remy from arrestin' Robert," Dion said. "We can ask for him to be the judge."
"He's on his way back home," Saria said, "but it's goin' to take some time. So if you want help, you've got me and that's it. Have some brunch and stop being so melodramatic. Tell me what happened and let's see what we can do. I can call Drake and let him know there's a problem, and he can figure it out on his way home."
Robert stirred, winced and tried to drink from swollen lips. He cleared his throat several times, glancing warily at his brother.
Dion scowled at him. "Spit it out, Robert, if you've got somethin' to say."
"There was one other thin' I didn't mention, but you'd better know before Drake gets home." His guilty gaze flicked to Saria's face and then moved quickly away.
Dion stiffened. "What the hell else have you done?" he demanded.
Robert hunched more. "I was drunk, Dion."
He sounded whiny, and Bijou took the chair closest the counter where the knives were. She'd calculated the distance and in her mind practiced drawing the chosen blade over and over until she was certain she could do so smoothly. It was evident that Saria had confidence in herself and that she knew both men very well--she spoke to them in a tone reserved for close friends one could get angry with--but Bijou didn't trust anyone. Saria was pregnant, and as far as she was concerned, the two men hadn't left when Saria told them to. She would sit and listen, but she'd be on alert every single moment.
"I came here last night," Robert blurted out. "Remy had pissed me off. I was hurt, but not feelin' it so much because of the drinkin' . . ."
"You know we can't drink," Dion interrupted, fury gathering in his eyes. "Drake lives here with his wife. He's the leader of our lair. What were you thinkin'? If Drake had been here, were you plannin' on challenging him? He'd wipe up the floor with you. You'd already gotten your ass handed to you by Remy, and you were damned lucky you weren't killed, but challenging Drake is just plain stupidity, especially after the beatin' you took."
Saria stirred as if she might say something, but Dion slammed his coffee cup down on the table and leaned toward his brother. His eyes were all glowing now, cat's eyes, his temper rising to the surface.
"You're not getting' me killed, Robert. Drake is savin' this lair. Savin' all of us, and I've had enough of your drinking and your lousy friends and the trouble you're always in. If you think I'm goin' to be turning on Drake or defendin' you to him, you're dead wrong."
Robert kept his head down, portraying an absolutely miserable man, but Bijou wasn't buying it. He was obviously good at manipulating his brother. Dion felt responsible for him, and Robert was taking his outburst as another lecture, not an absolute vow.
Saria pushed the warmer containing beignets toward Robert. "What did you do here, last night, Robert? Perhaps if you just tell us what happened, we can figure this all out."
"I went to her club last night," Robert said, making it an accusation--a whiny one at that. He jerked his thumb toward Bijou but still didn't look at her. "She's still as hoity-toity as she always was. She passed right by me without sayin' a word."
Bijou gave a little sniff. "I'm so like that."
Saria coughed, holding her hand over her mouth. Dion glanced at Bijou and then away. Faint color crept up his neck. Bijou wasn't certain what that was all about. He'd insulted her the moment he'd seen her and yet he refused to look at her for more than a second or two. Each time he did, he looked red and uncomfortable.
Robert glared at her. "I told my friends I knew you, that you grew up here, but they didn't believe me. They took bets."
"What friends?" Saria asked. "We all grew up in the same lair . . ."
"Not leopard," Robert snarled. "I don' hang out with just leopards like the rest of you. I have a life and lots of other friends."
Dion snorted. "They aren't friends when they're gettin' you in trouble all the time, Robert. You get stinkin' drunk with them and they put you up to all sorts of things."
"You're just jealous because I have friends," Robert countered. "You think you're so high and mighty, Dion, but you slave away in that stupid office of yours and you're jealous because I don' have to."
"You might not work, but you always have money, don' you, Robert," Dion accused. "Wherever you're gettin' it, you certainly don' want to admit where it comes from, which means you're ashamed. You know damn well you shouldn't be doin' whatever it is you are."
"It's none of your business," Robert whined. "I don' have to tell you how I make my money."
Saria heaved a very loud sigh. "Robert, focus. I need to know what you did when you came here last night."
Robert ducked his head again, his defiant gaze sliding away quickly. "It was Remy's fault." He lifted his head and glared at Bijou. "And hers. They got my leopard riled up and I couldn't control him last night. First he went after her, and when Remy went so crazy, hitting me from behind when I wasn't even doin' anything, my leopard just lost it."
"I see. None of this is your responsibility at all," Saria said.
Robert didn't seem to notice the sarcasm in her voice. "No, it isn't. Look, I did a few drugs with the guys. Nothin' big, not like heroin, but my brain was a little scrambled. So after the snotty woman lost me the bet and I owed big-time, I drank a little on top of it and that made it difficult to control my leopard. All she had to do was acknowledge me," he said. "That's not askin' so much, is it?"
"I'm hearin' a lot of excuses, Robert, but nothin' I need to hear," Saria persisted.
"My leopard wouldn't calm down and he came here last night and raked a tree and marked the yard up, that's all." The confession came out in a hurried rush.
There was a long silence. Clearly Saria was horrified. Bijou didn't quite understand why Robert's deed was so horrible so she remained very quiet, just waiting.
"You challenged Drake for leadership?" Saria asked, incredulous. "Are you crazy?"
Robert hastily shook his head. "No. No way. I'm tellin' you, my leopard was insane with the smell of a female hussy, and she was flirtin' with me. It wasn't my fault. You have to tell Drake that. You have to explain about Remy jumpin' me."
"Remy did not jump you," Bijou snapped, unable to stop herself. "You charged him. I was there, and you can't exactly pretend you're innocent when there was an eyewitness."
Robert refused to look at her, instead looking to his brother. "She'd lie for Remy. She'd do anythin' for him. She's his whore . . ."
Saria slapped him hard. "Get out of my house now. Dion, get him out of here before I call Drake and tell him the whole sorry story."
Robert howled, grabbing his already bruised face. "You can't throw me out. Y
ou can't. Remy already hates me and he's goin' to come in here and accuse me of murder. Last night. I was there. He'll know I was there and he'll arrest me just to get me out of his way." He glared at his brother. "I told Dion everything and he betrayed me. He called it in anonymously, but now everyone will know I was there."
13
REMY stared at the body hanging from the tree there in the swamp. They were very close to Saria's property, at the very point where he and Bijou had been last night. The murder had to have taken place no more than an hour after they'd passed through the area, if that. He tried to remember if he'd heard or scented anything unusual as he moved closer to the crime scene. His leopard had been concentrating on only one thing--his mate in heat. He hadn't been the least bit interested in anything else.
He took two more steps and immediately recognized the man. Ryan Cooper had died hard. He'd been alive when he'd been cut open, the noose tight around his throat, restricting his breathing but not doing its job before the bone harvester had begun carving him up. Remy hadn't liked Cooper, but no one deserved to die this way.
It seemed a little surreal that just hours earlier he'd been angry with the man for taunting Bijou and then daring to lay his hands on her and now, not only was he dead, but he'd died so close to where the leopards had been running. Was it really a coincidence?
"This is ugly," Gage said. "Really ugly. Cooper was alive for a while."
"The altar is, as usual, immaculate, but the blood spatter and pools go everywhere else." Blood ran in ribbons and streams, all over the ground, soaking into the vegetation and coloring all the grasses a dark red. The ground looked macabre, a hellish nightmare of a stained leaves and dark, twisted branches.
Remy crouched down and studied the ground. Something was off. He'd been at four similar crime scenes years earlier and Pete Morgan's murder in the swamp just days earlier. They'd all been identical other than the strange seven-knot string found in the bowl of Pete's blood. Each crime scene had been immaculate, not a single footprint, no hair or fiber to be found. There were no prints on anything, not the rocks making up the frame of the altar or anywhere else. But . . .
Remy stiffened. "Gage." He glanced up at his brother, waited until Gage made his way over and very subtly, covering the gesture, pointed to the smudged, partial print hidden among the leaves.