Arnaud sent Bijou up first and he followed right behind her. Once they were safe, Remy stood absolutely still, almost without breathing, drinking in the sight of Bijou. She did smell like the bayou, but it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered to him was that she was alive. He didn’t give a damn what she said or thought. He yanked her into his arms, holding her tightly against his body, his hands moving over her, reassuring himself she was uninjured. She didn’t melt into him, but rather held herself very stiff and aloof. Yeah, he was in trouble.

Bijou pulled away from him almost immediately. “I’m getting you all wet and you’ll have to throw away those clothes.”

“Do you think I give a damn about clothes? You could have died. What were you thinkin’? You should have stayed put and waited for me.”

She shook her head, a slow crimson creeping up her neck at the memory of waking to the ruined room and having to possibly face Saria, not knowing where Remy went or even if he intended to return. “No, Remy, you should have stayed put.”

She turned on her heel and walked away from him. Head up. Shoulders square. She looked regal in spite of the mud and wet clothes. She looked . . . magnificent.

“You got it bad, bro,” Gage whispered as he walked past Remy, a wide grin on his face. “You might want to close your mouth before somethin’ flies into or out of it.”

Bijou went straight to her car and stood, unmoving, looking at the damage. Arnaud came up beside her, setting Remy’s teeth on edge. She didn’t look at Arnaud as if she wanted nothing to do with him.

“What a mess,” Arnaud said. “Why would someone do this?”

Remy watched Bijou carefully. She inhaled sharply and stiffened. She knew. She’d caught the scent. The leopard in her was merging with her, becoming part of her, and with her acute sense of smell, she recognized the scent of the man who been stalking her.

“Who is it, Blue?” Remy asked.

She shook her head.

“You know. He trashed my apartment this morning and left behind the picture of me kissing you. It wasn’t pretty, Bijou. He’s escalating his behavior.”

“It doesn’t make sense. Bob Carson grew up in Bodrie’s house. I’ve known him my entire life. He wouldn’t do this.”

Remy’s eyes met Gage’s. Gage nodded. The moment he’d caught Carson’s scent out on the road, he was certain it was the photographer who was stalking Bijou.

“Don’ kid yourself, honey,” Remy said. “Tell me why he would take an eight-year-old child to a hotel room with a bunch of men and try to pump her full of drugs. He was probably figuring he’d get rid of you and Bodrie would leave everything to him.”