Remy drummed his fingers on the table beside his coffee cup. His leopard was more agitated than ever and he needed an outlet for the 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.”