“Arnaud?” she called out to the artist.

He looked up at her and smiled. “He’s perfect, Bijou. So perfect.”

“Yes, he is.” She stepped closer, desperate to see if Remy was still alive. “We’re supposed to go to dinner tonight. He’s late.”

“We’re working,” Arnaud told her. “I tried sketching his eyes, but I couldn’t re-create that look I wanted. It was there the other night, and then it was gone.”

“Yes. I remember.” Bijou poured enthusiasm into her voice. She still clutched the cell phone, the line open between her and Saria. She stepped closer. She was about halfway to the table. “He was jealous of you. He looked like a hunter.”

Arnaud’s head jerked up. “That’s it. That’s it exactly, Bijou. You always get it. A large jungle cat about to leap on his prey.” He frowned. “You can’t stay. I have work to do.”

“I know you do.” She used her most soothing voice, edging closer still. “Why isn’t Remy moving? He looks like he’s asleep, but his eyes are open.”

Arnaud shrugged. “Just a little ketamine. He can’t move. He has to stay still, but I need his eyes to get that penetrating look.”

“He’s alive?”

“Of course.” He waved her away. “I really need to work, Bijou.”

“I just have to ask about the bones.”

“The bones?” he echoed, already distracted. He moved closer to the table, to the instruments spread out before him. His hand was inches away from a cutting tool.

“Yes. You took bones and some of them were lost in the SUV when Bob Carson pushed it into the bayou. What was so important about the bones? I know you needed to replace them.”

Her heart beat so hard she was terrified Arnaud could hear. She was up against the table now, right next to Remy’s head. His eyes shifted toward her. Those beautiful green eyes, filled with intelligence and awareness.

She reached for her leopard, bringing her close to the surface just in case. Breathing deep to keep from shifting, she laid one hand on Remy’s chest, right over his heart. Protective. She was in position now and felt a little calmer.

“I use them for my work.” He sounded impatient. Dismissive. She’d heard that tone many times and had dutifully taken her cue, slipping out of his studio and leaving him to get on with his creations.

“In what way?” Where were the police? She’d told Angelina to call everyone. She expected even the bomb squad to show up. How much time had passed? She knew Arnaud better than anyone. When it came to his work, he wouldn’t be distracted for too long.