He found himself laughing. He remembered saying that very thing to her when she had been about thirteen and he’d dragged Saria and Bijou out of a party at his own father’s bar. He’d been home for a brief visit and he’d caught the two of them in the bar. She’d been sassy, and he’d given her a lecture as he’d driven her to Pauline’s Inn. He’d taken both girls there, certain they’d behave for Pauline when they wouldn’t for anyone else.

“It’s the truth.”

“I just have never recognized anyone that could be a real authority figure,” Bijou contradicted in her smoky, sexy, melt-a-man-in-his-tracks voice.

He wrapped a length of her long, thick braid around his fist and pulled to keep from kissing that tempting mouth of hers. “You aren’t lookin’ in the right place, Blue. Open your eyes.”

She laughed, a soft, sensual sound that went straight to his groin. Laughing was so unexpected and so unlike Bijou, but just as sexy as her voice.

“I’m afraid to do that, Remy, especially if you’re applyin’ for the job. You’d be . . . bossy.” She laughed again, soft and low, sending hot blood pounding through his body.

“You’ve spent too much time with my sister,” Remy pointed out, and stopped in front of the door to the small café just down from the police station.

Bijou stiffened and halted abruptly. “You want to eat out? In a restaurant? In public?”

“Where else?” He tightened his hold on her. “You’re safe with me.”

Bijou shrugged. “If that’s what you want, but I’m not so certain you’re safe with me.”

Remy opened the door and she slipped inside, immediately stepping to one side waiting for him as heads swung around and a low murmur started up in the café. People recognized her. How could they not? Her face had been plastered on every tabloid for years and now, she was famous in her own right. Her face went still, composed. She wore that slightly haughty, don’t-touch-me expression she’d worn as she moved through the bull pen.

Remy glided close, and she tucked her body into his, beneath his shoulder, almost without conscious thought. He wrapped his arm around her, aware everyone in the room who knew him—and it was most of the customers—would consider that gesture one of proprietorship. Bijou obviously considered it a casual gesture and she relaxed against him.

“Booth or table, Remy?”

Remy smiled affectionately at the dark-skinned waitress with bright eyes and a ready smile. “Give us a booth if you can, Thereze, somewhere we can sit where no one will notice us.”

Thereze burst out laughing. “I think it’s a little too late for that, Remy.”