He didn’t want any more details on the crime scene. He liked to make his own first impressions, so he didn’t want to talk about what Saria found in the swamp. The serial killer from four years earlier had hit New Orleans hard, leaving behind four dead bodies over a period of two months, and then he was gone. If this was the same killer, Remy feared this wouldn’t be the only body found, and no one would be safe until he was caught. The swamps and bayous were lonely and took in a lot of territory. The killer would have a big playing field.

Remy was Cajun, born and raised, but he was also leopard—a shifter. A small clan of leopards had made their homes along the bayous. He didn’t just take the form of a big cat—he was leopard with all the traits of a beast. The wildness in him was always close to the surface. Passion ran just as hot as tempers. Jealousy and fury were every bit as strong as love and loyalty. There was no way to fully submerge their animal natures. They lived by a different set of rules and answered to their lair leader—Drake Donovan. Theirs was a ruthless, brutal set of laws, but necessary to keep their people under control. Some married leopards, others married outsiders who usually had no idea and never would. It was necessary to keep their ability to shift absolutely secret—even from family who were unable to shift.

“Drake and Saria have a guest stayin’ at their bed-and-breakfast,” Gage ventured. “A friend of Saria’s. They went to school together.”

That cool, matter-of-fact tone didn’t fool Remy for a moment. There was a hint of excitement, a definite I’ve-got-a-secret-that-will-blow-your-mind underlying all that cool.

Remy remained silent. The easiest way to get someone to tell something they were eager to spill was to not be interested. He kept his eyes on the black water ahead.

Gage growled, a rumble of annoyance. “You’ll never change, Remy. Bijou Breaux, the daughter of the most famous rock star in history. She’s finally come back. Her daddy’s been dead for four years. You’d have thought she’d come back a long time ago.”

Remy remembered enormous, wild cornflower blue eyes, so haunted that there’d been times he’d wanted to sweep that child up in his arms and take her somewhere safe. She had inherited her father’s ability to sing the angels right out of heaven. He ought to know—he’d followed her career.

“It couldn’t have been easy bein’ the only daughter of a man that famous. He died of an overdose, Gage. The drugs and women goin’ through that house must have been horrific for a child. Every time we turned around, the cops were at that estate and somethin’ bad was goin’ on.”