Leopard's Prey

by Christine Feehan

  She needed a distraction, and that meant getting away from the Inn and Remy's overwhelming scent. Sliding into her car, she turned up her music and took off driving. She was performing at her club in the evening, but she could do a little exploring and maybe give her body a little reprieve. For some reason even Remy's masculine smell sent her into a sexual meltdown.

  The farther from the Inn she got, the more her body seemed to settle down and become her own. After a few miles the air didn't feel as if it was being squeezed out of her lungs, and she could breathe properly again. She heaved a sigh of relief. Even the terrible itch between her legs subsided, giving her a reprieve--hopefully for a very long time.

  She found herself relaxing as she drove along the bayous. At night the roads could be spooky. She had grown up with reports of strange sightings and whispers of ghosts and legendary creatures prowling the swamps and bayous.

  She almost missed the SUV pulled into the shadow of the cypress grove leading out to the water's edge. She saw it at the last moment and braked quickly, her reaction far faster than she anticipated. She was out on one of the back roads, and if the SUV had gone off the road, whoever it was wouldn't have cell service and might be in trouble. Backing up, she cautiously maneuvered her much smaller car into the grove, but well away from the water.

  Again she was cautious as she stepped out of her car, suddenly aware of the absolutely remote area she was in. Edging carefully around the SUV, she immediately saw a man's suit jacket tossed carelessly on the hood. He was bent over, tying a rope to the hitch of his vehicle, using two locking carabiners for one master point to slip the rope through.

  "Are you all right?" she greeted, trying not to startle him.

  He straightened, swinging around to face her and relief flooded her system instantly. She hadn't realized how tense she'd been. She recognized him instantly. Arnaud Lefevre, the famous sculptor whose work was even shown in the Louvre in France. His work sold for hundreds of thousands and he was grinning at her from the shade of the cypress grove on the edge of the swamp. He was dressed in his immaculate thousand-dollar suit, white shirt and hiking boots. That was Arnaud, an eccentric, but extremely talented and versatile.

  "What in the world are you doin'?" Bijou demanded. "Arnaud, you can't just come out here alone. This is a dangerous area."

  "I do it all the time." He stepped forward and hugged her in welcome, kissing both cheeks before releasing her. "It's a treasure trove here for me. I discovered it years ago."

  She laughed, suddenly feeling carefree. "That's so you, Arnaud. Why are you wearing a suit? This is swamp right here just in case you hadn't noticed."

  He raised a black eyebrow. "Woman, I always wear a suit. You should know that. You never know who you'll meet out in the middle of nowhere and you have to look your best to impress." He took ahold of her arm. "You want to tell me what happened here?"

  Bijou frowned down at her arm, carefully unwrapping the material she'd tied over the rake marks. "I don' honestly know, Arnaud."

  He very gently turned her arm over. "It looks like a very large and angry cat scratched it. Did you get into a fight with another woman?"

  She pulled her arm away. "That sounds so like me."

  He laughed and went around her to open the passenger door. "I brought food and coffee. You up for something?"

  "Sure. But what were you doin' with that rope and your hitch?" Deliberately she looked around and up, as if looking for a cliff. "We don' do a lot of climbin' in Louisiana."

  "Every time I see you, I'm surprised again by your accent." He glanced back at her over his shoulder, his gray eyes sparkling with laughter. "And you climb. I'd forgotten that as well. Come with me." He pointed down to the edge of the embankment, a thirty-foot drop, with eroding rock, dirt and root structures. One tree was actually tilted, its weight over time slowly pulling it down.

  She moved cautiously to the edge of the trees lining the bank and peered over the side. "Down there? Are you searching for alligators?"

  Knobby cypress trees rose out of the water like giant stick figures, branches reaching like arms, moss hanging from them in drapes. The water pooled, dark and forbidding around the barren, misshapen trunks and lapped at the thin strip of a ledge only inches above the surface.

  "Rocks," he said, coming up behind her, and handing her a coffee mug over her shoulder. "You take it black, right?"

  She took the coffee cup, frowning at him. "Rocks?"

  "For my work. I pulverize them and get a variety of subtle color as well as texture. I get them from all over. Contrary to popular belief, Louisiana has some beautiful rocks and crystals, you just have to know where to look. Just below us, along the bank, there's a vein of beautiful agate. That might not sound like much to you, but for me, the colors are perfect for my work. I don't manage to get here that often, so every time I come, I make certain to get a few rocks."

  "You aren't kiddin', are you?" Bijou asked. She could hear the ring of truth in his voice, and more, he sounded boyishly enthusiastic.

  "No, the rocks are beautiful in color and just the right texture for my sculptures. I don't mine much of it, just a bit each visit, so hopefully I'm not contributing to the bank eroding."

  Arnaud pulled out a folding chair one-handed and opened it expertly, putting it under the shade of the cypress trees. "Sit down, drink your coffee." He pulled out a second chair and sat down beside her.

  "You do know there's a killer hangin' around, don' you?" Bijou said as gently as possible. She hated to put a damper on his enthusiasm, but he had to take the warning seriously. It had never occurred to her that Arnaud Lefevre haunted the swamps looking for rocks for his sculptures. He was handsome and sophisticated with his thousand-dollar suit and hiking shoes he'd paid a fortune for. She knew he was a bit of an adventurer, but she hadn't ever considered that he might go into the swamp--especially alone.

  "I read something about it," he admitted. "But what are the chances? I'm only here a few times a year and come to these places no one else knows about. There's a lot of land out here, Bijou, and I doubt that our paths would ever cross."

  She scowled at him over the coffee cup. "Still, you shouldn't come here alone."

  "I don't have to worry now that you're here," he pointed out.

  She rolled her eyes and laughed in spite of herself. He was good company. He always had been. He was intense when he was working, his mind wholly into his art. He didn't notice anyone or anything when he was creating something new.

  He leaned over and pulled at the chain, lifting the pendant--his jewelry. "This is a beautiful piece," he said, impartially, as if he hadn't been the one to create it. "I used chambersite, a rare crystal found here in this state, and ground petrified palm. I made the piece for you and I knew the one place you always called home was Louisiana, so I made certain nearly everything was from your state."

  "Sometimes, Arnaud, you're so sweet you make me want to cry," Bijou said honestly. Why couldn't she be attracted to him? He was handsome. He had money in his own right--he certainly wasn't after hers. When they were together, they laughed and talked about everything. Conversations were always interesting and lively. She even relaxed in his company. He loved some of the same things she did--such as climbing. She bet he had a climbing bag with his gear in his SUV just as she had hers locked in the trunk of her car. He traveled far more than she ever would want to, but still . . . Yet there was just no chemistry between them--not on either side.

  Bijou sighed. It was Remy who made her wild and crazy. It was Remy she had always trusted, even though she hadn't really known it. After her behavior last night, who knew what he thought of her.

  "Tell me," he urged, leaning close. "I can see you're worried about something. I told you about my secret stash of agate and if you insist, I'll trade your worries for the location of chambersite," he teased gently.

  She flashed him a smile. No way was she going to tell anyone about her wanton uncharacteristic behavior with Remy. She shrugged. "My manager is r
eally, really angry with me. I can't really blame him." That was strictly the truth, so she didn't feel too bad misleading him. She pushed back the stray strands of hair that had pulled free of her braid and were annoying her by falling into her face. She really should have dried it before she left the Inn. It would be a mess for the show. "I made up my mind not to tour anymore. I want to settle here and just sing in my club and record in the studio. I'll be makin' considerably less money."

  "So will he, I take it," Arnaud summed up the problem quickly. He sat back in his chair, his gaze on her face. "Have I met him? Rob something, right?"

  She nodded. "Rob Butterfield. You met him briefly in New York when I went to one of your shows. I feel bad about not touring, but I just don' want that life anymore. He says I'm selfish and only thinkin' of myself." She sighed. "It's probably true too, but I honestly couldn't live that life anymore. I'm not cut out for the spotlight. I don' like it. Don' get me wrong, I love music and I have to sing, that part makes me happy, but all the rest . . ." She broke off, looking at the artist a little helplessly.

  Outsiders looking at her life always thought she had it made. She had a famous father. All the money in the world. She could do anything she wanted. She had a voice that was a blend of smoke and fire according to all the critics, and she could draw thousands to a concert and easily sell over a million albums almost within the first week she put her recordings out. Outsiders would say, what the hell was wrong with her. That was her manager. Keep working. Keep going, no matter how unhappy the lifestyle made her.

  Arnaud leaned close and laid his hand on her wrist, smiling at her. "In the end, Bijou, you must do what is right for you. This is a place I come to visit because it inspires me, but I couldn't live here all year-round. The mosquitoes alone would drive me to drink."

  He laughed at himself, making her smile.

  "I enjoy New York. The nightlife, the way the city makes its own music. I feel inspired there. I enjoy Paris, and believe it or not, Istanbul. I like to travel and see the world, but in the end, my studio is where I need to be."

  "Do you have secret places you get rocks everywhere you go?" she teased.

  "Of course." He finished off his coffee. "How about you come rock hunting with me?"

  "I have a show to do tonight at the club, but it isn't for hours. As long as this doesn't take too long," she said.

  There was safety in numbers. Whoever was murdering people caught them alone--at least so far that seemed to be the way. In any case, she didn't want to go back to the Inn, see her manager or Remy. Playing hooky in the swamp with Arnaud might be the cure.

  "I'll tell you what, chere, do some climbing with me and I'll go to your show tonight and buy you dinner."

  What else did she have to do, but feel sorry for herself? She could spend the day in Arnaud's company, have a good time and then do her show. Singing always made her feel better.

  "Sounds good to me," she said and finished off her coffee as well. "But I'm not usin' that hitch to tie off my rope. I'm using that very strong tree trunk."

  "You're such a chicken," Arnaud protested. "I use the hitch all the time."

  "I'm not fallin' into the disgustin' water," Bijou said with a small shudder. "Laugh it up, Arnaud, I'm not smellin' for a month to prove a point. That water has enough germs in it to kill half of Louisiana."

  "You really are a girl," he teased. He slapped at his arm. "Damn mosquitoes. How come they aren't eating you alive?"

  " 'Cuz I'm a girl, not a mean Frenchman," Bijou said and folded up her chair. She had no idea why mosquitoes didn't ever bite her, but even as a child, when everyone else was getting attacked, the insects veered away from her and went after someone else.

  She sent him a smug look. "Louisiana mosquitos know the natives and just go after the tourists, especially hot French tourists."

  "At least you think I'm hot." He made a face at her as he put her folding chair in the back of his rented SUV. "Let's hope your climbing skills haven't been affected by your sense of humor."

  She peered over the ledge. "I don' have any intention of endin' up in that water. I've got my own equipment in the trunk of my car."

  "A girl after my own heart. If you have a helmet, you might want to use it. The bank is unstable and juts out in places overhead," he cautioned. "I get debris falling at times."

  The wind shifted, blowing a slight breeze through the trees. She felt the now familiar itch rising like a wave under her skin and took a deep breath trying to control the need to scratch. For a brief moment, a scent drifted to her and just that quickly was gone. Elusive. She knew it, and yet she hadn't gotten enough time before the capricious wind changed direction again to identify it. A chill crept down her spine and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

  Bijou swung around, looking slowly. "Arnaud, do you feel as if someone is watchin' us?"

  Arnaud didn't snicker or act as if she was crazy. He took her seriously, stepping out from behind the vehicle to inspect the road running along the bayou with a slow, careful perusal. Bijou rubbed at the itch racing up and down her arm. Just that fast the sensation faded, along with the odd feeling they were being watched, leaving her feeling foolish. Whatever strange thing was taking place in her body, was making her moody, edgy and jumpy.

  "I don't see anything, Bijou," Arnaud said. "But if you're worried, we can skip getting the rocks and I can come back another day."

  "No, that would be silly. We're already here," Bijou replied. "I was looking forward to seeing your cache." She took one more careful look around and drew in a lungful of air. Nothing. She had no idea what had set her off, making her so uncomfortable, but there was nothing to indicate they weren't alone.

  8

  "YOU don't want a lot of stretch in your line," Arnaud cautioned. "Use a static line, maybe ten to twenty meters. I use a Grigri. It's simple, and I don't like a fuss when I'm working. I rappel down, work out the rocks I want, put them in my bag and use an ascender coming up. I've found my hiking boots are better for this than climbing boots."

  Arnaud was a serious climber and he'd gone into his serious mode the moment they brought out the gear. He helped her wrap nylon webbing around a live tree that was about ten inches thick. Near the base of the tree, he created friction between the webbing and the tree. Leaving two equal length ends, he tied overhand knots on a bite.

  Bijou handed him two locking carabiners for each end. After finding the middle of the rope, he created two overhands on a bite ten inches apart and attached each to one of the lockers on the webbing.

  "One for each of us," he said as he tossed the ropes off the edge, leaving them two secure lines to rappel down. "Happy?"

  "Much happier," Bijou said.

  He took her helmet out of her hand and plunked it on her head. "That's so you don't have half the embankment falling on you."

  Bijou stepped into her harness, laughing as he had to pull the trouser legs of his suit through. "Great climbing pants," she teased.

  He grinned at her, his eyes laughing. "Keep making fun of me, woman, and you may be alligator fodder after all."

  Bijou attached the Grigri to her line, near the point where they attached to the webbing on the tree and waited for Arnaud to do the same. Both attached their Grigri to the belay loop on their harness using a locking carabiner, double-checking that they each locked theirs.

  "Let's do this," Arnaud said, a hint of excitement in his voice for the first time.

  Bijou realized Arnaud rarely showed emotion. He did laugh occasionally, but she'd never seen him do so with anyone but her and even with her, it had taken a great deal of time before he'd let her in enough to relax around her. He seemed disconnected from people, his passion completely kept for his work, which probably explained why there was no real physical attraction between them. Every sport he chose was dangerous and solitary.

  She nodded, and after going over a safety check, they started to rappel down the slope. Clearly Arnaud had been over the embankment numerous times and was
confident. Bijou went far more slowly, taking her time and watching the outcropping above her. The dirt was definitely loose and occasionally rained down in a little burst. Arnaud ignored it as he found a purchase on the slim ledge.

  "There isn't much room on this ledge," Bijou pointed out, peering out across the water, half expecting an alligator to be swimming toward her.

  "I'm never here long and so far I've never seen evidence of a gator trying to come up on the ledge. It's too narrow for even a medium-sized one." Arnaud wrapped the tail of his rope around his leg five times.

  Bijou made a face as she cautiously settled her feet onto the muddy surface. Very carefully she wrapped the tail of her rope around her leg as well, creating a friction backup.

  Now that his hands were free, Arnaud selected a small brush from his tool belt and showed it to her. "I use this to brush aside some of the dirt to check the color of the stone before I remove any. Do you want to try? You have to be very careful not to disturb too much of the embankment."

  He was offering her the brush, but he sounded reluctant. She realized this was something of great importance to him, not just a lark. She smiled at him, shaking her head. "I'd rather watch you, if you don' mind. I love watchin' you create art and this seems similar."

  She said the right thing, because Arnaud flashed her a genuine smile and crouched down beside her.

  Bijou studied the embankment above them. Small rocks and the root structures of trees seemed to be the only thing holding the crumbling dirt together. Some roots jutted out like gangly, boney arms, moss hanging from them. A few larger rocks were scattered along the wall, but for the most part, the bank seemed nothing but loose dirt.

  She found it impossible not to be a little nervous. Behind were the gator-infested waters and in front of her a tall wall of soil, some of which was already falling like dust on top of her head and shoulders.

  She cleared her throat. "Arnaud, I have to hand it to you. You're very dedicated to your art. Couldn't you have someone else do this for you?"