Free Leopard's Prey by Christine Feehan Page B

snarled and raked at him, so close his skin itched and he could feel fur rippling beneath the surface. The closer the crowd pushed on Bijou, the edgier he became. Anyone wishing her harm could easily slip up behind her and plunge a knife into her back or shoot her.
    His jaw ached and he rubbed it, trying to soothe the tense muscles developing so quickly. Bijou continued to sign autographs and talk briefly with each person, and just as she predicted, individuals became bolder, asking for pictures with her. Bijou posed with that same soft smile on her face. Over and over.
    More people poured into the café, brought, no doubt, by the text messages of friends. Two men pushed their way through the crowd. Thereze protested as she tried to get through the mass of people to deliver the food. The men pushing at Bijou were obnoxious, pressing for her phone number, where she was staying, and when she simply smiled and shook her head, one swore and called her
bitch
.
    Remy stood up so fast he knew his cat was closer to the surface than he’d even imagined. His reflexes were lightning. He caught the man by the back of his neck and slammed him down on the table, holding him there.
    “I’m done with this. Everyone go back to your tables. And you can apologize for your mouth,” he added to his prisoner. His voice was deceptively low. His eyes definitely glowed cat—he was seeing with a cat’s vision. His aggression was doubly so. He knew his strength reflected his leopard’s closeness.
    The man muttered an apology as the crowd hastily dispersed. Remy let him up but retained possession of his arm. “I know you. Ryan Cooper. You came down here a couple years ago and you work at the strip bar. I know where you live. If you give Miss Breaux any trouble, any at all, you’ll be gettin’ a visit from me and it won’t be pleasant. Have I made myself understood?”
    “Yes,” Cooper said, and glanced at his friend. Remy recognized the man as Brent Underwood. He only knew Underwood because the man hung out with one of the shifters, Robert Lanoux. Underwood quickly looked away.
    Remy let go of Cooper abruptly. Cooper staggered back a couple of steps and turned, nearly sprinting from the café. Remy watched him go, following his progress out on the street, ready for anything. Cooper was a mean bouncer. He provided drugs for the patrons and sometimes allowed underage boys into the bar, getting them hooked early on the after-hours sex and drugs. Remy made a mental note to talk with Robert about Cooper and Underwood.
    Thereze set the food on the table.
    “I’m so sorry,” Bijou said. “Sometimes it happens and disrupts everythin’.”
    “I suggest exitin’ through the kitchen when you’re ready to leave,” the waitress said. “Those people are crazy.”
    Remy sank down into his seat, grateful he could keep a straight face. Thereze had been the first person asking for both an autograph and picture.
    “If you were my official bodyguard, Remy, I’d be sued every ten minutes or so,” Bijou said, and then flashed a genuine smile, one that lit her eyes. “Just sayin’.”
    “He had it comin’,” Remy all but snarled. “He can keep his opinions to himself.”
    “The problem is this, my friend”—Bijou leaned across the table and put her hand over his—“people were probably recordin’ your every move, just because you were with me. You’re a policeman. You can’t do people that way. You’ll be very lucky if you don’ end up on YouTube.”
    “Tell me again your harebrained reasoning for not havin’ a bodyguard.” His leopard wasn’t settling fast enough. He had the urge to throw her over his shoulder and carry her out of the café. What would happen after that he didn’t dare admit, even to himself.
    “You haven’t changed much,” Bijou said, and pushed the food on her plate around.
    “Don’ kid yourself, Blue.” He pinned her with his eyes. Leopard’s eyes, staring straight and completely focused on prey.