Stop Me (24 page)

She’d said it with a laugh, but it didn’t come off as funny, which made her feel like even more of an idiot. She’d engaged in passionate sex with this woman’s son for no real reason except that she’d wanted him too much to say no. And now she 142

was wearing the clothes of a thirteen-year-old girl while trying to explain her unexpected appearance at their house for dinner. Never in her life had she felt more out of place, even the year she’d gone to visit Sheridan’s family for Christmas and they’d forgotten she was coming and given the guest room to a cousin.

“You’re welcome here,” his mother said. “Any friend of Romain’s is a friend of ours.”

Romain handed one of the packages he’d taken from his saddlebags to his mother. “Shrimp,” he told her. “Merry Christmas.”

“Do I want to know what happened to your face?” she asked.

“Accident. Nothing big.”

“Accident,” she repeated as if she’d heard it too many times. But her expression as she hugged her son suggested she’d hold him longer if he’d let her.

“Jasmine, this is my mother, Alicia,” he said. “Mom, this is Jasmine Stratford.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Fornier,” Jasmine said.

“Please, call me Alicia.” She gestured toward the man with thick white hair and broad shoulders who had accompanied her down the front walk. “This is Romain’s father, Romain, Sr.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Jasmine said with a nod.

His large hand swallowed hers, and she sensed an inherent strength in the elder Fornier that reminded her of his son. Embittered or not, Romain gave the impression that he could hold his own in any kind of battle. Now she knew where he got it.

“Welcome to our home,” his dad said.

Their smiles made Jasmine feel a bit better—until she caught sight of the woman coming up behind Romain’s father. This had to be Romain’s sister. With their streaked blond hair and nice even features, they looked too much alike to mistake the connection. Unfortunately, the way she pursed her lips and lifted her chin suggested Romain wasn’t on good terms with her.

“A little late, aren’t you, T-Bone?” she said with a taunting lilt to her voice.

Romain’s face took on a look of indifference, but not before Jasmine caught a flicker of hurt. She suspected he cared as much about this member of his family as he did the rest but, for whatever reason, he wasn’t about to let on. “Jasmine, this is my sister, Susan.” He tilted his head to see the child trailing behind her. “And her eight-year-old son, Travis,” he added.

Susan cocked an eyebrow at her brother. “And?”

“And what?” he said.

“Could we get a frame of reference here? This is the first woman you’ve brought home since Pam died. What is she to you? A friend, a lover, a wife?”

“None of the above,” Jasmine quickly interjected. “As a matter of fact, we don’t even like each other very much.”

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Susan clapped as she laughed. “Perfect! You and I will get along great.” Romain shot Jasmine a glance that seemed to challenge her denial of lover. Or maybe it was only a guilty conscience that made her interpret it that way. But she offered him a serene smile she didn’t feel, and he turned to his sister. “Where’s Tom?” he asked.

“On the phone, talking to his parents.” She rolled her eyes. “They hate it when we leave Boston.”

“So does he,” Alicia said under her breath.

“What about the other kids?” Romain asked. “I thought they’d be running all over the place. Mason’s three by now, isn’t he?”

“He’ll turn three next month. He and Curtis are in front of the TV. Mom and Dad gave them a new game system for Christmas, and it’d take a lot more than a visit from an uncle who never calls or writes—an uncle they barely know—to pull them away from it.”

Jasmine held her breath as she waited for Romain’s reply.

“You told me they didn’t need an ex-con for a role model.” For a moment, Susan looked as if she’d retract that statement, maybe even apologize. But then she straightened her shoulders. “They don’t.”

“Because a philanderer father is so much better.”

“T-Bone.” His mother touched his arm and angled her head toward Travis, and he muttered an apology. Fortunately, little Travis didn’t seem to be following the conversation; he was merely waiting for a chance to break in.

“Do all those trophies in our room belong to you, Uncle T-Bone?” he asked eagerly.

Romain mussed his hair. “For the most part.”

“How’d you get them?”

“Track and basketball.”

“And football,” his father said. “Romain was quite a running back. I think he could’ve walked on to a college team if he hadn’t joined the marines,” he added for Jasmine’s benefit.

He certainly had the build of an athlete. But Jasmine was trying not to think complimentary things about Romain.

“I’m going to play football like you,” Travis announced.

A genuine smile curved Romain’s lips for the first time since they’d arrived, giving Jasmine hope that this might be an enjoyable visit, after all. But his sister cut him off before he could respond. “No, you’re not. Only big dummies who don’t care if they blow out a knee play football.”

“I never blew out a knee, Susan,” Romain said with strained patience.

“But you did get a concussion. I often wonder if that’s to blame for everything.”

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“If I remember right, you were the one who encouraged me to play my senior year.”

“Yeah, well, that was before I realized what a disappointment you’d turn out to be,” she snapped and went inside ahead of them.

Portsville was quiet. A truck passed, going in the other direction, but it was the only vehicle Gruber had seen for miles. The cemetery looked like it’d be more fun than the town.

He pulled into Portsville’s small grocery store to buy a drink and see if he could glean any information. What business did Jasmine have here? Why did she leave New Orleans for rural Cajun country? It had to have some connection to the reason she’d come. She was here at his invitation, after all.

His car door groaned as he forced it open. He needed to buy a new sedan. He had a truck that was barely a year old, but he mostly kept it around back, out of sight.

His old Honda Civic was much more nondescript; he preferred to come and go unnoticed.

The ice machine in front of the old grocery store rattled, catching Gruber’s attention. Man, what he could fit into a freezer that size! His own freezer was getting too packed, which made it difficult to save everything he wanted—

“They’re closed.” A ruddy, bowlegged man had just come out of the bar next door.

Gruber knew he had to look stupid, standing there with his hand on the door, gazing fondly at an ice machine. “What’d you say?”

“I said they’re closed.” The man motioned toward the clumsily printed sign taped to the door. Merry Christmas! it read. See you on December 26th!

“Oh.” Gruber blinked at it. How had he not seen that?

“You visiting for the holidays?” the man asked.

“Just passing through.”

“I’m Croc. I own the bar here. I don’t open till four, but if you’re hungry, I’ll make you a burger.”

Croc? The Cajuns down here were such rednecks. “Actually, I’m…um…

looking for my sister.”

The man’s bushy eyebrows went up. “Does she live in town?”

“No, but she mentioned coming down this way to, you know, sightsee. Her name’s Jasmine Stratford.”

Croc chewed harder on the toothpick dangling from one side of his mouth.

“Never heard of her. What does she look like?”

“She’s small, attractive. Part Indian.”

His eyes were riveted on Gruber’s clearly Caucasian features. “Indian?”

“East Indian. We have different fathers,” he said.

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“I haven’t seen anyone by that description. But you might check with Henry over at the hotel. He put up a few visitors this past week.” Gruber glanced down the dock to see a sun-bleached wooden building on pilings. The words Lil’ Cajun were painted on the side. “I’ll do that,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Good luck finding your sister.”

“By the way—” Gruber caught the man’s arm. “If you happen to see her, don’t tell her I was here, okay? I’m trying to surprise her. For Christmas.” Croc gave him a friendly nod. “I won’t say a word.”

“You’re East Indian?”

Jasmine hesitated with a bite of lamb halfway to her mouth. She hadn’t expected to be the focal point of the Forniers’ dinner conversation. She was just tagging along with Romain until she could get back to New Orleans, where she hoped to promptly forget him. But, from their behavior, Romain’s family hadn’t seen him with a woman in a very long time, and they were more than a little curious about her.

“My mother’s East Indian,” she explained to Susan, who’d asked the question.

“She came from India about five years before I was born. My father was raised in Ohio.”

“You have beautiful skin,” Alicia said.

“And eyes,” Susan’s husband, Tom, added. “They’re so unusual.” Because he’d said next to nothing so far, and that comment had been made with far too much enthusiasm, all heads turned in his direction.

Rather soft but handsome in a slender “polished professional” kind of way, he spread out his hands. “What? She does!”

“Thank you,” Jasmine said and tried not to notice the tightening of Susan’s jaw.

“It’s interesting that your parents come from such different backgrounds.” It was Romain, Sr. who filled the awkward silence. “Where do they live now?”

“They’re divorced. My mother lives in Ohio, where I was born. My father moved to Mobile a few years ago.”

“Alabama?”

“That’s right.”

“Mobile’s not too far from Portsville,” Susan said. “Do you get to see him very often?”

No doubt Romain’s sister was wondering why Jasmine was sitting at their dinner table instead of her own father’s. “Not really. Not since he remarried. And I don’t live in Portsville. I’m from Sacramento.”

Tom’s fork clinked against his plate as he put it down. “Sacramento’s clear across the country. How’d you meet Romain?”

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“We know it wasn’t in Sacramento,” Susan said under her breath. “My dear brother would’ve had to leave the bayou for that.” Romain’s eyes narrowed as he chewed, but he didn’t respond. His mother seemed relieved that he let the barb go, but Jasmine wished he’d say something to steer the conversation away from her. If she told them about her missing sister or her work at The Last Stand, it’d invariably bring up what’d happened to Adele, which wasn’t a subject anyone would enjoy discussing, especially at Christmas dinner.

No one had recognized her from America’s Most Wanted, so she decided to make up a reason for her and Romain to have crossed paths. She hated to lie, but she also didn’t feel her personal details really mattered. After today, she’d never see these people again. “A mutual friend introduced us.” She felt Romain’s attention settle on her and wondered if he was surprised, but by the time she glanced at him his focus had already shifted to his brother-in-law, who was drinking far more than he ate.

“Who?” Tom asked.

“Poppo,” she said, recalling the bogus name she’d given the old Cajun at the hotel.

“I know a lot of people in Portsville,” Susan said. “We had cousins down there when we were growing up and spent at least a month of every summer on the bayou.

But I don’t recall a Poppo.” Frowning, she focused on Romain. “Do I know him?”

“I’m pretty sure you don’t,” Romain said. Fortunately, he didn’t say that he didn’t know him, either.

“So you crossed four states just to visit Romain?” Tom asked.

“I was already here on vacation when I met Poppo, and he said I could—” she searched for a credible link “—buy some fresh shrimp from Romain.”

“Are you vacationing alone?” Susan asked.

Jasmine turned the stem of her wineglass because it gave her something to do with her hands. “My best friend was planning to come with me, but she recently got married and backed out of the trip.”

Tom didn’t bother to hide his astonishment. “What made you choose Cajun country for a Christmas vacation?”

“I’ve heard a lot about it.”

“Have you ever been here before?” Obviously, he thought she was crazy.

“No.”

“And you have no family in the immediate area.”

“That’s right.”

“Just because you’ve never liked it down here doesn’t mean other people don’t,” Susan muttered.

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“I love coming to Mamère’s and Papère’s!” Travis announced. When he tried to fling a pea across the table at his younger brother, his grandfather took away his spoon.

“I realize that some people find this place sort of quaint and charming, but it isn’t Hawaii,” Tom retorted. “I’m amazed that someone from California, who doesn’t have family in the area, would plan a trip to Portsville at Christmas. It’s equally incredible she’d hook up with my brother-in-law, who’s become such a recluse he barely even socializes with his own family anymore.” He lifted his glass as he looked around the table. “Am I the only one who finds that strange?” The expression on Romain’s face suggested he was about to tell Tom to mind his own business. Tom was getting tipsy and starting to act brash. But Alicia reached over to squeeze Romain’s hand, obviously begging his forbearance, and he managed to reel in his temper.

“No stranger than my brother going to prison in the first place,” Susan said, unable to resist pushing Romain a little further.

“Who went to prison?” Travis asked, suddenly tuning in.

“No one you know.” Alicia’s pointed smile told Susan and Tom to shut up.

Susan seemed cowed because her oldest son had picked up on her words so quickly, but Tom had drunk too much to worry about subtleties.

“No one on my side of the family,” he said.

“Your family has their share of secrets,” Susan responded.

Romain raised his glass to Jasmine. “Isn’t this a pleasant family meal?” Jasmine smiled helplessly because she didn’t know how to answer. It’d be too obvious a lie to agree. It was all Romain and Susan could do not to wind up in a shouting match; Alicia was constantly running interference by warning this person or that person with a touch or a glance; Romain, Sr. was obviously concerned with helping his wife for the sake of “company;” and Romain clearly wanted to punch Tom in the face. Besides the children, Tom seemed like the only person really enjoying himself. Of course, he’d had enough alcohol to find almost anything enjoyable, but at least someone was smiling.