Stop Me (27 page)

Jasmine wondered if he’d kept any of them. “Are you telling me all this because you love your brother-in-law—or because you hate him?” she asked.

“A little bit of both, I suppose.” Tom rubbed his perfectly smooth chin. “Are you going to tell the others why you’re really here?”

“I don’t see the need to upset everyone on Christmas Day, do you?”

“No. I don’t see the need.”

Maybe he wasn’t as drunk as she’d thought. With a smile, she reached out to touch his arm. “Forget the past and be the husband and father you could be,” she said.

A knock at the door interrupted before he could respond. “Tom?” It was Susan. Dropping her hand, Jasmine turned just in time to see Romain’s sister open the door.

“Looking for me?” Tom asked.

Jasmine could tell he expected the worst—he’d set himself up for it—but if Romain’s sister was upset at finding them together, she didn’t reveal it. “We’re about to have dessert.”

Tom shot Jasmine a cryptic smile. “When Romain’s around, it takes her longer to come running.”

“For God’s sake, it’s Christmas,” Susan hissed.

Jasmine had planned to consider the information Tom had given her and leave it at that—for today. Although she knew she’d have to tell Romain about the notes, it seemed preferable to let his family enjoy the holiday in peace. But she couldn’t miss the opportunity to hear what Susan had to say about the shooting. Or to let Susan know it was what she and Tom had been discussing in private. “What did you see that day on the court steps?” she asked.

Susan’s eyes cut to her husband.

“She’s a forensic profiler researching her sister’s disappearance,” he explained.

“Does Romain know?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Then he wouldn’t want me to tell you what I saw.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s pointless now. He already paid the price. Why get Huff into trouble? That’s what he’d say.”

“And I’d say it’s important because you and I both know he might’ve killed the wrong man.”

A dark shadow passed over her face. “That’s what troubles me,” she said. “But Romain made me promise not to discuss it with anyone.” 161

Jasmine found it odd but admirable that she’d remain loyal to Romain despite their estrangement. “Just tell me where I can get a copy of the tape.” Susan stared at her. Then she disappeared and returned a few minutes later with a disk in her hand. “Here you go,” she said and walked out, taking her husband with her.

When their footsteps had receded down the hall, Jasmine circled the desk and perched on the edge of the chair. “What a Christmas,” she muttered and since everything was already sliding downhill, she called her father.

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“Romain Fornier lives in Portsville?” Gruber asked.

The gruff old Cajun at the motel gave a single nod. “Yes, sir. Like I said, he’s out on de bayou. Your sister was here just a day or two ago, lookin’ for him.” Of course. That made sense. Jasmine had already connected the note she’d received with the way he’d written Adele’s name on that wall, or she wouldn’t have gone snooping around the Moreaus. But how had she found Romain when he couldn’t?

She was good. He had to hand her that.

“How long has he been here?”

“Coupla years, I guess.”

“Does he have an address?” Gruber had sent several messages to his family, who’d been much easier to locate. He enjoyed the torment he knew it would cause Romain to realize Adele’s killer had gotten away, after all.

“No.”

“He doesn’t have an address?”

“Nope. D’ere’s no mail service out d’ere.”

No wonder Gruber hadn’t been able to find him. Romain had been living out on the bayou without services.

Suddenly, Gruber felt very powerful. He’d done that to Fornier. He’d leveled a Reconnaissance Marine, stripped him of everything….

“You know Romain?” the man said.

“We’re old acquaintances. Can you tell me how to get to his house?” The hotel manager tapped his fingers on the counter. “What’d you say your name was?”

“Mike Smith.”

There was a slight hesitation, then he said, “Sorry, Mike. I’ve only been out d’ere once or twice myself, and it was dark at de time. I don’t t’ink I could find it again. But if you’ll give me your number, I’ll pass it along when I see Romain.” He was lying. Gruber could tell. The brief hesitation told him that. People who didn’t customarily lie were never very good at it. “What about Jasmine? Is she still in town? Is she staying here?”

“No, sir. She checked out a coupla days ago. I haven’t seen her since.” 163

He’d spoken far more stridently. But because he was lying about Fornier, Gruber couldn’t believe him about Jasmine, either. “Right.”

“Would you like to book a room for de night?”

“No.” Now that he’d made some inquiries, he needed to disappear, lie low.

But he wouldn’t go far. Someone had to know where Romain lived. He’d figure it out eventually. Then he’d wait.

Timing was everything.

Jasmine’s conversation with her father was tense but polite and lasted all of five minutes, about a minute longer than her conversation with her mother. How are you?…Fine…Are you having a nice Christmas?…Wonderful, you?…Definitely.

Her conversation with her mother differed significantly in one regard. “Did you like the dress I sent you?” Gauri had wanted to know. Jasmine had claimed she loved it, but she hadn’t even opened it. It was at home with her other presents, waiting for her return—whenever that would be.

“Did you receive the basket I sent you?” Jasmine had asked.

“I did. We’re eating the summer sausage and some of the French cheese today.”

She could’ve taped herself with one parent and merely replayed it for the other, except that her father hadn’t sent her a gift and didn’t say anything about the basket of wine, fruit and cheese she’d shipped him. She kept quiet about her presence in Louisiana and, of course, no one mentioned Kimberly. It was as if Kimberly had never existed—except that she was standing between them.

Slipping the note she’d found into the pocket of her jeans, Jasmine started for the dining room. She could hear Romain talking about the game but didn’t catch his father’s response. A second later, beaters whirred in the kitchen—Alicia making the whipped cream for the pecan pie. Judging by their shrieks and laughter, the kids were wrestling in the living room, where Romain and his father were trying to watch TV, but Jasmine had no idea where Tom and Susan had gone. She hoped they’d taken a nice long walk so they could have a chat about saving their marriage.

She was about to step into the kitchen to see if she could help serve the pie when she noticed an open door—and glimpsed a room decorated in blue and cluttered with trophies. Romain’s old room.

She had no reason to be so interested in the memorabilia she noticed inside, but her steps slowed as she passed it, and she eventually turned back. The opportunity to get a glimpse of what Romain had been like before grief had made such a dramatic impact on his life was too tempting to resist.

There were sleeping bags and suitcases strewn across the floor—evidence that Susan’s kids were spending their nights here, which was probably what’d piqued Travis’s interest in all the trophies. There were certainly enough of them. Jasmine noted several MVP awards, a few signed baseballs, a wooden bat with July 1984

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etched on it. But she already knew he’d been successful in sports. Then there was his military service. She read a letter from his commanding officer displayed, along with a couple of medals, inside a shadow box on the nightstand. It said he’d saved the life of a helicopter pilot who’d crashed in enemy territory; he’d gone in and carried the injured man out. That letter ended by saying, “You can be proud of your son. He’s a damn fine marine.”

Jasmine smiled and read that part twice, but it was the pictures gracing his dresser that ultimately caught her attention. They were of Romain at various high school dances—prom, senior ball, turnabout—always with the same leggy blonde she’d seen in the family photo at his bayou shack.

“Very pretty,” Jasmine murmured as she picked up one that showed them in matching T-shirts.

“You’re missing dessert.”

At the sound of Romain’s voice, Jasmine straightened. She felt a little awkward at being found in his room but decided to act as though it wasn’t a big deal.

Turning, she held out the picture. “It looks like you and your wife were very young when you got together.”

“We were sixteen.” Hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his faded jeans, he leaned against the doorjamb.

Sixteen…Jasmine returned the picture to its place on the dresser. “You’re lucky.”

He seemed surprised by the comment. “Until she died and any question like it would be in extremely bad taste, most people asked me if I was sorry I’d committed myself at such a young age.”

“Were you?”

“No.”

“Then she was lucky, too.”

His eyes lingered on the picture but he didn’t comment.

“Have you ever been with anyone else?” she asked.

He gave her a boyish grin. “This morning.”

“You’re saying you’ve made love to only two women?”

“Pam and I were married right after high school. That didn’t leave a lot of time for fooling around.”

“What did she do when you went to the Gulf in 1991?”

“Worked as a secretary and lived at home. I couldn’t offer her much back then.

Fortunately, she hung on.”

“What made you go into the military?”

“Some friends of her parents moved to town. They had a son our age. Her mom and dad didn’t want her to marry the only guy she’d ever dated, so they pressured her into seeing him, and she broke up with me. My parents were nagging 165

me, too. They wanted me to do something with my life before settling down, but I already knew I needed a more hands-on challenge than college, so I joined the marines.” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “The breakup didn’t last and we ended up getting married just after we graduated, at which point I regretted joining the military.”

“Do you still regret it?”

“Not really. Those years were hard for us, but the discipline and experience I gained made me a better husband.”

She nodded toward the medals. “I guess the pilot you saved is happy you chose the military, too.”

“Any of us would’ve done it,” he said, and she knew he wasn’t being modest.

He truly believed it.

“Well, it’s still impressive.”

“What about you?” he asked.

She tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’ve never saved anyone.”

“Considering the kind of work you do, I’m sure you’re wrong about that. You save all the people who’d be hurt if you weren’t on the front lines, right?” She’d never really thought of it that way. She did what she did because she could. And, indirectly, it felt like her efforts somehow made up for her inability to protect Kimberly. “Maybe.”

“But that wasn’t what I meant,” he said.

“You’ve lost me.”

He came into the room, grabbed a football Susan’s boys must’ve left behind and tossed it from hand to hand. “Your surprise that I’ve been with only two women makes me curious about how many men you’ve been with.”

“A lot.” She grinned. “Obviously, I’ll sleep with anyone.”

“Which puts the number somewhere around…five hundred?” he teased.

“Closer to four hundred. I’ve kept close count. I have some morals, you know.”

“Getting involved with that many guys is quite a feat for a woman who’s afraid to take off her clothes.”

“They were all very persuasive, like you.”

“You took some time off when you were married, didn’t you?”

“My marriage only lasted two years, remember?”

“Two years,” he repeated. “Did you love him?”

“I loved him. But I wasn’t in love with him. I learned there’s a rather meaningful difference.”

He flopped onto the bed, still tossing the ball. “Have you ever been in love?”

“No.”

“Never?”

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“No.”

He stopped throwing the ball and met her eyes. “Maybe you’re too cautious.”

“Maybe I haven’t met the right person,” she retorted.

“What came between you and your husband?” The ball was going back and forth again. It made a thumping sound as it landed in each palm.

“I realized I wasn’t doing him any favors by pretending to feel something I didn’t.”

A wry grin curved Romain’s mouth. “I’ll bet he was glad to be rid of you.” If the grin hadn’t been enough, the flash of straight, white teeth would’ve told her he was joking. It was a side of Romain she hadn’t seen before. He’d been dark, brooding, passionate, intense. But not playful. Until now.

“He handled it well.” Surprisingly well. His generosity in letting her go made it that much harder to leave him. But she’d grown beyond the need to have a father figure who approved of her, and Harvey wasn’t what she wanted in a husband.

“We’re still friends,” she said. She told herself that whenever she recalled the disappointment she’d caused him. “I have good relationships with all three of the men I slept with before you.”

She thought he’d capitalize on the truth—that she’d been with only three men besides him. But he didn’t. He chucked the ball onto the pile of sleeping bags and sat up. “You’re proud of being friends?”

The challenge in his voice startled her. “I guess I am. Why?”

“That’s pathetic.”

She propped a hand on her hip. “What’s pathetic about it?”

“It’s easy to walk away friends if there’s no passion to begin with, no real commitment, no real…joining.”

“Not everyone can have the kind of relationship you had with Pam, Romain.”

“I realize that, but…are you really so in control of how you feel?” Not with him. She’d already proven that. But she did what any smart girl would do and lied. “Always.”

He shook his head. “No, last night wasn’t a calculated decision.”

“Last night didn’t mean anything. We’ve been over that.” He studied her for a moment. “How could I forget?”

“I guess we’d better get back to the others,” she said, but he didn’t get up.

“What did Tom have to say?” he asked instead.

Jasmine knew he wasn’t pleased that they’d had a private conversation. But she’d been hoping to wait until after they left to tell him about the messages sent to his family. She had no idea how upset he’d be and didn’t want to ruin Christmas for everyone by creating a scene or causing him to become any more remote than he already was. “Tom’s in love with your sister.”