Stop Me (44 page)

His cell phone rang, but he ignored it. “My service sucks down in this hole,” he said, distracted from whatever he’d been considering a moment before. “What does he expect? That I should be at his beck and call forever?” he asked her. “He knows to run. He knows to leave. I warned him. That’s all he can ask of me.”

“That’s all anyone can ask,” she agreed, hoping to convince him that she was on his side. She had to develop a rapport with Gruber, get him to relax and lower his guard. No matter what, she couldn’t show the fear that charged every cell in her body. Fear would relegate her to a victim’s position, would provoke the same kind of behavior he’d shown to other victims. Sexual sadists didn’t necessarily like the act of inflicting pain—it was the suffering that satisfied them. And fear was part of that suffering. She had to convince him she was different, do something to change the natural course of this encounter.

“Women can’t be trusted,” he said.

“Some women can’t be trusted.” She shrugged. “But some men can’t be trusted, either.”

He tilted his head as if weighing her response.

“What?” she said. “You disagree?”

Picking up the knife, he laid it against her throat. Instinctively, she wanted to grab his arm or try to protect herself. But she knew that would be the worst thing she could do. She’d experienced it with that woman he’d attacked after coming through 263

the window. Her feeble attempts to preserve her own life had enraged him more than anything.

Forcing herself to let the tension drain out of her body, Jasmine remained as pliable and unconcerned as possible as she gazed up at him.

“I could kill you right here. I could cut your throat and watch you bleed to death right in front of me!” he shouted when he didn’t get the reaction he’d expected.

The muscles in her arms twitched. But she didn’t move. If she gave in to what came most naturally, she’d be signing her own death warrant. “We all gotta go someday, don’t we?” She met his eyes, refusing to flinch or glance away.

Confusion darkened his face. “You don’t care?”

Submission. Total submission. “Of course I care. But what’s the point of fighting?” Especially when it was his ability to subdue her that fed his desire to kill her in the first place.

He pulled the knife away and waved it toward the moldering Valerie. “I did that. I killed her. My own sister.”

Despite her best efforts to control it, Jasmine’s body was beginning to tremble.

She prayed he wouldn’t notice. “She must’ve deserved it. But you have no reason to kill me. Anyway, you’re in such a hurry you wouldn’t even have time to enjoy it.” Obviously surprised by her reaction, he backed up, lowered the hand with the knife and ultimately nodded. “That’s right. We have to go.” Jasmine wasn’t sure she could force her legs to carry her. But once he finally removed that cuff, she was eager to get out of the cement room and leave the smell and constant reminder of Valerie behind her. When he hauled her up by the shirtfront, she somehow kept her feet beneath her and walked. But she was constantly aware of the knife he still held and the fact that he was within striking distance should she try to make a break for it.

He forced her to wait until he ascended the stairs, poked his head through the hole and listened. Then he waved her toward him and climbed out ahead.

The air in the bedroom was as stale as before, but it was so much better than the stench of Valerie’s body, Jasmine couldn’t help taking a deep breath. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“Somewhere you can give me what I want,” he said. “Any way I want it.” He watched her closely to see if she’d protest, but she managed another shrug.

“Whatever,” she said and forced herself to touch his arm. Her skin crawled at the contact, her stomach revolted, but it was important that he believe she wasn’t frightened or repulsed. That she thought he was no different than anyone else. “If I do, and you’re happy with how I’ve performed, will you tell me about Kimberly?” Her question didn’t seem to register, but her touch did. “What are you doing?” he asked, sounding panicked.

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“Nothing. I’m just asking if you’ll tell me about Kimberly if I behave. That’s all.”

“Maybe.” Softening, he covered her hand almost lovingly with his. Then, in an abrupt change of mood, he grabbed her, twisting her arm cruelly as he held her halfway out of the trapdoor and pointed the knife at her chest. “You think you’re so smart. You think you know me, but you don’t. If you make one wrong move, I’ll butcher you. I’ll cut your heart out and keep it in my freezer. Do you understand?” The knife pierced Jasmine’s left breast. Pretend it’s not there. Don’t get rattled. “I understand,” she said.

He got out and dragged her the last two steps, lifting her easily to her feet with one hand. He was strong, stronger than she’d expected for such a frumpy middle-aged man, and he didn’t release her. He kept firm hold of her and the knife.

“Can I help you pack?” Jasmine asked. “If we’ll be gone for a while, you might want to take some of your things.”

“Shut up and get a move on. We’re out of here.”

Jasmine searched desperately for other ways to detain him. There had to be a reason he was in such a hurry. Were the cops coming? “We’d only need a few minutes to collect some clothes and stuff. Or are we coming back?”

“If you don’t shut up, you won’t be going anywhere. You’ll die right here!” He dragged her into the living room—and then he froze. He was staring at the front door, which was standing open.

“Someone’s here,” he whispered. He brought the knife forward. In a moment that seemed to progress in slow motion, Jasmine knew this was it. Gruber was calling it quits. He was going to kill her and run.

Then the floor creaked behind them and just when she thought that knife would slit her throat, Gruber’s hand dropped.

She screamed and turned in time to see the point of a long knife go through his chest instead of her own and nearly crumpled to her knees. She would have, if not for the strong arms that went around her.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Romain murmured in her ear. “Thank God, I’ve got you.”

She was crying and kissing him and telling him she loved him when the blast of a gun momentarily deafened her. She felt the bullet whiz past her shoulder, felt Romain jerk as it made impact with his body. The chest that had sheltered her, that had seemed so indestructible only a moment before was suddenly all too vulnerable as the motion threw him back. He stumbled into a wall, gasped and fell.

“No!” Jasmine screamed and turned in time to see Detective Huff aim his gun at her. His expression revealed no emotion beyond determination. He was detached, doing a job, cleaning up details.

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She dove for the bedroom as the blast went off. She fully expected to be hit.

But she felt no pain. She could think only of Romain, bleeding from the chest. Had the bullet entered his heart? Was he already dead?

Huff’s next shot hit Jasmine in the leg. Her foot felt as if it were on fire, but she managed to grab the knife Gruber had dropped as she rolled to the side, out of the doorway and out of sight.

She heard Huff curse and walk purposefully toward her. She also heard Romain trying to distract him. “Over…here…you…son of a bitch,” he groaned, and Jasmine knew she had about three seconds before he shot Romain again.

Jumping to her feet, she ignored the tremendous pain that seared her leg and used the door frame to slingshot herself forward. The sudden movement took Huff by surprise. She saw it in his eyes. He’d expected her to scramble for cover; he hadn’t expected a bold frontal attack.

He turned the gun at the last second, but it was too late. She was already hacking at him—striking him, too, but she didn’t know where. Desperation and adrenaline and white-hot anger sustained her. She would not lose Romain, would not allow Peccavi to cost them any more.

It wasn’t until Huff fell that she realized she’d stabbed him in the neck. Blood poured from the wound like a waterfall. Several other cuts bled, too, but they were superficial. She’d gotten lucky. If one of her wild blows hadn’t landed where it did, she would’ve been the one lying on the floor.

“You have sinned,” she said vehemently, shaking from reaction. And then Pearson Black arrived with the police.

A late-morning sun slanted through the crack in the drapes as Jasmine sat by Romain’s hospital bed, listening to the rhythmic beep of his heart monitor. A large white bandage encircled his chest, tubes ran all over his body, and his usually tanned and healthy-looking skin was pale beneath the fluorescent lights of the hospital room.

The emergency doctor had given him six pints of blood and spent three hours in surgery, removing the bullet, which had lodged beneath his shoulder blade. Now it was a waiting game to see if he’d recover. Huff had missed Romain’s heart by a fraction of a centimeter, and Romain had nearly bled to death in the ambulance.

“Hey, how’re you doing?”

Jasmine turned to see Pearson in the doorway, holding two coffees in foam cups.

“I’m okay,” she murmured. The bullet she’d taken had only grazed her leg.

She had a nice bandage to show for it. But she’d lied about being okay. She’d never been more terrified or worried in her life than she was right now, waiting to see whether Romain would live.

“He’ll be fine. The doctors are hopeful, aren’t they?”

“They aren’t making any promises.”

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“They never make promises. They’re a cagey lot. But your man’s strong. He’ll pull through.”

Her man. She didn’t know if Romain felt the same way about her that she did about him, but it was a lost cause to pretend he wasn’t the most important thing in the world to her. “I hope so.”

“Huff’s dead.”

Jasmine nodded. She’d already heard. “Has anyone located Mrs. Moreau?”

“She called me.”

“Wasn’t she afraid you might turn her in?”

“That’s why she called. She wants to turn herself in. And she needed my help to make sure that a boy in her keeping made it back to his parents.”

“She had a child with her?”

“She took him before Huff could get him to adoptive parents and collect yet another paycheck.”

“How’d she get involved with Huff in the first place?” Jasmine asked. “She just…doesn’t seem the type.”

“Huff busted Gruber Coen for ‘performing lewd acts’ at a porn theater ten years ago, found out he was a truck driver for a lighting company and recruited him for his little sideline business. Gruber got Francis involved, and when Dustin’s medical bills began to mount up, Francis got his mother a job working for Huff. Soon Phillip was part of the ring, too. As long as they didn’t ask too many questions, it probably didn’t seem like a big deal to look after a few kids every night. And as the truth of what was really happening became more obvious, Beverly was in too deep to back out.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “That guy you found in the basement, Jack Lewis?”

“Yeah.”

“He used to work for Huff. He tried to get out and Huff shot him right there in Francis’s house. That taught them all a very powerful lesson.”

“That Huff wouldn’t be crossed.”

“Exactly.”

“How could Huff keep that many people busy?”

“It was a pretty big operation. Jack and a man named Roger were scouts. Huff paid for them to travel around and troll for kids. Other guys, like Gruber, Francis and Phillip, he sent to nab them once they’d been located. Bev and another woman—I can’t remember her name—helped out at the transfer house, taking care of the kids until they could be placed. He even had some prostitutes in his employ and they put out the word that he’d pay big bucks for a baby.”

“And he could afford all these people?”

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“Some of them had outside jobs, like Francis, who was a delivery man, and Jack, who shuttled kids back and forth to after-school care. Others were strictly at his disposal, like Gruber—who quit his job driving a truck—and Phillip.”

“What got Huff involved in the first place?” she asked, trying to grasp the extent of Huff’s activities.

“His uncle’s an attorney. Bev thinks he gave Huff the idea, even threw him a few leads.”

“That’s how Huff came by his prospective clients? From leads?”

“Bev said Huff mentioned various attorneys who referred clients to him—

people who didn’t qualify to adopt through legitimate agencies or wanted something very specific. Or didn’t want to wait the usual length of time it takes to get a child.”

“He had people putting in orders for certain types of children?” she asked in astonishment.

“That’s where he made the big bucks.”

Jasmine shook her head. “What’d he do with all his money?”

“His wife isn’t sure, but she thinks he was putting it in offshore accounts for when he retired.”

“Was his wife aware of what her husband was doing?”

“Not at all. She’s devastated. She found out he was planning to dump her, which makes it even worse.”

Jasmine couldn’t even imagine what that kind of betrayal would feel like.

“What’s she going to do?”

“What can she do? She’ll muddle through the best she can and see where her finances are when this is all over. She taught school for years. Maybe she’ll have to go back to it.”

Jasmine fiddled with the edge of the sheet on Romain’s bed. “What gets me is that Huff had children of his own, didn’t he?”

“Two grown boys.”

“How sad. They must be in total shock.”

“I’m sure they are. But you need to get some sleep,” Pearson said.

“I owe you an apology,” she told him. “I thought you were the bad guy.”

“Huff had the money to buy a lot of loyalty down at the station. It was easy for them to make me look like the bad guy. It was also easy for them to get rid of me.”

“Kozlowski wasn’t one of them, was he?”

“Yes. That’s the only man I know for sure, because he took Beverly’s call, yet he never filed a report.”

Jasmine wondered what Kozlowski would’ve done if he’d been on duty when she’d tried to contact him after finding Gruber Coen’s address. Had she phoned in just a few hours later, she probably would’ve spoken to the sergeant; she’d asked for 268