Stop Me (45 page)

him. Then he would have alerted Huff, and she would’ve died instead of the poor rookie. “Are you going to try and get back on the force?”

“I’d like to. After this, there’ll certainly be enough openings. And I’ve been humbled, grown up a lot. I hope they’ll take me.”

“It’d beat working nights in a parking lot,” she said with a smile.

“The chief is really trying to clean up the place. I think he’ll be willing to give me a second chance. He knows I didn’t tamper with the evidence on that case like Huff’s cronies said I did. That was just Huff’s way of getting me out of the picture.” The hand holding the coffee he’d brought her was beginning to feel warm, which began to ease the terrible tension inside her. “I’m sorry that happened.”

“I take some responsibility for it. I shouldn’t have written that blog. Showing off like that allowed Huff to make me look like some kind of freak, so the whole evidence thing was easier to believe.”

Jasmine agreed that he’d helped them by writing what he had. “Why’d you do it?”

“I’m fascinated by the criminal mind, by deviant behavior.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I want to write a book someday.”

“You should do that.”

“We’ll see how it goes.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket. “I have something for you.”

Surprised, Jasmine shifted her chair away from the bed. “What is it?”

“Something Bev asked me to give you.” He handed it to her, and she saw her name written in a small flowing script. Inside, she found a letter.

Kimberly Lauren Stratford was adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Joseph William Glen of Charlottesville, Virginia, fifteen years ago, after six months in the transfer house. I cared for her myself. She was a good girl, a mild-mannered child who was told she’d been brought to an orphanage because her original family had been killed in a car accident. She asked about you often, insisted you couldn’t have been in the car, but with repetition, she began to believe it was true. At such a young age, she knew nothing but what adults told her, and we remained consistent in this regard so she’d be happy in her new situation. I don’t pretend to be proud of my actions. I don’t excuse them, either. It’s time you knew. As far as I’m aware, she’s still very much alive.

Alive! Tears filled Jasmine’s eyes at this last line. Gruber hadn’t killed her sister as he had Adele. Kimberly had been adopted into another family, a family in Virginia. She’d be twenty-four years old now. Had she graduated from college?

Married and started a family?

Would she want to know that her old family still existed?

A movement in the bed drew Jasmine’s attention, and she watched, breathless, as Romain opened his eyes. “There you are,” he whispered, his voice weak but clear.

269

Jasmine set the letter aside. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been shot.” A half smile curved his lips.

“You’ll be okay,” she told him and squeezed his hand.

“I will be now that I know you’re safe.”

His eyelids drifted closed again, and Jasmine turned to Pearson Black, who stood at the foot of the bed. “Thank you for bringing me this,” she said, gesturing to the letter.

“Are you going to look her up? Your sister, I mean?”

“I don’t know. I’d like to—but I don’t want to bother her if she’d be happier as she is.”

“A lot’s happened. A lot of time has gone by. I don’t envy you the decision.” He patted her shoulder. “Good luck,” he said and left.

As the door closed behind him, Jasmine glanced at the television hanging over Romain’s bed. The volume was on low, but now that Pearson was gone, it was so quiet in the room she could hear a news announcer giving the top stories of the day.

Gruber Coen’s picture flashed across the screen, and Jasmine listened more intently.

“…house contained a freezer, in which police discovered frozen body parts from at least four different victims. Not all of these victims have been identified, but Valerie Stabula, the suspect’s sister, was found dead in a concrete room beneath the master bedroom. This cell contained a television and a portable toilet. Although the police don’t yet know how many victims Gruber Coen tortured and murdered, it’s clear that he wasn’t the man his neighbors knew as quiet and harmless…”

“Quiet and harmless,” Jasmine murmured and suddenly felt an irrational urge to laugh.

270

“Are you going up?” Romain parked the truck and gave Jasmine’s shoulders a reassuring squeeze. In the three weeks he’d been out of the hospital, the color had returned to his face. The doctors said he should suffer no lasting effects from the shooting. They credited a strong constitution, but Jasmine knew his recovery had more to do with the fact that he was finally at peace with himself. The man who’d murdered Adele was dead; Romain had killed him in order to save Jasmine. But he hadn’t killed Moreau. On the basis of the news footage, Jasmine’s contact at the FBI had confirmed what Romain’s sister had always believed. Huff was the one who’d shot Moreau. Jasmine didn’t know for sure—no one did since Huff wasn’t around to explain—but she thought he’d done it to put an end to the questions and probing that Moreau’s shocking release would generate. The attention threatened his adoption ring. Getting rid of Moreau also satisfied Romain, who wasn’t likely to give up until he’d obtained justice. Huff had put closure—false closure—on something that was far from over, and Romain had taken the blame. It was perfect and it would’ve worked, if not for that package Gruber Coen had sent Jasmine.

“Jaz?” Romain prompted when she didn’t reach for the door handle. “Aren’t you going to the door?”

“I don’t know.” According to Beverly Moreau, Kimberly’s new name was Lisa Marie Glen. Armed with this information, Jasmine had been able to locate Lisa in Virginia, where her adoptive parents lived in a five-million-dollar mansion.

Kimberly no longer lived there, but her own place was pretty impressive, Jasmine thought as she took in the Bostonian flavor of her sister’s small cottage. Ralph Lauren could’ve designed this house. Blue and white and nautical, it peeked out from behind an arched trellis flanked by rose bushes.

“This is the moment you’ve been waiting for,” Romain said.

But now that she’d found Kimberly, she couldn’t decide whether or not to ring the bell. She was plagued by too many questions, the most disturbing of which always began with why. Why had her sister apparently accepted the story she’d been told? Why had she let go and never looked back? She’d known Jasmine was home when Gruber Coen came to the house. How could she have allowed Peccavi and the others to convince her that her real family was dead, to create a whole new identity for her?

271

“Come on,” Romain coaxed. “At least say hello. You tossed and turned all night. I know you won’t be satisfied until you see her.” A flagstone path bisected a garden that was beautiful even in February and led to the arched wooden door of the house—tempting and yet, in its own way, daunting.

“Maybe she’d rather not hear from me.”

“Or maybe you’re hurt and angry because she’s been living what appears to be a relatively normal life and never made any effort to contact you.” He’d said what Jasmine had been trying not to face, but it was true. She knew it was small-minded, that she had no right to feel rejected. But she’d always imagined this meeting as some kind of rescue. She’d prayed and worked tirelessly, held on to hope even after most people would’ve given up. All because she was sure Kimberly needed someone to help her escape a man like Gruber Coen. Never did she consider that her sister could be happy. Or better off without her original family.

That was a completely foreign concept.

“People adapt, Jaz. You know that.”

Of course she knew. They’d discussed the psychological explanation for such behavior. It wasn’t unusual for kidnap victims to feel some loyalty to their captors.

But the personal side of the situation still tripped her up. Even if Kimberly, as a child, had accepted that her family was dead, hadn’t she grown curious in later years, remembered snatches of her early childhood and wondered? Maybe she hadn’t seen the episode of America’s Most Wanted, in which Jasmine had asked for information related to her disappearance. Then again, it was possible she’d seen it and chosen not to respond.

“It’s just so hard to believe she’s alive and well.”

“Everyone can use another friend,” he said. “You’re not here to take away what she’s already got. You’re here to let her know you never stopped loving her.

How can that hurt?”

There were all kinds of answers to that question. Her sudden appearance in Kimberly’s life could cause problems between Kimberly and her adoptive family. It could stir up bad memories. It could create confusion and hurt where there was none.

“Relationships are very complex things,” she murmured.

Tucking her hair behind her ear, Romain waited until she met his steady gaze.

“Maybe that would be true with anyone else. But you’re special, Jaz. You’re someone she’s going to want to know.”

The lump that rose in Jasmine’s throat made it difficult to respond. Romain smiled as he ran a thumb down the line of her jaw. “Come on. We want her to be in our wedding, don’t we?”

Jasmine wanted that more than anything. As much as she loved Romain, it’d been a difficult decision to leave Sacramento and The Last Stand and move to Louisiana. Especially when she wasn’t sure if her plan to do private consulting 272

would work. She could use another friend, even if that friend lived as far away as Skye and Sheridan. Better yet if that friend was a sister. Her sister.

“But it’s not just me. It’s my mom and dad and…”

“And there’s time for that. You haven’t even told them yet.” She had to know, first of all, if Kimberly wanted to be found. But, if so, she believed the wedding could be the beginning of many wonderful things—healing for Romain’s family, resolution for her own, future children.

“Should I go up to the door with you?” he asked.

He’d been planning to wait in the car. He’d told her he wanted to give her privacy to deal with all the emotions, and she still felt she needed that.

“No, I’ll go,” she said and climbed out.

The distance from the car to Kimberly’s front door felt like miles. Jasmine’s heart pounded the entire way, and only grew louder as she reached the stoop. There, she could see beautiful urns and vases filled with greenery and flowers. Wind chimes tinkled in the chill air, sounding beautiful but slightly melancholy.

Whatever happened now, this was the end of her quest. She’d found the sister she’d lost.

Queasy with nerves, she raised her hand to knock. She halfway hoped Kimberly wouldn’t be home. Then she could put this moment off a little longer. But she’d seen the BMW convertible in the drive and knew that Kimberly would open the door.

Sure enough it swung wide almost immediately and Jasmine faced her baby sister—at twenty-four years old. Where Jasmine had taken after their mother, except for her eyes, Kimberly resembled their father. At least five-eight, she had dark hair, but it wasn’t nearly as dark as Jasmine’s. Her eyes were brown instead of blue.

Several seconds passed as they stared at each other, and the tears Jasmine had been fighting since she drove up began to stream down her cheeks.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” Kimberly asked in a confused voice.

Jasmine wasn’t sure how to answer. She still wasn’t convinced Kimberly would want any connection to her past. But she had to give her little sister the opportunity to make that decision. Their mother and father had a stake in this, too. It wasn’t something Jasmine could decide on her own.

“Yes,” she said. “You know me. But it’s been a very long time and you might’ve forgotten. My name’s Jasmine Stratford. I was once your big sister.” Kimberly’s mouth sagged open, and she began to blink rapidly as tears filled her eyes, too.

“How’d you find me?” she whispered.

“It wasn’t easy,” Jasmine replied with a shaky smile. “I’ve been searching for sixteen years.”

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Now was the moment of truth. Swallowing hard, Jasmine waited for her younger sister to come to grips with the surprise—and was surprised herself when Kimberly pulled her into a tight embrace.

It was several seconds before either of them could speak. Finally, Kimberly stepped back and looked at Jasmine. “I thought I’d never see you again,” she said.

“They told me you were dead.”

“And you believed them?” Jasmine hoped she didn’t sound too accusatory, but it was difficult to hide her pain.

“Not completely,” her sister admitted. “But I knew that my mother, my new mother,” she clarified, “wouldn’t like it. I’m their only child. It…it would’ve left them with nothing. And I meant so much to them.”

“Were you happy, then?”

“For the most part. I knew I was lucky to have the parents I did. When you’ve already lost one family, you’re pretty terrified of losing another. And by the time I was older and could do something about what had happened, I wasn’t convinced I could incorporate the past into my present life, even if I could reconnect with it.” She hesitated. “Do you understand?” she asked tentatively.

“I do.” Jasmine battled her disappointment with a forced smile. “I’m not here to make your life harder, Kimberly.”

“Kimberly…” she said softly. “That isn’t even my name anymore.” Jasmine couldn’t imagine how confusing and difficult this had to be for her sister, and decided to back off and give her a chance to get used to the shock. “It must be really odd to hear it again.”

Her sister’s eyes grew troubled. “My old parents, are they still alive?”

“Alive, but not entirely the same.” Jasmine couldn’t help the somber note that crept into her voice. “Like the rest of us.”

“Where are they now?”

“Mom still lives in Ohio, where we were born. Dad lives in Alabama.” She winced as if Jasmine had just jabbed her with something sharp. “They’re not together anymore?”

“No. Losing you…it was hard on them.”

“I—I don’t know how to react.” She ran her hands up and down her thighs, obviously agitated. “I…I never thought I’d see you—or them—again.”

“I know.” She paused. “I just…I wanted to make sure you don’t need us. And to tell you—” the lump in her throat swelled again, nearly choking her “—how sorry I am that I wasn’t a better babysitter.”