Stop Me (Last Stand #2)(20)
Author: Brenda Novak

“Can you tell me what I’m thinking right now?”

He was being a smart-ass. “I’m not a trick pony,” she said, giving him a dirty look. “And I’m not sure I want to know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking there are stranger things on this earth,” he said, surprising her by backing off.

“I’m not asking you to believe me,” she said.

Again, she got the impression that he wanted to touch her, but it no longer came across in a sexual way. He understood her defensiveness, wanted to reassure and calm her.

At that point, she probably would’ve let him pull her into his arms. But he didn’t try. He moved past her to the door.

Jasmine felt she should stop him. He hadn’t given her very many details on Moreau. But he had mentioned the name of someone else who might be able to help her—Pearson Black—and that was a start. If she needed more information, she knew where to find Fornier.

“This note you received, the one written in blood,” he said, turning back at the last second.

“Yes?”

“What’d it say?”

“Stop me.”

“Stop me,” he repeated under his breath. For a moment, he seemed miles away but his focus quickly returned. “Can I see it?”

“It’s at a forensics lab in California.”

“Can you show me how it was written?”

This question made Jasmine’s heart race. “Of course.” Walking to the desk in the corner of the room, she picked up a piece of paper and wrote the words exactly as she’d seen them on the note, complete with the strange assortment of capitals and an e that looked a little like an ampersand.

S-T-o-P M-e

The flash of awareness in Romain’s eyes told her he recognized some aspect of what he saw. But he didn’t reveal what. “You’ve got your work cut out for you,”he said simply.

“That’s it?” she asked, overwhelmed by disappointment. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“This has nothing to do with me,” he said again, and without another word, he left.

Jasmine stared down at the note. Something about the writing told him otherwise. Or he wouldn’t have gone so pale under that tanned skin.

Chapter 6

His helmet strapped to the seat behind him, Romain raced down the highway, embracing the cold wind as it numbed his cheeks, stole his breath, whipped his hair.

Had he killed the wrong man?

No. It wasn’t possible. Moreau was a pedophile with two prior arrests. Maybe those arrests hadn’t resulted in convictions, but Adele’s blood had been on Moreau’s work pants, her barrettes in his house. And if those items had left any question, there was that revolting video.

Every muscle in Romain’s body tensed when he thought about Moreau touching his daughter the way he had on that tape. Recklessly he gave the bike more gas. He was flying over the highway, going too fast for the wet roads and the darkness. But he didn’t care. He needed the adrenaline rush to combat everything else he was feeling.

He hadn’t been able to watch much of the video. He couldn’t stand it. Huff said Moreau never showed his face on tape, but Huff also said the man in that video had the same build as Moreau and wore the same clothes. What were the chances Adele’s killer could be anyone else?

None. This sister of Jasmine Stratford’s who’d been missing for so long had to be irrelevant to Adele’s case. Or maybe Moreau was responsible for what’d happened to her, and someone else had sent the bracelet. Someone sick enough to find enjoyment in the knowledge of what it’d do to Jasmine.

But Adele’s name had been written with the same mix of capitals and that funny e—and those details hadn’t been printed in any of the papers. Huff had kept that part quiet. So how come whoever mailed Jasmine that bracelet had also sent her a note written in blood, from New Orleans and using the same e?

He wasn’t sure, but it made him angry. Angry that it wasn’t over. Angry that someone else was out there terrorizing the innocent. Angry that Jasmine had brought this back to his doorstep.

The sound of his bike blocked out everything except the mad rush of wind.

And that was exactly what Romain wanted. Jasmine had accused him of playing it safe, but he wasn’t asking for much. Just peace—peace at last.

And he’d have it. He’d go back to hunting, shrimping, wood carving and tinkering with his bike, and maybe he’d eventually be able to push her and her story from his mind. She’d said she was psychic, for crying out loud. People who claimed to have extrasensory perception weren’t completely sane or else they made their living out of lying.

But he still couldn’t explain how she knew about Adele’s necklace.

Jasmine had remained in her hotel room when Romain left. She’d listened as the roar of his motorcycle dimmed. So, how was it that she was suddenly in his bedroom?

She couldn’t answer that question, didn’t remember driving down the bayou.

And yet, in the light of a flickering fire, she could see his nightstand. It supported a lantern-style light and a battery-powered alarm clock. His dresser held his watch and some change. Then there was the closet, where his shoes were perfectly aligned and his pants and shirts hung so that they didn’t touch and wouldn’t wrinkle.

Only his bedding was out of order. And, at the moment, he didn’t seem to mind. His muscles flexed as he rolled her beneath him, then lowered his head to kiss her, openmouthed and hungry. His tongue moved over hers as he coaxed her to abandon all reservation, to trust him enough to let him finish taking off her clothes.

Surprisingly, she was only too willing to accommodate him. Everything he did tore at her crumbling defenses like wind threatening to carry away a boat tied to a dock. She could feel her resistance slipping, the rush of her own blood in her ears as she welcomed each new sensation far more brazenly than she knew she should.

He pulled back, gazing down at her. His eyelids were half-closed and heavy with desire, his expression intense, his lips still wet from their kissing. She knew she was being foolish. She didn’t even know how she’d come to be here. But logic wasn’t enough to make her stop what was happening. Apparently, she wanted him as badly as he wanted her.

“What?” she murmured, questioning his hesitation.

“Tu es belle.”

Jasmine liked the sound of it. He said other things, too, as he bent his head and ran his lips down the side of her throat. Some of it was in English: So soft…