Stop Me (Last Stand #2)(47)
Author: Brenda Novak

“She was at a small hotel in the Quarter, but I doubt she’ll go back there.”

“So we’ve lost her?” Gruber filled those words with an appropriate amount of concern, but he was smiling to himself. He hadn’t meant for Jasmine to attract Peccavi’s attention. Stupid Beverly should’ve called him instead. Jasmine had been locked in the cellar, for crying out loud. Gruber could’ve taken her home with him that night and told Peccavi she was dead.

The missed opportunity rankled. But ever since he’d framed Francis for Adele’s murder, Beverly didn’t trust him. Even after he’d planted that evidence and told her and Peccavi about Francis’s past indiscretions, she was tempted to believe her son’s protestations of innocence.

“We haven’t lost her, not entirely,” Peccavi was saying. “Beverly found a napkin in Stratford’s purse that has some directions written on it.”

“Directions?”

“To Portsville.”

Gruber put on the same episode of America’s Most Wanted so he could see Jasmine again. There she was…beautiful, just like Kimberly. “Portsville’s a pretty small town.”

“Exactly. She can’t hide there for long.”

I won’t give up until I find my sister… Jasmine was saying on the television.

The thrill of the hunt, perhaps the most fulfilling part of the killing ritual, swept through Gruber. Picking a new victim was almost as much fun as torturing her.

“Why not let me handle it?”

“You want this one?”

“I don’t mind helping out. It’s easier for me because I don’t have a family to worry about.”

“It’s outside your ordinary duties. What I have in mind is permanent.”

Gruber nearly laughed aloud. Peccavi thought he was the only one who knew how to kill just because he’d taken care of Jack when Jack tried to get out of the business. “Consider it a Christmas present.”

There was a protracted silence.

“Well?” Gruber prompted.

“Make sure you take…the remains far out into the swamps.”

They certainly couldn’t bury this one in the Moreaus’ cellar.

“No one will ever find it,” he promised. But he was in no hurry to dispose of her. He’d never broken a spirit as strong as Jasmine Stratford’s.

He wondered what it would take….

When Jasmine woke up, Romain’s hand was on her breast, but she was still wearing last night’s clothes.

Slipping out from under his arm, she turned toward him. She thought he might wake at the movement, but he didn’t. His chest rose and fell evenly beneath the blankets, and his eyelashes rested against his cheeks.

She frowned as she studied the damage to his face. He’d taken some hard hits last night, but he was still handsome. Especially in repose. Probably because it was the only time he ever let down his guard.

She wondered what he’d been like before the loss, the bitterness, the life-altering decisions. A few laugh lines bracketed his mouth….

He opened his eyes and gazed back at her, but he didn’t move. She wondered what he was thinking. Had he expected to find her in his bed? She’d smelled alcohol on him last night. Maybe he didn’t remember carrying her in here.

“Surprise!” she said softly.

He cocked one eyebrow. “I wasn’t that drunk.”

She laughed at how quickly he’d picked up on her thoughts. “I’m guessing you were drunk enough to give yourself a raging hangover. How’s the headache?”

He winced as he touched his bruised cheek. “Nothing compared to the rest of it.”

“What happened?”

“Too much testosterone.”

Mixed with too much recklessness, no doubt. Romain had too much of a lot of things, especially sex appeal. “You want to tell me about it?”

“Not really.”

“Why not?”

“I’m sure your story’s more interesting than mine. Why don’t we start there?”

She combed her fingers through her tousled hair as she propped herself up against the headboard. The room was cold and uninviting compared to the space she’d occupied curled up beside him. She wished she hadn’t awakened quite so soon.

“Let’s see…. Yesterday I had my purse stolen, got locked in a cellar, discovered a corpse and stumbled on a man wearing a ski mask who tried to kill me.”

“Tough day at the office,” he said, but she could tell he wasn’t taking her experiences lightly. “Maybe you should give me a few more details.”

Inhaling a deep breath, she told him everything, from visiting the police station to finding Black and learning about those marks on the cellar door, to returning to her hotel. He stiffened as he listened. She knew she was bringing a situation he preferred to leave in the past into the present, but he didn’t complain.

“So Black’s the only one who knew you were going to Moreau’s place?” he asked when she finished.

“Yes.”

“But like you said, it could’ve been Phillip.”

She nodded.

“It’s possible he saw me from the house and came around to the backyard.”

“What about the cigarette butts you collected? There was more than one, right? As if someone had hung out there for some time?”

“True. I was sure Black had left them. But Phillip smokes, too, and I couldn’t smell any evidence of it in the house. I’m thinking his mother makes him go outside.

And he’s not social enough to want to be seen by the neighbors. He probably stands under the overhang near the cellar door, where he has some privacy and solitude.”

His expression revealed surprise. “How do you know he’s not social? Have you met him?”

“I saw him in his car, briefly.”

He seemed to consider her response. “What did the man who came after you look like?”

“He was wearing a mask and a long trench coat. With the fog and the dark, it could’ve been Mrs. Moreau and I wouldn’t have been able to tell.”

“What about height?”

“Not too tall, not too short. I know I should be able to give you more, but details aren’t exactly a priority when you’re running for your life. All I cared about was getting away.”

Romain’s hair was sticking up and his eyes still retained some of their sleepiness, but he was sexy in a delightfully rumpled way. “And now that it could’ve been Phillip and not Black, you’re beginning to believe what Black had to say.”