Stop Me

by Brenda Novak

  “I see.” His smile disappeared as he released her. “Thanks for putting me on notice.”

  “No problem. I wouldn’t want you to fall in love or anything. Then the situation could get awkward for both of us.”

  His lashes lowered until she could no longer read any expression in his eyes. “Right.”

  Getting up, she retrieved a clean bra and underwear from her suitcase. Aware that he was watching her dress, she made sure she kept her “I can take you or leave you” attitude in place. “So…are you going to tell me what Dustin said to you last night?”

  The bedding fell away as he sat up against the headboard. “He knows something’s going on. Doesn’t know exactly what, but has a general idea it isn’t good and wants his mother and brother out of it.”

  “Could he provide any details? Names, dates, anything?”

  “No. They obviously protect him from anything he won’t like. But he said he once overheard Phillip and Beverly talking about someone named Peccavi as if Peccavi was trouble. He thought his mother was crying at the time.”

  Jasmine knew she would’ve remembered that name if she’d ever come across it before. Grabbing the address book she’d taken from the Moreaus’, she flipped through it. “Is Peccavi a first name or a surname?”

  “I have no idea. Unfortunately, neither did Dustin.”

  Peccavi wasn’t listed under P. In case it was a first name, Jasmine started at the beginning and went page by page, but nothing showed up that way, either.

  “Google it,” Romain suggested.

  Wearing only her panties, Jasmine fired up her laptop and plugged in the Internet cable provided by the hotel. It took her ten minutes to get online, but the hits she received when she Googled the word Peccavi came up with the definition first. Apparently, peccavi was Latin for I have sinned.

  “That doesn’t sound good,” she said.

  Romain rubbed his hands over his face. “No.”

  It must’ve been difficult for Romain to speak to the brother of the man he believed had killed his daughter. “Did you tell Dustin who you were?” she asked, turning toward him.

  “I didn’t have to. He lives moment to moment with nothing but a television to entertain him. He recognized me immediately from all the news reports he’d seen during the trial.”

  Jasmine got up to finish dressing. “Of course, with his brother involved, he would’ve been paying close attention. Did he know anything about Adele?”

  His gaze fell to her bare breasts. “No. And, surprisingly enough, he wasn’t defensive of Francis. He claimed he was ‘horrified’ by what his brother had done. He loves children.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He said so. And he has drawings from youngsters hanging up all over his room. He told me they’re the only things that cheer him up, that he loves hearing his mother talk about the children at her work and how happy they are to go to a good home.”

  “She works at an orphanage?”

  “An adoption agency.”

  “Which one?”

  “Better Life.”

  Jasmine frowned. “That didn’t come up on the background search I had Jonathan run.”

  “That’s your PI friend in California?”

  “Right. He found some reference to a nursing license years ago, but no record of current employment. I assumed she was living on SSI.”

  “Maybe someone’s paying her under the table so it won’t make her ineligible for government assistance.”

  Turning back to her computer, she Googled Better Life Adoption Agency and came up empty. Then she tried Better Life without the Agency. This time, volumes of links appeared, but none of them seemed to pertain to an adoption agency, an orphanage or anything like it. “There’s nothing on the Internet about this place.”

  Romain got up and took her phone. “She has to go somewhere at night,” he said.

  Jasmine tried not to admire him as he stood there, completely naked, and called information. “New Orleans,” he said. “Better Life Adoption Agency.”

  There was a moment of silence, then he said, “What about Better Life Foster Home? Or Better Life Placement Center?” His subsequent frown indicated he wasn’t having any more luck than she had. “Better Life Children’s Shelter? Better Life for Kids? Better Life anything that has to do with children?”

  Finally, he thanked the operator, hung up and tossed Jasmine’s phone on the desk. “Nothing.” He reached for his boxers, but hesitated when he caught her watching him. “I could be wrong, but…if I had to guess, I’d say you like me better than you want to admit.”

  They were back to their relationship—or lack of a relationship. “I find you attractive,” she admitted. “But you’re not the only handsome man in the world.” It was a weak argument. Handsome had very little to do with it; there was something vital about Romain that made her feel she hadn’t really lived until she’d met him. He was the only man who’d ever affected her in such a way.

  But she wasn’t about to let him in on the secret. Turning away, she finished dressing.

  He was wearing his clothes from yesterday, because they were all he had, and a dark scowl by the time she’d applied some makeup and was ready to leave. “You’re the one who came into my life,” he said as she gathered her stuff.

  “I won’t be there long,” she told him again and headed out to the car.

  * * *

  “How are we going to discover the name of the person in that photograph?” Romain asked as he drove toward Portsville. They no longer needed a refuge; the motel on the outskirts of New Orleans had provided that. It was time to go back to the city. But he wanted to pack some clothes. They couldn’t work from his place in the bayou, without telephone and Internet services, which meant it might be a while before he could return home.

  “We’ll have to ask around,” she said, covering a yawn.

  Although they’d awakened only an hour ago, the motion of the truck was putting Jasmine to sleep. He knew she’d be more comfortable if she slid over and leaned on him, but she wouldn’t come that close. Not in the middle of the day when she was so preoccupied with the case and determined not to let her own needs interfere. It was only in the dark of night, when she was even more exhausted than she was now, that she lowered her guard. And then she abandoned her reservations and turned to him, making love as if she’d never been with anyone else who could fulfill her needs.

  Romain loved the urgency of it, the heady, raw desire. Even with Pam, he’d never had such an intense experience. But merely making the comparison brought guilt. He shouldn’t enjoy being with Jasmine as much as he did. So why did the memory of her guiding his mouth to her breast or arching into him as she accepted the union of their bodies make his heart pound like a jackhammer?

  She’d reintroduced him to what he’d been missing—that was why. But everything was happening so fast, he wasn’t sure they knew what they were doing. They were acting on instinct, an instinct so strong they could barely keep their hands off each other.

  “The people who know are also the people who won’t talk to us,” he pointed out.

  She played with a strand of the black, silky hair that’d fallen out of her messy ponytail. “There’s Dustin.”

  “After last night, I doubt Phillip will leave him unattended.”

  Lifting Mr. Moreau’s picture from its place on the seat between them, she stared down at it. “Maybe Kimberly’s kidnapper is a member of the family.”

  Romain hated to disappoint her, but he didn’t see a resemblance. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then we dig up whatever we can about Mr. Moreau and start from there.”

  “Your PI friend in California can help with that, can’t he?”

  “Jonathan’s already working on it. I told him I want as much as he can find on the whole family.” Closing her eyes, she leaned back and began to nod off. Romain watched her head drop to one side and then the other, and finally tugged on her hand.

  “Come here,” he said.


  She tried to wave him off. “I’m fine.”

  “If you’re so indifferent to me, what’re you afraid of?” She gave him a dirty look but let him pull her closer. Then she settled against his shoulder and slept until they reached the house.

  * * *

  The minute the truck came to a stop, Jasmine knew something was wrong. She could feel the sudden alertness in Romain’s body.

  Blinking, she raised her head. “What is it?” she murmured.

  “We’re home.”

  In Portsville, she reminded herself. His home, not hers. And then she saw what he saw—the front door was standing open. “Someone’s been here.”

  Romain drove forward a little farther before stopping. “Stay put.” Giving her a severe look, he hopped out and slammed the door.

  Ignoring his order, Jasmine opened it again. “I’m coming with you. Two is better than one.”

  He probably would’ve argued with her if not for the stooped figure that appeared in the doorway. The minute he saw her, the tension drained out of him. “Mem, what’re you doing here?”

  The old lady had to be a hundred years old if she was a day. “Watching de place,” she said, glaring at Jasmine.

  “What for?”

  “’Causa her.” The woman surprised Jasmine by pointing a bony finger at her.

  Romain lifted an impatient hand. “Stop with the jealousy. Jasmine’s no threat to you. I’m not going anywhere.”

  That bony finger waggled at Romain next. “D’at what you t’ink. But you goin’ to join your wife and chile in d’at cemetery if you not careful. You mark Mem’s words. I know.” She tapped her forehead. “I see it.”

  “Who is she?” Jasmine whispered, coming up behind Romain.

  “My crazy neighbor, who doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Romain responded, loud enough for Mem to hear.

  Mem pursed her lips so tightly they disappeared among the myriad wrinkles on her face. “She bring de devil wid her!”

  “That’s ridiculous, Mem.”

  “Ridiculous?” she shrieked, drawing herself up to her full height, which had to be all of about five foot two. “Did I dream up de man who came here? No. Was I de only one to see him? No.”

  “Man?” Now Romain was interested. Jasmine noticed the immediate change in him. “What’re you talking about? Who came out here?”

  “De stranger with de blood on his hands, d’at’s who.”

  Romain scaled the porch steps in one leap and brushed past Mem. Jasmine hovered on the ground in front of the porch because the old lady had lifted her cane to bar her entrance. “Not you!” she warned. Then she genuflected. “You bring death.”

  “Jasmine!” he called.

  Jasmine was about to wrench the cane away from the old lady, if necessary, but Mem lowered it just as Jasmine drew close enough, and inched to one side so she could get through.

  “What is it?” It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior, but once they did, she could see what Romain was staring at—a necklace featuring the Disney character Belle. It was taped to a wall smeared with blood.

  * * *

  “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  Jasmine’s voice came to Romain as if through a tunnel. The sight of Adele’s necklace had taken him back to the days when his little girl would rush home from school so she could spend a few hours with him at the bike shop. Even at such a young age, she knew a lot about engines and used to share that knowledge with all his clients. They’d loved her almost as much as he had. She’d been such a feminine thing, despite the engine grease on her hands and clothes and her insistence on doing everything he did. So sweet, even after she lost her mother.

  Missing her powerfully enough to make his chest ache, Romain dropped his head in his hands. What he wouldn’t give to feel her arms slip around his neck just one more time….

  When he didn’t answer, Jasmine didn’t press him. She kept her distance and let him grieve, but what he really wanted was to have her hold him, to bury his face in her neck and howl his pain to the world. And that surprised him as much as anything.

  “You said you saw the man who came here?” he heard her ask Mem.

  Mem remained stubbornly mute.

  “Why do you hate me?” Jasmine demanded. “I don’t even know you.”

  “You’re de one who’s bringing it all back.”

  “I’m not the one,” Jasmine whispered fiercely. “I didn’t start this, but I plan to finish it. Do you understand? The man with the blood on his hands has to be caught. Before he hurts someone else. Another innocent child like Adele. Another woman like the one he’d killed Christmas night in New Orleans.”

  Before he hurts someone else… Romain squeezed his eyes shut. Regardless of the evidence Huff found in Moreau’s cellar, Moreau wasn’t the one who’d killed Adele. If so, he would’ve had her necklace and Romain’s parents wouldn’t have received that note.

  After believing Francis guilty for so long, it was almost too much to comprehend. He’d hated Francis Moreau, cursed him to hell, killed him….

  “God,” he muttered as Mem began to chant.

  “You didn’t fire that gun.” It was Jasmine. He could feel her presence at his elbow.

  “You don’t know that,” he said.

  She slipped her hand in his. “Yes, I do.”

  He gazed down at her delicate fingers, the simple ring she wore. She seemed so small and fragile, and yet she was tough. He knew that. Just like Adele, in many ways.

  “You’ll see,” she said. “And we’ll catch the man who killed Adele. I promise.”

  Mem’s chanting suddenly stopped. “The man with de blood on his hands is de devil,” she cried. “He can’t be caught.”

  Jasmine rounded on her. “He can be caught, and I won’t let you, your superstitions or anything else get in the way!”

  “Tell her to leave, T-Bone,” Mem insisted. “She bring bad luck, like I tole you she would.”

  Romain turned away from his daughter’s necklace. “Go home, Mem,” he said.

  The knuckles of the old lady’s hands grew white as she gripped her cane. “She’s de problem. Send her home!”

  “Jasmine stays.”

  “She’s bewitched you!”

  That wasn’t a term Romain heard very often, but he couldn’t argue. He was bewitched and, God help him, at least halfway in love. “Go home.”

  At the resolution in his voice, Mem pounded her cane on the floor like a judge’s gavel. “You’ll be sorry, T-Bone. You’ll be sorry,” she promised and, taking another herbal sachet from the folds of her skirt, threw it on the ground.

  Romain stared at it while he listened to her shuffle away.

  “What is it?” Jasmine asked once she was gone.

  With a sigh, Romain picked it up and smelled the poignant aroma. “A herbal sachet.”

  “What’s it for?”

  “I’m pretty sure this one’s a curse,” he said and tossed it in the garbage.

  * * *

  Gruber stood back in the laurel oak trees, watching the old lady hobble away from Romain’s house, muttering to herself as she went. Last night at the bar in town, he’d insisted on giving two twins who were stumbling drunk a ride home, and they’d thanked him for the favor by pointing out Romain’s place. But the old crone had ruined it. Once she came upon him, he was afraid to do anything for fear Romain would return while he was at it, so he’d pushed past her and run.

  As the woman disappeared from view, he tried to stop the bleeding from the cut he’d made on his own arm and eyed the house. It was one thing to be waiting when Romain and Jasmine got back, to catch them unawares. It was quite another to attack them when they were on the defensive….

  So what was he going to do?

  Wait, he decided. He’d have his opportunity.

  His cell phone, which he’d silenced before parking his car in the undergrowth of the swamp about a mile away, vibrated in his pocket. But he didn’t answer it. His phone in
dicated he didn’t have good reception. And his screen read No ID, which meant it was probably Peccavi.

  He didn’t want to talk to Peccavi. This wasn’t business as usual; this was personal. He wanted to concentrate exclusively on Jasmine and Fornier, to hover in the background until that perfect moment arrived.

  A few minutes later, Peccavi sent him a text message.

  * * *

  Where are u? Forget her 4 now. Time to deliver Billy.

  * * *

  Gruber tried to send a reply: First things first. But he smeared blood all over the keys for nothing—it wouldn’t go through.

  He thought of Valerie sitting on his couch at home. He had to get rid of her before the police came to ask about her. But he figured he might as well dispose of three bodies as one. If not for Romain, Adele wouldn’t have disappointed him and Gruber wouldn’t have been forced to turn on Francis, who was the only friend he’d ever had. Because of Romain, he’d planted that tape and the other evidence. He and Peccavi had promised Francis they’d get him off if he’d keep his mouth shut, and Francis had fulfilled his end of the bargain admirably. More admirably than Gruber had expected.

  Until Romain shot him, everything was going as planned.

  The whole mess was Romain’s fault, and now he had Jasmine working with him.

  Maybe she was sleeping with him, too. They’d been together all night, hadn’t they? No doubt she’d spread her legs for a Reconnaissance Marine.

  But Fornier wouldn’t get to enjoy her for long. Gruber would feed Adele’s father to the alligators along with Valerie.

  Jasmine he might want to keep alive….

  * * *

  It took forever to get the sheriff’s department to the house. Then they had to wait until the deputies had finished writing up a report on the break-in. Romain had followed the proper procedure for notification, but he had no hope it’d do any good. No one had been killed; nothing had been stolen. Sure, there was blood on the wall, but there weren’t any words this time, nothing that would link this incident with the recent murder in New Orleans. And with Moreau dead, and both Huff and Black gone from the force, no one was particularly eager to delve into the past.