Stop Me

by Brenda Novak

  Gruber’s mood darkened. “What is it?”

  “Beverly Moreau is talking.”

  He froze as he reached Jasmine’s car. “How do you know?”

  “She called the police.”

  The magnitude of this hit Gruber like a punch to the gut. If Beverly had informed on him, the cops would beat him to his house. They’d probably been there already, trying to figure out what had happened to Officer Ambrose. But without any sign of their missing officer, they’d have no reason to enter. They’d wait until he got home and try to talk to him. Unless someone had sent them there, unless someone gave them reason. “Do we need to get out of town?”

  “No, we’re okay for now. A friend of mine took the call—a friend who’s been hoping to buy a boat,” he said.

  “Kozlowski?”

  “No need to name names.”

  Gruber let go of the breath he’d been holding. Of course it was Kozlowski. They’d bribed him before. “But do you think she’s told anyone else?”

  “No one. He promised he’d be in touch, told her not to breathe a word to anyone else or it could get back to me.”

  “Do you want me to pay her a visit and shut her up?” Gruber realized this would require considerable time, but providing they were safe from the police, Jasmine wasn’t going anywhere. He’d never liked Beverly, anyway. He’d always known she’d sell him out in a heartbeat if she had the chance. She cared only about Phil and Dusty, had never really included him the way her husband had tried to.

  “That’s exactly what I want you to do. As soon as possible. Then I have something I want to give you.”

  “What is it?”

  “A bonus,” he said. “Something you really deserve.”

  Finally, he was getting the recognition he should’ve had years ago. With a smile, Gruber started the engine and switched on his windshield wipers. “I’m leaving now.”

  “Let me know when it’s done.”

  “What about Fornier?”

  “What about him?”

  The windshield wipers moved rhythmically as Gruber pulled into the street. “He’ll come after the Stratford woman. We have to get rid of him.”

  “You don’t have to worry about Romain. I’ll take care of him and call you later.”

  CHAPTER 23

  When Romain arrived at the address Huff had given him, he parked in an alley beneath the narrow eaves of a tin building. He was about to climb out when the phone Huff had lent him rang.

  Anxious for any word from Jasmine, he stayed where he was to avoid the rain and answered it immediately. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Fornier?”

  It was a woman, the voice unfamiliar to him. “Yes?”

  “This is Mrs. Black. You left your number wedged in the crack of my screen door and asked me to call you about the young lady who came by earlier.”

  Pearson Black’s mother. “Yes. Thank you for calling. That young lady’s gone missing, Mrs. Black. It’s very important that I find her as soon as possible. Do you have any idea where she might’ve gone after speaking with you?”

  “She was asking about a childhood friend of Pearson’s—a Gruber Coen.”

  Gruber Coen. It was a name Romain had never heard before. “He was the teenager in that picture with Milo Moreau?”

  “That’s right.”

  Rain beaded on the windshield, making it difficult to see the warehouse that was his destination. “Can you tell me where this Gruber lives?”

  “I’m afraid not. But Pearson can. We just talked about it at dinner.”

  Romain rocked back in surprise. “Tonight?”

  “Yes. I left the restaurant maybe fifteen minutes ago. That’s where I’ve been.”

  But she couldn’t have been with Pearson that recently. Pearson was with Huff. Huff had said so.

  Or Huff was lying….

  An uneasy foreboding prickled Romain’s skin. “Can I reach your son by phone right now?” he asked.

  “You should be able to. He’s probably getting ready for work—he works nights—but I have his cell number.”

  Romain thanked her and dialed the number she gave him. “Pearson?” he said as soon as he heard the other man pick up.

  “Who’s this?” came the response.

  It was Black, all right. Romain would’ve recognized that voice anywhere. “It’s Romain Fornier.”

  “What do you want with me?”

  They were enemies. Romain had blamed Black for sabotaging the prosecution of his daughter’s killer, but he was no longer sure Black’s motivation had been so reprehensible. “Where are you?”

  “On my way to work.”

  “Have you heard from Alvin Huff?”

  “Why would I ever hear from Alvin Huff?”

  Why, indeed. Romain’s heart was now lodged in his throat. “Can you tell me where to find Jasmine Stratford?”

  “Me?” The question seemed to take Pearson aback. “I missed several of her calls earlier, while I was sleeping. And I tried to call her back before I met my mom. But I kept getting her voice mail. Is something wrong?”

  Something was definitely wrong.

  In his mind’s eye, Romain kept seeing that blanket Huff had brought to the restaurant. I’m going to have it tested for genetic material, but that will take a while. The fiber evidence was easier. It required only a microscope… You’re sure it’s a match?… Positive.

  Romain no longer believed it. That blanket had been used to manipulate him, to convince him. That was all. There was no guarantee Adele had ever come into contact with it. Huff could’ve gotten it anywhere.

  A deep sense of betrayal throbbed through his blood as he started his truck. He’d trusted Huff. Through the darkest sorrow of his life, he’d looked to Huff for resolution. He’d been a detective, the one person who was supposed to make sure Romain received justice. And Huff had misled him and manipulated the situation instead.

  “She was asking about Gruber Coen,” he told Black.

  “Gruber’s a pathetic bastard. What does she want with him?”

  Light spilled into the alley as a door opened in the warehouse and Huff poked his head out. He must’ve heard Romain pull up and was wondering why he hadn’t come in. Romain knew he should get the hell out—now. This was a setup. Huff had brought him here, and it wasn’t difficult to figure out why.

  But Romain didn’t move. He stared at the man he finally knew to be his enemy, desperately wanting to obtain the justice he’d been denied. If not for Huff—or Peccavi or whatever he called himself—it was possible Adele would never have been kidnapped.

  But there was one thing more important to him than revenge. And that was Jasmine. Throwing the transmission into Reverse, Romain floored the gas pedal. He rocketed back until he reached the road that would lead him out of the maze of buildings, then shifted into Drive and peeled out as he rounded the corner.

  “Romain?” Black prompted when Romain didn’t respond. “What does she want with Gruber?”

  This section of town was deserted. The dark, empty warehouses flew past him as he sped toward the freeway. “He kidnapped her sister sixteen years ago.”

  Silence. Then Black said, “Not Gruber. He doesn’t have the guts to do something like that.”

  “She saw his face. She knows it was him. And I’m afraid she went looking for him. Can you tell me where he lives?”

  “I don’t know the address. But I stopped by last summer to invite him to a Fourth-of-July block party my mother was sponsoring on our old street. I can tell you how to get there.”

  Romain memorized the directions and was about to hang up when his call-waiting beeped. Huff was trying to get hold of him.

  Tempted to answer, to let the man he’d once considered a friend know the game was up, Romain’s finger moved to the flash button. But he didn’t push it. He couldn’t allow himself even that much satisfaction. Until Jasmine was safe, he’d be smarter to keep Huff guessing.

  When Huff’s call went to voice mail, he contacted the polic
e and told them everything he knew. He had no idea what they’d do with it. The man who took down the information treated it like he probably treated every other unsubstantiated report. “We’ll look into it,” he said and hung up.

  That unimpassioned response made Romain even more aware of the fact that he could be Jasmine’s only chance.

  If it wasn’t already too late.

  * * *

  When the trapdoor at the top of the stairs popped open, Jasmine came instantly awake. Knowing that she needed to conserve her strength so she could think clearly, plan well and be ready for any opportunity to escape, she’d been trying to rest and, after several hours of Gruber’s absence, had managed to fall sleep. But it’d been a restless sleep, filled with nightmares of stinking, rotting cadavers.

  Now her eye sockets felt like they were full of sand and her body was tense and sore. She was careful not to move the leg shackled to the floor. She’d bloodied her ankle trying to get free and the slightest touch of that iron cuff against her skin caused the most excruciating pain.

  “Hurry. We’ve got to hurry,” Gruber muttered to himself as he descended the stairs.

  Jasmine had expected him to come back tired and requiring sleep. It was no small job to dispose of a body and two cars. According to the clock, it was after midnight. But if he was exhausted, he was far too agitated to show it. Something had happened.

  “What is it?” she asked. As much as she’d dreaded his return, she’d actually been more frightened that he wouldn’t come back. He was her only ticket out of the cement box. Even if Romain or the police came searching for her, she couldn’t imagine they’d look closely enough to find the trapdoor beneath all the dirty clothes in the bedroom. Who’d ever dream such a room existed here? It was more plausible that they’d rush through the house, find it empty and move on. Without Gruber, she’d die an agonizingly slow death of dehydration and starvation tied to a corpse that was decomposing by the minute.

  Jasmine wasn’t sure her other alternatives were any better, but she had a greater chance of getting free if he took her out of the cement room.

  “Gruber?”

  He didn’t respond. He carried a carving knife, which made her nauseous with fear—until he used it to begin sawing through the ropes attaching her to his sister’s lifeless form.

  Closing her eyes, Jasmine turned her face away. He was in too much of a hurry to be careful with that blade. She was afraid he might get frustrated and simply hack off her arm.

  “Come on,” he said. “Beverly’s gone. Beverly and Phil and Dustin. They’re all gone. Even the kids are gone. We gotta go before it’s too late.”

  He was still talking to himself and struggling with the thick rope. “The Moreaus have left town?” she asked.

  Straightening, he blinked at her as if he’d forgotten she was alive. “How do you know? Did you put Beverly up to this? Are you responsible?” he demanded.

  The ropes were looser, but Jasmine’s hand wasn’t quite free. He loomed over her, his grip tight on the handle of that knife, which was large and jagged and threatening—as if the wild gleam in his eyes wasn’t threatening enough. She couldn’t help remembering the woman he’d slashed to death only a few days ago. She’d experienced that as though it had happened to her, and the prospect of a repeat performance caused a tremor of fear she couldn’t control. She had to be careful. He was in a volatile state, unpredictable and dangerous. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said as innocently as possible.

  He muttered some complaint to himself, but he finished with the rope and set the knife on top of the TV.

  Once her hand was free, she rubbed it, hoping to bring back some feeling, and considered trying to reach that weapon. Could she get hold of it in time? Did she have the strength to wield it against him? The longer she remained in Gruber’s control, the less chance she had of survival. But one attempt might be all she had. She had to choose her moment wisely.

  Pulling a key from his pocket, he bent over her ankle. But when he saw the torn flesh and the dried blood, such hatred and contempt came over his face that Jasmine couldn’t breathe. “Look at this,” he ground out. “You’re as foolish and stubborn as I thought. Much more like Adele than your sister.”

  Your sister… Gooseflesh rose on Jasmine’s arms. What must Kimberly and Adele have suffered at this man’s hands? Had they been kept in a cement cell like this one? If so, for how long? And what’d happened to Kimberly in the end?

  The sight of Valerie didn’t leave Jasmine much hope, but she’d waited sixteen years for the opportunity to ask. And she knew she needed to keep him occupied. “Where is Kimberly? Can you tell me that?”

  “I would’ve told you if not for this.” He waved at the damage to her ankle, the key still in his hand. “Resistance brings punishment. You’ll have to learn. You and Beverly will both have to learn. When I find her she’s dead. Dead, dead, dead. She needs to be punished.” His eyes went to the knife. “You need to be punished.”

  “I’m new to this, remember?” she said, trying to forestall him. It’d be easier for him to travel without her, and she knew it. The knife was right there, and she was still chained by her foot. It’d take only one well-aimed thrust. “I haven’t been notified of the rules yet. How can you get mad at me for doing something you don’t like if you didn’t tell me not to do it?”

  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 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.”<
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  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.

  “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.