Stop Me

by Brenda Novak

  Alicia led her to an office where there was a desk, two old but comfortable-looking chairs with a small table between them, and row upon row of books lining one wall.

  “You can use that phone there.” Romain’s mother pointed at the desk. “I’ll let you know when we’re having dessert.”

  “Thanks.”

  Alicia started out of the room but turned back at the door. “I’m so pleased to see my son with such a nice woman.”

  Jasmine understood what she meant. She was tired of watching Romain suffer and was grateful to see him display some interest in regular life. She probably hoped that Jasmine’s presence marked the beginning of a complete turnaround. But that only made Jasmine feel worse about the lies she’d told. The hope she was giving this woman was false. If anything, she was pulling Romain deeper into the past, not helping him heal. Once she returned to Sacramento, they’d all be lucky if he wasn’t in worse shape than before.

  “He’s a strong man. He’ll be fine,” she said, trying to convince herself as well as his mother.

  “He has a good heart, a really good heart. If only you can…give him a chance.”

  And nurture him along. She knew what his mother was suggesting: time, patience, love. But Jasmine wasn’t about to offer her heart to someone as high-risk as Romain. She purposely picked safe men, men who were ploddingly steady, even-tempered, easygoing. Men who didn’t have to cope with a surfeit of anger every day. After what she’d been through with her parents, she needed that kind of security. But she couldn’t explain that to his mother without revealing her true purpose for being in Louisiana, so she simply smiled and nodded.

  When Alicia left, Jasmine released a deep sigh and sank into the seat behind the desk as she picked up the phone. She planned to give herself a small break by making the friendly calls first.

  Skye answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “It’s me.”

  “Jasmine! I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

  “Merry Christmas to you, too,” she said.

  “Merry Christmas. But you had me worried. Where are you?”

  Jasmine could hear David in the background. It sounded as if he was standing right beside Skye, mumbling endearments as he kissed her neck. “In Mamou.”

  “I really hope you’re not spending Christmas alone in a hotel room.”

  “No, I’m at a…friend’s.”

  The soft giggle that came across the phone had nothing to do with the conversation. “Dave, stop,” Skye said. He murmured something that sounded sexy and loving—intimate enough to make Jasmine envious of their relationship.

  “You’ve already made a friend?” Skye asked, her attention returning to Jasmine.

  “Well, he’s more of an acquaintance. Not really a friend.” Why she’d felt the need to add that, she didn’t know.

  “He?”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions. He’s just someone involved in my investigation.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Thirty-five, thirty-six. Somewhere in there.”

  “That’s close to your age.”

  “And your point?”

  “He must be a pretty nice guy to take you home for Christmas.”

  He’d taken her to his bed, too. That didn’t make him Mr. Wonderful. But Jasmine saw no reason to reveal her own lack of good judgment. “He’s nice enough to include me in his family’s celebration. That’s it.”

  “So he’s married?”

  “I’m talking about his parents’ family. He’s a widower.”

  There was a pause as if Skye was trying to read Jasmine’s tone. “Is there any spark between the two of you?” she finally asked.

  “None,” Jasmine said but she had to smile. She’d probably never told a bigger lie. Romain was the only man who’d ever made her wonder if spontaneous combustion was actually possible. “Why do you ask?”

  “The lack of detail’s a little suspicious. There’s something going on or you’d be more up-front about how you met him and how he’s connected to the investigation.”

  “There’s nothing going on.”

  Another pause. However, in the end, Skye seemed to buy it. “Disappointing, but for the best, I suppose,” she said. “Much as I’d love you to meet someone, I wouldn’t want you to move halfway across the country. I’d miss you too much. And we couldn’t manage The Last Stand without you.”

  “I’m not going to meet anyone in the short time I’ll be here.”

  “Did you like my gift?” Skye asked, changing the subject.

  “I don’t know. I left it at home with Sheridan’s. I thought we could get together when I return, have dinner and a belated celebration.”

  “Good idea. When will that be?”

  Jasmine assumed David was momentarily distracted by something besides his wife, because Jasmine couldn’t hear him anymore. “Don’t know yet.”

  “I wish you were here,” Skye said. “Christmas isn’t the same without you. It’s been just the two of us for the past five years.”

  That sentiment brought a lump to Jasmine’s throat. “I wish I was there, too.”

  “Did you get the money I sent you?”

  “Not yet. I’ll pick it up when I’m back in New Orleans.”

  “I take it the police haven’t found your purse.”

  “No. At this point, I doubt they’ll recover it.”

  “Odds are you’re right, but it’d be nice.”

  Jasmine was about to ask if Skye had heard from Sheridan when a crumpled piece of paper in the wastebasket caught her eye. A double take confirmed that it had bold, red writing. Writing that made Jasmine shiver.

  “Jasmine?”

  Leaning over to reach it, Jasmine plucked it from the garbage. “I’ve got to go,” she mumbled.

  “Already?”

  Jasmine’s hand shook as she smoothed out the letter. It appeared to be written in blood, just like the note she’d received. Only this one said: JoKe iS On yOu.

  That was it, but Jasmine discovered the accompanying envelope by digging through the rest of the trash. Like the package that’d come to her house, it’d been mailed from New Orleans but didn’t bear a return address. The addressee’s name, written in blue ink, had been traced over and over, which was also familiar.

  “Mr. Romain Fornier,” she read.

  “What’d you say?” Skye asked, but a noise made Jasmine whirl toward the entrance.

  “I don’t think that’s addressed to you,” Tom said.

  “Jasmine, answer me,” Skye was saying.

  “I’ll have to call you back.” She hung up as Tom approached with his hand outstretched.

  “May I?”

  Jasmine wasn’t about to relinquish what she’d found. “No,” she said, putting it behind her back.

  His eyebrows lifted toward the hair he’d gelled off his forehead. “You have a great deal of interest in my father-in-law’s mail—especially for someone who’s simply on vacation in Louisiana.” He smiled, but there was an undercurrent in his voice that made her uneasy. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”

  Considering the letter, she decided to let him know the real reason for her trip. “My sister went missing sixteen years ago. And because of a cryptic message a lot like this one, I’m here to find out what happened to her.”

  “So you’re a cop.”

  “A forensic profiler.”

  “Fascinating line of work,” he said, but he didn’t seem surprised.

  “Sometimes.”

  “And how does Romain figure into your situation? Besides the fact that he’s finally met someone who’s brought his libido roaring back to life.”

  She ignored the second part. Not only was it tacky of Tom to say so, his suggestive tone put her on edge. “I’m not sure how he figures in.”

  “Did he get a note, too? Is he trying to convince the police to reopen Adele’s case?”

  “He hasn’t gotten anything.” Or surely he would’ve told her by now. “I
don’t think our correspondent knows how to find him. That’s the reason for this.” She held up the crumpled letter. “As far as Romain’s concerned, there’s no connection between Adele’s kidnap and my sister’s. He’s trying to put the past behind him.”

  “Poor Romain,” he said with a tsk.

  “You don’t say that with much sympathy.”

  “He’s not the type to inspire sympathy.”

  “Even after everything he’s been through? He’s your brother-in-law.”

  “Believe me, I know who he is. He has a very long shadow.” Walking to the window, he gazed outside. “It’s going to rain,” he commented.

  “What is it you don’t like about Louisiana?” she asked.

  “I don’t feel comfortable here. These are Susan’s people, and they’re always judging me.”

  Jasmine didn’t respond. What he had or hadn’t done was none of her business. But she could tell from what Romain had said on their way in and Tom’s interest in her at the table that he paid more attention to other women than he should.

  “You don’t think Moreau murdered Adele, do you?” he said, turning back to face her.

  It wasn’t a question. “Let’s just say I’m open-minded about the possibility that there might be someone else,” she said.

  “And you’re here to find the real killer.”

  “Obviously, you’re open-minded about the possibility, too.”

  “These letters would certainly suggest it. There’ve been others, you know. I got one at my house, too. This guy is blanketing the family with them, trying to get to Romain.”

  Trying to get to Romain. But why would taunting Romain be that important to him? “When did this start?”

  Tom raised a hand to signify silence as footsteps approached. It was Travis. They knew because he called back to one of his brothers.

  The door wasn’t quite closed. Travis didn’t seem to notice them as he moved past the office to the bathroom, but once his son was gone, Tom shut the door to guarantee their privacy. “Ours came a month ago, after Thanksgiving. My in-laws received one then, too. The letter you have in your hand arrived yesterday. Really upset the old man to get another one,” he added. “I think he was hoping the first one was a fluke and this would just…go away.”

  None of them wanted to believe that Adele’s murderer was still out there, and she understood why they’d feel that way. “Does Romain know about these letters?”

  He grimaced. “Of course not. Alicia practically threatened to disown Susan if we so much as breathed a word of it.”

  “Maybe she’s afraid he’ll go after someone else.”

  “That’s not the reason. It can’t be.”

  “Why not?”

  “Alicia doesn’t believe he killed Moreau. No one in the family does, not even me.”

  Jasmine blinked in surprise. “But the shooting was on tape. How can you or they believe anything else?”

  Tom went over to the desk and picked up a photograph of Romain as a little boy. He was holding a fishing rod and standing next to a fish that was bigger than he was. “He caught that thing at ten years old,” he said, handing it to her. “Impressive, huh?”

  “It’s a nice catch,” she said. Where was Tom going with this?

  “He was always the best at everything.” He sighed loudly. “Tough to compete with a guy like that.”

  Jasmine had sensed that Tom and Susan didn’t have the perfect marriage. Now she wondered how bad it really was. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I don’t know where to put my support. Now that he’s fallen from his pedestal I don’t look so bad myself, and my wife isn’t constantly throwing him up to me as the gold standard. I’m almost afraid to see him recover.”

  “And yet you recognize that as selfish and petty. I hope.”

  His grim smile indicated he recognized it all too well. “You see my dilemma.”

  Jasmine put the photograph back where it belonged. “Romain’s your brother-in-law, not your rival.”

  “Still, I’d give anything to have Susan think as highly of me as she once did of her brother.”

  “You’re not going to get her to think highly of you by cheating on her.” Jasmine knew she had no business saying so, but she couldn’t resist. And they’d asked her enough personal questions.

  He straightened the collar on his polo shirt. “I know, but the damage is already done—it’s not like she’ll ever forgive me for my…” his smile turned sardonic “…indiscretions. And sometimes the temptation’s too great to resist. I don’t know if I could ever trust myself. It’s nice to live the fantasy for a while, to feel like a god to someone, even if it doesn’t last.”

  And the resulting anger and possessiveness his affairs inspired in Susan confirmed that she cared. It was a double payoff.

  “Take you, for instance,” he went on.

  “Me?”

  “You’d be too attractive to resist.”

  “Because you think I’m with Romain. That’s the temptation. You want to convince yourself you’re just as desirable as he is.”

  “Am I?”

  Jasmine knew Tom wouldn’t be saying half the things he was saying if he hadn’t had too much to drink, so she edged away from his inferiority complex. He’d probably be embarrassed when he sobered up. “You’re married,” she stated flatly.

  “It wouldn’t matter even if I wasn’t, would it?”

  She ignored the question and asked one of her own. “Did you know about the illegal search of Moreau’s house?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Pearson Black insists he’s not the one who leaked that information to the defense. He thinks it might’ve been you.”

  Tom brought a hand to his chest. “Me? How could I leak something I didn’t even know about? I wasn’t there that night.”

  “There were several cops who were. One of them could’ve confided in you.”

  “No one did. And if I knew, I wouldn’t have told. I loved Adele. I wanted to see her killer caught and, at the time, I thought Moreau was her killer.”

  “Until the letters.”

  “Until the letters,” he repeated.

  “If your wife doesn’t believe Romain pulled the trigger and killed Moreau, what does she hold against him?”

  “Have you slept with Romain?” he asked.

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “That’s a yes.”

  “How about answering the question?”

  He chuckled softly. “You’re determined. I’ll give you that.”

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  Sighing, he shrugged. “The fact that he wouldn’t fight the charges, that he went to prison when he might not have had to if only he’d tried to avoid it, that he’s pulled away from her after they were always so close.”

  Jasmine knew the last one probably hurt the most. “Why is Susan so convinced he didn’t kill Moreau? I understand there’s got to be a denial factor at play, but when an incident’s caught on tape—”

  “Have you seen the tape?” Tom sat on the edge of the desk and crossed his arms.

  “No, but I’ve talked to someone who did, and he acted as if there was no question. It was a cut-and-dried case of a father allowing his grief to provoke him into retaliating. And Romain knew how to use a gun.”

  “He knows how to use a lot of weapons. But he didn’t do it,” Tom said.

  “I’ve seen it happen to far less volatile men,” she pointed out.

  “Romain never loses control.”

  He’d lost control while they were making love. He’d forgotten to be angry and miserable. He’d cast all his cares aside and simply lived. She suspected that freedom had been so foreign to him he’d tried to destroy the happiness it brought afterward. “Grief can get the better of anyone.”

  “Perhaps. But my wife was walking with him as they moved out of the courthouse. She saw it happen.”

&nb
sp; Her heartbeat suddenly erratic, Jasmine stepped closer. “And?”

  “She claims Detective Huff fired his own gun.”

  Could it be true? “If she’s right, why didn’t Romain say anything?”

  “To be honest with you, I don’t think he remembers exactly what happened. He was in an emotional tailspin. But he wouldn’t risk hurting some innocent bystander in order to assuage his own pain. You don’t know Romain very well if you think he could do that.”

  “Did Susan tell him what she saw?”

  “Of course. She pleaded with him before his trial, during his trial, even afterward. I was almost invisible during that time. Saving her brother was all she cared about.”

  Jasmine was willing to bet that was when Tom’s affairs had started. Somehow, it all made sense, terribly sad sense. “He wouldn’t listen?”

  “He wouldn’t listen.”

  “What was his response to Susan?”

  “He said he’d wanted to kill the bastard, and that in itself made him guilty.”

  “If Huff shot him, why wouldn’t he come forward?”

  Tom flicked a speck of dust off his khaki pants. “That’s obvious, isn’t it?”

  Jasmine supposed it was, although she expected more from Huff. “And the motive?”

  “That’s also obvious. After the embarrassment and humiliation of the trial, he knew he’d lose his job because of that pervert, and he snapped. Once the shot was fired and everyone swarmed Romain, he was probably terrified by what he’d done.”

  “Terrified enough to let Romain take the blame.”

  “I don’t think Huff had it planned that way, that he had it planned at all. Romain just made it easy for him by doing what he always does.”

  “Which is…?”

  “Taking the heavy end.”

  “But why would he do that in this situation?”

  “Here’s what I figure. To him, it’d be the only thing that makes any sense. He was praying for justice and, thanks to Huff, he got it—along with the assurance that Moreau couldn’t hurt another child. He was satisfied, relieved, even grateful. At least Moreau’s death put an end to the matter. If Romain had to go to prison, it was just for two years. But if he stepped forward to say it was Huff, and they could prove it, the detective would be put away for life.”