She’d been right when she’d told him about the tattoos on his body and the cut on his thigh. She’d been right about Adele’s necklace. And he knew she’d shared his fantasy that first night. He had enough experience with Jasmine to believe her, even if he didn’t want to. “But it’s already happened, hasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Then there’s nothing we can do to help the victim. She’s dead, Jaz.”
He watched the fight drain out of her as she covered her face with her hands.
“We have to find him before he does it again,” she said at last.
“When will that be?”
“Could be a few days, could be weeks. It’ll depend on the amount of frustration in his regular life. He’s hardened over the years,” she added, almost as an aside, “become more calculating. He’ll keep going until he finds me. Right now, I’m the one he wants and he can’t think of anything else.”
“Why you?”
“I’m a loose end. Someone who saw his face. I’m escalating my search for him by going on national television, talking about what he did, speculating on the kind of man he is. Chances are good he’s heard me swear I won’t give up, and he knows I’m amassing more resources and influence in the investigative world.
Mostly, he knows I’ll stop at nothing.” She paused, absently combing her fingers through her hair.
“Maybe something you said on television triggered a close call,” Romain suggested, “made someone question him or suspect he was involved.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it. That’s why he sent that note. He wanted to draw me to New Orleans.”
“Wouldn’t that put him at greater risk?”
Jasmine turned the cup of tea he’d made her around and around. “Not if he killed me.”
The possibility of losing someone else he cared about made Romain glad he’d kept this woman at arm’s length. He couldn’t invest his emotions in her, couldn’t let himself grow attached. “Then why didn’t he track you down in Sacramento?”
She frowned, finally calm enough to act more like herself. “My guess is he has trouble getting away. Maybe he’s married with kids, or he has a job that won’t allow it. Maybe he doesn’t have the money. Some practical reason that limits him or keeps him busy with other stuff.”
Romain thought of the bayou. Even when others couldn’t catch a thing, he came home laden with fish, shrimp, crabs. He understood its quirks and secrets, where to find what he was looking for, when to give up on a certain spot. “And knowing the area gives him an advantage.”
Her eyes met his. “Exactly.”
The bloodlust had exhausted him. Breathing hard, Gruber sneered at what was left of the woman in the bloody bed. Humans were so fragile….
Using the knife he’d removed from her kitchen drawer, he sawed off her hand and shoved it in his back pocket. He used to collect pieces of jewelry or clothing, even pictures, but this was so much more personal. Unfortunately, he didn’t know this woman the way he did the others, so the memento wouldn’t bring him much joy.
He preferred to spend days, weeks, even months with his victims—although only one had lasted that long. Peccavi kept him so busy with the business they did together, he had little time to do his own hunting. It wasn’t as if he could keep any of the children destined for the transfer house. Peccavi would kill him if he tried. True, he’d been able to keep Kimberly for a while, but only because she’d been a windfall, an unexpected gift, a child Peccavi hadn’t realized he’d taken.
“Tonight didn’t have to end like this,” he told her. It was Jasmine’s fault. He wouldn’t have done this without provocation. Never before had he risked harming someone in an unsecured area. It was like those rules that Peccavi always harped on.
A man had to have self-discipline in order to remain safe. But once Gruber had spotted the woman at that gas station, the frustration he felt at being unable to locate Romain’s house had taken over. No one in Portsville had been willing to talk to him; he was an outsider, an unknown, and they were fiercely protective of Fornier.
But he’d find Jasmine eventually, he promised himself. She was searching for him. She wouldn’t go far.
Somehow, that thought made him feel better. Wiping the knife with a dish towel to get rid of any prints, he stabbed it back into the woman’s dead body and walked through the front door. She lived away from the city with at least half a mile between her and the closest neighbor. He wasn’t worried that anyone had heard her screams, or that anyone would see him. Which was good, since he didn’t have a lot of time. He had to get home as soon as possible. His sister had called earlier to say she was coming to see him first thing in the morning. She claimed she had some information about their mother he’d want to know.
He found that highly implausible, but planned to be there when she arrived, just in case she went in and started snooping around. The door to his bunker was in the master closet—not someplace she was likely to go, but it could be seen when he didn’t cover it well, and he’d been lazy of late. No one ever came to his place; he’d had no reason to worry.
The theme song from Gilligan’s Island came to mind. He whistled it softly as he got into his car. He’d have to do something about the blood on his hands and face and in his hair. Stabbing was a dirty business. But cleaning up wouldn’t be hard.
He’d burn his clothes in the fireplace. And while the fire warmed the house, he’d take a nice hot shower.
They ended up driving to New Orleans rather than going back to bed. Jasmine couldn’t sleep. She didn’t dare close her eyes after what she’d experienced. And she couldn’t seek the comfort she craved from Romain or she’d invite even more confusion and risk. She needed to stay focused, to find Kimberly—or learn what had happened to her—and get out of New Orleans. Anything else threatened the calm she’d established, the routine, the sense of balance and control she’d so painstakingly created.
“There you are!” Mr. Cabanis’s daughter exclaimed when Jasmine entered the lobby of Maison du Soleil with Romain at her elbow. “We’ve been worried about you.”
She didn’t seem to recognize Romain despite all the media coverage surrounding Adele’s disappearance and Moreau’s trial. She was probably too young when Adele went missing to follow the story as closely as her parents.