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.”