If this woman, who had to be Valerie Stabula, was really his sister, Jasmine saw no family resemblance. But it wasn’t easy to imagine what she’d once looked like.
After making sure Jasmine couldn’t get free, Gruber had turned on the television resting on a small table, pointed to a closet with a portable toilet and told her to make herself at home while he went to take care of “a few details.” But even if she needed to use the bathroom, Jasmine couldn’t reach it. The chain on her leg was long enough, but she’d have to drag Valerie with her, and she had no intention of even trying.
A clock on the wall ticked more loudly than the TV. Or maybe that was Jasmine’s imagination. She was hyperaware of the passing minutes, which seemed to keep time with the thoughts that ran in one continuous circle: He’ll be back soon.
He’ll be back and kill me. Or do unspeakable things. He’ll be back soon. He’ll be back and kill me. Or do unspeakable things…
Waiting for his return was even more unnerving than knowing she was tied to a corpse and would probably rot here. She couldn’t get loose. She’d already worn her ankle raw trying.
“What am I going to do?” she muttered as one program turned into another and another. Since Gruber had taken her keys, she knew he planned to move her rental car. He had to get rid of the police cruiser, too, before someone came searching for it. And he had to dispose of young Officer Ambrose’s body. She’d caught a brief glimpse of Ambrose as Gruber had dragged her by the hair to see what she’d “caused.” Ambrose had been stabbed in the back of the neck. He hadn’t even seen it coming. And the gun that’d made him so confident was now in Gruber’s hands.
Although Gruber clearly had a fascination with dead bodies, he didn’t try to take Ambrose to his cement dungeon as he had Jasmine. His attitude toward Ambrose’s corpse made it clear that he considered it mere garbage, something that would have to be removed. She and Valerie, on the other hand, were somehow more important to him.
Jasmine stared at the walls, wondering how thick they were. Was there any chance someone would hear her if she screamed? She’d been afraid to try until she was sure Gruber had left the house, but it’d been an hour since he’d closed the trapdoor above her. Long enough to get Ambrose out of the house. Long enough to clean up the blood.
If she didn’t get help, she was going to die, anyway.
Jasmine’s throat grew hoarse as she screamed. Then she listened carefully, hoping to hear a reply. But there was nothing. Just the monotonous voices coming from the TV and the disturbing sound of air escaping Valerie’s body as her tissues broke down.
Turning her face from the worsening smell, Jasmine fought the tears that began to roll down her cheeks. She couldn’t give up hope. Yet her situation seemed hopeless. Even if Romain came to the house looking for her, he’d never suspect a hidey-hole as elaborate and horrible as this.
Romain couldn’t believe it when someone finally answered Jasmine’s phone.
He’d been pacing the porch of the Blacks’ house, waiting for them to come home so they could provide him with some way of reaching Pearson, because Pearson was his only link to Jasmine. All he’d been able to do in the meantime was call her cell.
Again and again and again.
“Obviously, you’re not going to give up,” said a male voice on the other end.
Romain didn’t recognize the person he was talking to. “Where’s Jasmine?”
“Maybe you’d like to identify yourself before you start making demands.”
“Romain Fornier.”
“Romain. I guessed as much.” The man had stated his name with the familiarity of a friend. “You’ve caused me more trouble….”
“I’ve caused you trouble?” Romain echoed.
“You’re a stubborn man, a fighter. I have to respect that, even if it does make you a pain in the ass. Nice work, what you did to Francis, by the way. Made it so much more convenient for me.”
He’d said “Francis,” not “Moreau.” Whoever it was knew Moreau well. But it wasn’t Black. Romain felt certain he would’ve recognized Black’s voice. “I can’t take credit for that,” he said. “You’re the one who set him up, right?”
He was fishing, but it paid off with an immediate confirmation. “That part wasn’t so hard.”
“Because Peccavi helped you?”
The jovial spirit seemed to drain out of him. “Who told you about Peccavi?”
“I’ve never been one to reveal my sources.”
“You’re a dead man, you know that?” he cried. “You don’t have twenty-four hours!”
“Then why don’t you come and get me?” Romain said, trying to draw his attention away from Jasmine.
A knowing snicker met his response. “Nice try. I have what I want. I have what you want, too. I’ll leave you to Peccavi.”
“Come on,” Romain said. “This is between you and me, right? This is about Adele.” And Jasmine. Payment for the past, hope for the future. “I’ll give you an address. We’ll meet. It’ll just be you and me. You have my word.”
“And let you do your Rambo bullshit? I know you were a Reconnaissance Marine, Romain. I’m not stupid.”
“Feel free to bring a weapon.”
There was no answer—but Romain could tell he was tempted. “Come on,” he said softly. “Show me what you got.”
“I’ve got Jasmine,” the other man said and the phone went dead.
“Shit.” Romain’s hand shook as he called again, but the effort was pointless.
Whoever had answered Jasmine’s phone wouldn’t pick up a second time. And another call was coming in.
“Hello?”
“Black doesn’t have Jasmine,” Huff said.
“You found him?”
“Yes. I’ve got a couple of detectives questioning him right now. Thanks to Beverly Moreau’s testimony, I think we can crack the adoption ring.”
“What about Jasmine?” Images of the blood on his wall at home floated through Romain’s consciousness, adding to the fear and tension already coursing through him.
“He says he hasn’t seen her, doesn’t know anything about her.”
“That’s a lie! Make him tell you more.”
“Come on down and you can talk to him yourself.”
“Where are you?”