“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 police 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.