“No, she lost it. I remember her crying when she couldn’t find it.”
“She didn’t lose it. He took it.”
“How do you know?” Cautious hope touched his voice. But Jasmine didn’t answer. He wouldn’t believe her even if she told him.
“I’m sure that’s why he went to the school. He was already fixated and he would’ve found her eventually,” she said instead, hoping it’d make a difference in Fornier’s recovery. Then, brushing past him, she headed to her car.
“What’d the necklace look like?” he called after her.
“You know what it looked like.”
“I’m wondering if you do.”
“It was the plastic Belle you bought at Disney World.”
Romain hadn’t bought it at Disney World. He’d bought it at the Disney store.
But that seemed a minor difference when there were so many other types of necklaces she could’ve named. She hadn’t said it was a gold locket or a silver heart or a pink ribbon. She’d correctly identified Adele’s necklace as the Disney character Belle….
How?
He paced his living room, too keyed up to sit down. He’d moved to the bayou to gain some distance from the rest of the world. He’d needed breathing room, the peace of nature, a chance to achieve a better perspective on a society he no longer trusted. And he’d been doing that.
Until tonight. Who was this woman who’d appeared seemingly out of nowhere?
He had only her name and a few sentences about her sister being abducted sixteen years ago. But she’d understood, immediately, the regret that corroded his soul. Not for shooting the man who’d killed Adele. He felt no remorse for that—couldn’t even remember actually pulling the trigger. It was the fact that he’d allowed such a despicable human being to get control of his daughter in the first place that hurt. As Adele’s father, he should’ve protected her, should’ve refused to let her ride her bicycle to Elizabeth’s house that day or any day.
He hadn’t realized that a block—a block—could pose such risk. They’d lived in a good neighborhood. But it’d happened anyway, and now it was too late. He’d lost his little girl in the worst possible way and every time he closed his eyes, he saw her being whisked off her bike and forced into Moreau’s rusty van, imagined the unspeakable torture she’d suffered. Torture that wouldn’t have happened if he’d said no….
Suddenly, he was standing in front of the bookcase, where her sweet face smiled back at him. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, struggling against a familiar tightening in his throat. “I’m so sorry.”
As usual, there was no answer. Only the generator running in the background as Adele stared back, always with him and yet gone forever.
What did Jasmine Stratford really know about her and the man who’d killed her? If this woman could describe the necklace, she had to possess other information.
But he wasn’t sure that information would be as comforting as the tidbit she’d given him. It was equally possible that her answers would only lead to more questions. Or tempt him to doubt what he already knew to be true.
Leave it alone, he told himself, and went back to his movie. But he didn’t comprehend a single word and, after an hour, he finally gave up. By telling him he couldn’t have saved his little girl even if he’d been more vigilant, Ms. Stratford had offered him absolution. And absolution was irresistible.
Striding across the living room, he retrieved the keys to the motorcycle he’d built for himself and hurried outside. She’d said she was staying at the hotel in Portsville, but he had no idea for how long.
If he waited until the sun came up, she could be gone.
The engine of the motorcycle rattled the walls of Jasmine’s hotel room. She’d just put on the chemise and shorts set she liked to sleep in, but the moment she heard the racket, she wondered if it was Fornier. At eleven o’clock, the rest of the town was asleep; there was virtually no traffic.
She waited. If it was Fornier, and he wanted to see her, she’d receive a call from the front desk.
Instead, a heavy knock made her jump.
“Tell me the old guy didn’t send him up,” she muttered and grabbed the silky robe that matched her sleepwear. “Yes?” she said through the panel as she shrugged it on.
“It’s me.”
Fornier. Just as she’d guessed. The lies she’d told the old Cajun had come back to haunt her. He’d assumed she’d want him to send Fornier up and hadn’t bothered to call first.
Taking a deep breath, she cracked the door open. There wasn’t a chain or she might’ve used it because this man was so unsettled—and unsettling.
“What can I do for you?” she asked, unable to resist turning the tables on him.
“For starters, you can let me in.”
She hesitated briefly. “Why don’t we meet for breakfast in the morning?”
“Because I’m here now.”
She didn’t usually allow strange men into her hotel room, especially out in the middle of nowhere. But she didn’t sense any danger from Fornier. If he wanted to harm her, he could’ve done it out in the swamp where he had a convenient place to toss her body and plenty of alligators to eat it.
Stepping back, she permitted him to open the door the rest of the way.
“You’ve had a change of heart?” she asked as he came in.
He closed the door behind him. “Maybe you could call it that if I had a heart to begin with.”
He did have a heart. That was the problem. His emotions ran so deep, he couldn’t cope with the pain they caused him so he tried to shut them off.
Uncomfortably aware of her skimpy attire, she tightened the belt on her robe.
“So you’re here because…”
A subtle shift in his body language told her Romain hadn’t missed the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. But he wasn’t obvious enough to let his eyes dip. “You know why. I want to hear how you knew about the necklace.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
“What matters is that you understand this—even if Moreau hadn’t taken that particular opportunity, he would’ve kidnapped your daughter some other time.
There’s no way you could’ve stood guard over her every minute of every day, not when you couldn’t possibly recognize the danger.”
“I should’ve recognized it.”