“They don’t seem too well-liked,” he commented.
“Whoever egged this place had better keep their distance in the future,”Jasmine said. “They have no idea how dangerous it could be.”
She reached the door first. Romain hung back, trying not to feel the confusion and terror his daughter must’ve experienced at being dragged inside such a place by a complete stranger.
“What makes them do it?” he asked softly as he joined her on the front stoop.
“What makes a man as depraved as Moreau?”
“I wish I could tell you,” she whispered. “Most serial killers have had difficult childhoods, childhoods with a prevalence of inconsistent discipline and abuse. And many of them have suffered head injuries at one time or another. But those factors aren’t as reliable as you might want to believe. At this point, no one knows what causes such deviant behavior. Lust killers and thrill killers are just structurally different. And because we can’t understand or explain their behavior, we call them pathological.”
No one answered the door. But that didn’t surprise Romain. There wasn’t a single light on in the house—at least none that he could see.
“I think we might be out of luck,” she said.
“Dustin’s here.”
“How do you know?”
“Because they don’t take him anywhere. Even to the courthouse when his brother was standing trial for murder.” Romain knocked again.
“But where did he live back then?”
“If his mother was in town, Dustin was in town.”
“I guess I’d have to agree with you there. It looked as if she’d been taking care of him for some time. But even if he’s here, he either can’t or won’t answer the door.”
“I can get in without him.” Romain tried the door. Finding it locked, he stepped back to survey his other options.
“You’re not breaking in,” Jasmine said.
“Yes, I am.”
She grabbed his arm. “Someone here, possibly these people, have killed one man already. Do you want to be next?”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“But if we get caught—”
“We won’t get caught, because you’re going back to the truck.”
She clenched her fists. “No way! You’re still on parole, aren’t you?”
He didn’t answer. He was too busy wondering if he might find a spare key somewhere, or whether he’d have to break a window.
“You are!”
He didn’t correct her because she was right. “That means you could go back to prison!”
Pulling her into his arms, he gave her a long wet kiss, in case it was his last. “I think the police are the least of my worries, don’t you?” He slid his lips down her neck, then let her go.
“Stop kissing me!” she hissed, following him.
“Why?”
“I don’t like it!”
“You like it, you just don’t trust me anymore. And you have good reason. I wouldn’t trust me, either.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“You’re welcome. Now go wait in the truck.”
She clutched his arm. “Romain, don’t do this. We can come back when Phillip’s at home. He’s the one we really want to talk to, anyway. I got the feeling that he wanted to tell me something, as if…as if he had more to say.”
“We’ll talk to him. But I’m not going to miss this opportunity to lay eyes on Dustin.”
“The man who came after me is somehow tied to this place,” she argued. “He could be in there.”
“No one’s in there, except maybe Dustin.”
“There was someone here last time, even though I thought there wasn’t!”
He motioned for her to keep her voice down and lowered his own. “Stay with the truck. If I’m not back in ten minutes, bring a neighbor or use that cell phone of yours to get help.”
She remained stubbornly on his heels. “No. If you’re going in, I’m going with you.”
Considering what she’d already been through, she had guts. But he wasn’t about to let her take the risk. “It doesn’t require two people.”
She hesitated, glanced nervously at the house and bit her lip. But he knew that if he could convince her it’d be safer for both of them if he went in alone, she’d relent.
“Help me out here, okay?” he said. “I’ll have less to worry about if you’re not involved. Get in the truck, lock the doors and keep your head down. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
Mumbling a string of curses he hadn’t heard from her before—which, under different circumstances, might’ve made him laugh because they seemed so out of character—she pivoted and started back. But a second later, she caught his hand and, when he turned to see what she wanted, pulled his face down to meet hers for another kiss, this one even longer and wetter than the last. “Don’t get hurt,” she said fiercely.
Then she released him and was gone.
Romain stared after her. She was making him crave comforts he hadn’t let himself crave since Pam died. If only wanting her didn’t make him feel as though he was letting Pam and Adele down…
He turned abruptly as he heard a noise coming from the house. A television.
Someone had cranked up the volume until it was blaring.
Was it Dustin?
Probably. Why he wanted the TV so loud, Romain couldn’t fathom. But it would cover the noise he was about to make, and for that he was grateful.
Breaking the screen on the back door, and then the glass, Romain used the sleeve of his leather jacket to protect his hand as he reached in and turned the lock.
Chapter18
The house smelled of cats. Two greeted him as he stepped inside, and the memory of how much Adele had loved animals nearly made him balk. Was he really prepared for what he might find?
He wasn’t sure, but a morbid curiosity, an exploration of his own pain, propelled him forward. This was most likely the last place his daughter had known, the place where she’d been sexually molested, strangled and dumped into the trunk of a car.
Who was the man who’d killed her? What kind of person could harm an innocent ten-year-old girl? If it wasn’t Moreau, what connection did the real killer have to this place and these people? And how did that connection affect Jasmine and her sister?
Romain moved silently through the kitchen. He couldn’t see very well in the dark, but he wasn’t in a hurry. A fierce, aching need to know had taken hold of him, causing him to slow down, to study and strive to understand.