person. Or a journalist chasing her next “big” story. Or maybe a writer with a contract for a new book—When Fathers Turn into Killers. Regardless, Black had to be involved. Black was the only one, besides Huff, who could’ve described the peculiarities of the writing on that bathroom wall.
But that still brought him back to the necklace. Neither Huff nor Black knew it’d gone missing. It’d disappeared almost a week before Adele was taken. Even Romain hadn’t connected the two incidents.
Maybe after he’d had the chance to dig a little, he’d be able to explain how Jasmine knew so damn much, he thought. But what he found only added to his confusion. Google cited a whole list of articles that featured Jasmine’s name, all of which proved her to be exactly what she claimed.
…Sacramento victims rights activist Jasmine Stratford developed the psychological profile that eventually led to Bellamy’s arrest…
63
…Jasmine Stratford, from the nonprofit victims’ charity The Last Stand, spoke with officials earlier today…
…Mrs. Purdue insists her daughter would not have been found had it not been for the assistance of local victims’ advocate Jasmine Stratford, who lost her own sister in a kidnapping incident fourteen years ago…
Criminal Minds: Profiling the Profiler. After the widely publicized Robbins case, Jasmine Stratford has been called one of the best psychological profilers in the country. And yet she has no official degree in any of the sciences. With only a high school GED, the talented profiler credits her own personal crisis with spurring her interest in deviant behavior and motivating her to educate herself. According to Stratford, killers act to fulfill certain needs. Determining what those needs are provides understanding and, to a point, the ability to predict certain behavior—
“Here you go.”
Fornier pulled his eyes away from the screen long enough to acknowledge Casey, who’d arrived with his breakfast. She had to shove a mountain of papers aside, but she managed to fit his coffee and his plate on the desk at his elbow.
“It doesn’t look as if you’re buying anything too expensive,” she said, frowning at the article displayed on her monitor.
“No,” he said. But what he’d read could still cost him a great deal. He was beginning to believe Jasmine was for real—and that, some way, somehow, he might’ve killed the wrong man.
Jasmine hadn’t expected to run into Romain at the diner. She hadn’t heard the roar of his motorcycle go past the hotel this morning, hadn’t seen it parked in the lot when she walked over. But in order to bring water and supplies to his house, he had to have a pickup or some other form of transportation, which he must’ve driven.
Because there was no mistaking the identity of the tall blond man who emerged from the back area of the restaurant. She would’ve known him simply by the way he carried himself, even if she hadn’t been able to see his face.
Ducking behind her menu, she hoped he’d leave without noticing her. She knew she hadn’t really slept with him last night, but it sure felt like she had. Her body burned at the memory of his hands moving everywhere—because the way he’d imagined the encounter was exactly as she would’ve liked it to be.
Unfortunately, luck wasn’t with her today. When she didn’t hear the bell above the door, she peeked over the corner of her menu to see where he was and found him at the cash register, slipping his wallet into his pocket and staring straight at her.
As their eyes met and held, Jasmine cursed silently for looking up too soon.
Then she lowered her menu and smiled politely, trying to backtrack to where they’d been before imagination had become more honest than reality.
64
We’re just two strangers who aren’t all that friendly to each other, she reminded herself. Yet erotic images kept intruding—his bare arms and chest as he poised above her, the pressure of his thigh
But that still brought him back to the necklace. Neither Huff nor Black knew it’d gone missing. It’d disappeared almost a week before Adele was taken. Even Romain hadn’t connected the two incidents.
Maybe after he’d had the chance to dig a little, he’d be able to explain how Jasmine knew so damn much, he thought. But what he found only added to his confusion. Google cited a whole list of articles that featured Jasmine’s name, all of which proved her to be exactly what she claimed.
…Sacramento victims rights activist Jasmine Stratford developed the psychological profile that eventually led to Bellamy’s arrest…
63
…Jasmine Stratford, from the nonprofit victims’ charity The Last Stand, spoke with officials earlier today…
…Mrs. Purdue insists her daughter would not have been found had it not been for the assistance of local victims’ advocate Jasmine Stratford, who lost her own sister in a kidnapping incident fourteen years ago…
Criminal Minds: Profiling the Profiler. After the widely publicized Robbins case, Jasmine Stratford has been called one of the best psychological profilers in the country. And yet she has no official degree in any of the sciences. With only a high school GED, the talented profiler credits her own personal crisis with spurring her interest in deviant behavior and motivating her to educate herself. According to Stratford, killers act to fulfill certain needs. Determining what those needs are provides understanding and, to a point, the ability to predict certain behavior—
“Here you go.”
Fornier pulled his eyes away from the screen long enough to acknowledge Casey, who’d arrived with his breakfast. She had to shove a mountain of papers aside, but she managed to fit his coffee and his plate on the desk at his elbow.
“It doesn’t look as if you’re buying anything too expensive,” she said, frowning at the article displayed on her monitor.
“No,” he said. But what he’d read could still cost him a great deal. He was beginning to believe Jasmine was for real—and that, some way, somehow, he might’ve killed the wrong man.
Jasmine hadn’t expected to run into Romain at the diner. She hadn’t heard the roar of his motorcycle go past the hotel this morning, hadn’t seen it parked in the lot when she walked over. But in order to bring water and supplies to his house, he had to have a pickup or some other form of transportation, which he must’ve driven.
Because there was no mistaking the identity of the tall blond man who emerged from the back area of the restaurant. She would’ve known him simply by the way he carried himself, even if she hadn’t been able to see his face.
Ducking behind her menu, she hoped he’d leave without noticing her. She knew she hadn’t really slept with him last night, but it sure felt like she had. Her body burned at the memory of his hands moving everywhere—because the way he’d imagined the encounter was exactly as she would’ve liked it to be.
Unfortunately, luck wasn’t with her today. When she didn’t hear the bell above the door, she peeked over the corner of her menu to see where he was and found him at the cash register, slipping his wallet into his pocket and staring straight at her.
As their eyes met and held, Jasmine cursed silently for looking up too soon.
Then she lowered her menu and smiled politely, trying to backtrack to where they’d been before imagination had become more honest than reality.
64
We’re just two strangers who aren’t all that friendly to each other, she reminded herself. Yet erotic images kept intruding—his bare arms and chest as he poised above her, the pressure of his thigh
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