She stared back at him, clearly weighing his story for the truth. "Okay," she said slowly. "Did that happen?"
"I don't know. I was watching Ben, and then a waiter crashed into me. When I untangled myself from the crush of champagne glasses, Ben had disappeared. That's when I went looking for him."
"Upstairs."
"Yes. When I got to the third floor and saw the guards on the floor, and you struggling to get up, I pulled you out of the room. I wanted to find Ben before I got caught upstairs and questioned by security."
"Did that happen?"
"Unfortunately, no. Which is why I decided to look for you at the hospital. I wanted to talk to you about Ben. When you left with the FBI agent, I followed you. I'm hoping you might be willing to help me out. You have a connection to the Langdons, and you owe me for saving your life."
She frowned. "That's an interesting story, but I don't feel like it's the complete truth."
He didn't answer as the waitress set down their plates. When she left, he said, "Tell me about your relationship with the Langdons—that's not top secret, is it?"
She dug into her eggs and took several bites. He did the same, hoping he could get her to open up.
Finally, she said, "I lived in Bezikstan for three years when I was a teenager, while my stepfather served as the US ambassador. Ben's father, Neil, was my teacher. He was more than a teacher, actually. He was a mentor and a friend. He and his wife, Elizabeth, often came to dinner at the embassy. I babysat Ben several times during those dinners. He was about five at the time. He was a sweet, loving kid. He loved playing cards. I taught him how to play spades."
"Sweet kids sometimes grow up to be terrorists. Did you know Sara Pillai or Isaac Naru?"
"I don't believe so. How old are they?"
"Isaac is twenty-nine. Sara is twenty-two. Sara and Ben attended the same schools in Bezikstan, but she was one year older. Isaac actually grew up in Mumbai but moved to Bezikstan when his father married Sara's mother when he was seventeen and Sara was ten. Any of that ring a bell?"
"No. Isaac is two years younger than me and didn't arrive in Bezikstan until after I was gone, and Sara would have been seven when I left." She paused. "Do you think that Jasmine's abduction is tied to this terrorist group?"
"I was shocked by the kidnapping, so I honestly don't know. But it's something to consider."
"Jasmine is like a big sister to Ben. Ben's father told me that Jasmine took Ben under her wing when he started college here in New York. I don't think he would be a party to anyone hurting her."
"Maybe he's not. But Ben did visit the consulate several times this week. And someone had to know the layout very well in order to pull off this kidnapping in the middle of a huge party."
"Have you shared these thoughts with the police, the FBI or the Kumars?"
"I haven't had a chance yet."
"But you had a chance to track me down," she pointed out.
"I thought you might be more willing to share information with me than those agencies."
"Why would I be?"
"Remember that part about how I saved your life…"
She finished off her eggs and hash browns while she thought about that, and he downed the rest of his omelet. He hadn't told her everything, but hopefully it was enough to get her interested in working with him. She hadn't told him who she was yet, but he was damned sure she was working for one of the agencies she'd just mentioned. He didn't think she was a cop so that left FBI or possibly Homeland Security. With her international connections, she'd make a valuable asset. But had she been working tonight? Or was she just a guest at the party?
She wiped her mouth with a napkin and sat back in her seat. "You said you haven't talked to law enforcement about the kidnapping, but have you spoken to anyone about Ben's possible connection to the Paris blast—to Sara Pillai and Isaac Naru?"
"Yes, I've spoken to the authorities, and there are multiple agencies looking for Sara and Isaac. I'm not sure who's aware of Ben's relationship with Sara, but I assume I'm not the only one who knows Sara was dating Ben in Paris. They were not in hiding. They went on picnics by the Eiffel Tower, went dancing at night, like two young lovers."
"Who do you work for, Jared?"
"I work for myself. I'm a freelance journalist."
She sighed. "I can believe you're freelance, because you seem very comfortable operating off the radar, but I don't believe you're a journalist. Or, you're not just a journalist."
"Well, I don't believe you're a translator, or just a translator. But we can still work together, Parisa."
"How would we do that?" she asked.
"I'd like you to talk to Ben, use your family connection to get in the door, maybe get me in the door. Ben won't know you have any idea that he could be involved in the Paris bombing."
"I'm not against helping to determine whether Ben was involved in a terrorist attack in Paris, but my priority right now is finding Jasmine."
"The events could be connected. Brothers of the Earth originated in Bezikstan. Have you heard of them?"
"I've heard the name, but I haven't been following politics in Bezikstan." She paused, her lips tightening. "Here's the problem—I just don't trust you, Jared MacIntyre—if that's even your real name."
"Jared is my name. And you don't have to trust me. You just have to trust your instincts."
"My instincts are telling me that probably every other word out of your mouth has been a lie."
"At least some of my words are true," he said lightly. "Don't forget I've saved your life twice."
"How could I forget when you keep reminding me?"
"That was the last time."
"Sure." She pushed her plate away. "Okay. Here's the deal. I need to drop out of sight for a while."
He liked that she was moving on to more practical matters. "I have the perfect place."
"I also need to pick up a prepaid phone, but I don't have any money. My purse is still at the consulate."
"I can help you out. Should I call you Officer or Special Agent or what?"
"Parisa works." She paused, giving him a hard look. "I want to make something else perfectly clear, Jared. If you are playing me, you will not be happy with my response."
Purposeful fire burned in her dark eyes, and his gut clenched with inexplicable desire. Since the first moment he'd seen her, he'd felt like he'd been sucker-punched. Even now, bruised and exhausted, she was stunning, and he was swimming into dangerous waters. This beautiful woman had a ruthless—possibly deadly—side. On the other hand, so did he.
"That goes both ways," he told her, then extended his hand across the table. "Shall we shake on it?"
She slid her hand into his, and he held on to her fingers for seconds too long, feeling again that odd sense of intense connection. He didn't know her. She didn't know him. They were both probably lying about a lot of things. But there was some innate truth between them.
One of these days, he'd figure out what that truth was.
Five
After leaving the diner, they picked up a prepaid phone at a drugstore, and then Jared drove her to an apartment building in Midtown Manhattan, parking in the underground garage. They took the elevator to the sixteenth floor and stepped into a one-bedroom unit that looked like it had been professionally decorated. The hardwood floors were slick and smooth. Recessed lights cast a beautiful glow over the gray sectional couch, black coffee table, and entertainment center. The adjacent kitchen gleamed with new appliances that were top of the line.
Peeking into the bedroom, she saw a king-sized bed with a black bedframe, matching tables, and some books on the nightstand. The way the books were situated felt more like décor than books that were actually being read. Also, notably, there were no personal items in the apartment: no photographs on the walls, no shoes kicked off by the coffee table, no used coffee mugs, or even an old magazine.
As she moved back into the middle of the living room, she glanced out the windows, taking in a rather amazi
ng view of Chelsea and the Hudson River. Turning back to Jared, she said, "This is much nicer than the last safe house I was in."
"It's not a safe house. This is my apartment."
"It doesn't feel like you actually live here."
"Well, I've been traveling recently, so I haven't completely made myself at home. You should be happy about that. The place is spotless."
"Does that mean you're normally a slob?"
"I wouldn't say that, but I don't spend a lot of time thinking about cleaning. There are more important things to worry about."
"Yes, there are," she said with a sigh, thinking about Jasmine and how every minute that passed made the odds of getting her back safe and unharmed that much longer.
"Can I get you anything?" he asked.
"Some water would be nice."
"Sure." He moved into the kitchen and opened the cupboard by the sink and then moved to the one by the stove and pulled out a glass.
So, he didn't know where his own glasses were kept—interesting. That just confirmed her suspicions that this place was a safe house or he'd moved in yesterday. He filled her glass with tap water and brought it back to her.
"I should have asked how you're feeling," he said. "Do you want some ice for your eye?"
"It's fine. It's not that bad."
"Most women would get more upset about a black eye."
"Well, I'm not most women."
He gave her a thoughtful look. "I'm beginning to realize that."
She wandered over to the window as she sipped her water. It was eight in the morning, and the city was waking up. In the distance, she could see the new Freedom Tower that had replaced the World Trade Center, destroyed in the attacks of 9/11. It rose up in the sky like a proud phoenix, and it made her feel happy to see it.
Closer in, the High Line Walkway built over old train tracks and now a popular walking and running path wound its way above the city streets. There were the shops and restaurants in Chelsea, a farmers' market a few blocks away and a parade getting ready to begin. Tourists were coming out of their hotels and venturing into cafés, ready to eat and walk and explore one of the biggest and most interesting cities in the world.
She'd thought about living in New York more than once, but the kind of work she did for the bureau kept her out in the field and renting an apartment that would be empty more often than not in one of the most expensive cities in the world did not seem like a good idea.
"Something interesting out there?" Jared asked, coming up next to her.
"There's already so much going on." She waved her hand toward the view. "Manhattan is chaotic, energized, vibrant, alive…"
"It is all that and more. The best part is the food. You can travel around the world in cuisine without walking more than a few blocks." He folded his arms in front of his broad chest. "From the way you're speaking about the city, I don't get the feeling you live here."
"I think you already know that I don't. I've been in San Francisco the last six months. It's a beautiful city, but a much different vibe."
"Where were you before that?"
She waved a careless hand. "Here, there, and everywhere. I move around a lot."
"With the state department?"
"Yes. And you still haven't told me how you know that about me."
"It's easy to find anything on the internet."
She let that go, because, clearly, he wasn't going to give her a direct answer. "What about you? Are you a native New Yorker?"
"I was born here, yes." A shadow moved through his eyes. "I've both loved and hated this city."
There was a ton of emotion packed behind his simple statement, and, for the first time, she felt like Jared had said something truthful. But he didn't seem inclined to continue talking.
He was definitely an enigma—a very interesting, handsome, sexy puzzle. Her fingers tingled in memory of the handshake they'd shared at the diner, reminding her that she needed to keep her wits about her. This man had an almost irresistible attractiveness. Last night, in his expensive suit, acting debonair and sophisticated, he'd given off a James Bond vibe. Today, in dark jeans and a gray pullover, a shadow of beard on his face, his eyes a bit tired from his sleepless night, he looked even more appealing.
As their gazes clung together, something shifted in his eyes. Unfortunately, she had a feeling he'd just pulled a curtain down, instead of up. Maybe he regretted his candid comment.
"I'm going to run out for a few minutes," he said, surprising her with his words.
"Where are you going?"
"I have to make a call."
"And you can't make it here?"
"I can, but I thought you might want some privacy to make your own calls. I'm being thoughtful and considerate," he added with a smile.
"Or using this opportunity to pursue your own secret agenda." But since she did want some privacy, she let it go at that.
"I won't be long," he said, as he headed to the door.
After he left, she punched in Damon's number. "It's me, Parisa," she said, when he answered. "I picked up a new phone."
"Good. Are you safe?"
"I think so. What's happening? How is Officer Briggs?"
"He has a concussion and is fuming about getting jumped. Otherwise, he's fine. Unfortunately, he did not see his assailant."
"I figured. Any word from the kidnappers?"
"Not yet. We're going through security cameras in the area near the consulate, hoping we get lucky and can pick up the kidnappers somewhere near the exit to the tunnel, but so far nothing. We're also interviewing guests, staffers, servers, anyone who was at the party last night, who might have seen something."
"What about the missing guard, the one who should have been on the back staircase?"
"In the wind. I do have one interesting piece of information. The security company that the Larimers hired to protect Jasmine and the diamond has only been in business for two months. The owner lives in South Africa and the number listed on the website is disconnected. The men who died were paid a lump sum of five thousand dollars the day before the party. They were both American, both veterans, and both dishonorably discharged—one for theft, the other for assault on a fellow officer. One is survived by a sister, who said she hadn't seen her brother in fifteen years. The other had no relatives."
"Who hired the company?"
"Phillip Larimer said Tim Hutchinson, the director of his security team at Larimer Enterprises, hired the company. Mr. Hutchinson had worked for the company for nine years. Phillip had no reason to distrust him."
"You said had worked…"
"You probably won't be surprised to learn that Mr. Hutchinson quit the company last week and left the country after draining his bank account. Phillip Larimer said the departure hadn't made him suspicious, because Hutchinson had been talking about wanting to retire for a long time, and that the security for the party had been put into place days earlier."
"So, Hutchinson hired a shady security company to guard a fifty-million-dollar diamond, and no one questioned him about the firm's credentials?"
"They trusted Hutchinson to do his job."
"What does Westley have to say about all this?"
"He's distraught, angry, and feels guilty that he should have done his due diligence on the security. He also said that because the consulate had its own security, they thought their guys were just extra muscle. Their sole mission was to protect the diamond."
"Is there any chance Westley is involved?" she asked.
"There's always that chance, but he has been very cooperative. He willingly turned over his phone and computer and spent most of the night talking to detectives and agents. He's not acting like anyone who has something to hide."
"How are the Kumars holding up?"
"Mr. Kumar went back to the consulate this morning."
"Is it safe?"
"It appears to be. However, the rest of the family, as well as the consulate staff, are staying at the Clairmont Hotel until the building ca
n be thoroughly cleaned. Mr. Kumar wanted to be there in case the kidnappers call that number with their demands. We have an agent with him. The police are also there, as well as the consulate security team."
"The kidnappers would be fools to believe that law enforcement wouldn't be listening in on any calls. I wonder if they'd reach out to someone else, someone not as visible, but who could pass the demands along to Mr. Kumar. The kidnappers might try to contact Westley. In fact, that makes more sense to me. The real money belongs to the Larimers."
"We have an agent at Westley's apartment and have strongly suggested that he not act on his own if he wants to save Jasmine's life."
"I hope he takes that advice, but we both know what desperation can make people do." She paused, as she looked out the window at the Freedom Tower. "We talked about political motivation last night. Anything new on that angle? Could Jasmine's kidnapping be tied to a rebel group in Bezikstan? Raj is a government official."
"I spoke to Mr. Kumar about that. He hasn't been in touch with anyone tied to a rebel faction. Nor has he received threats. He's been in the US for over a year, and while he does have connections with people in the government back home, he has no direct power to influence anything, so he can't imagine what anyone would want him to do. Or what he even could do. He's, of course, willing to cooperate in any way that will bring his daughter home."
"He must be terrified about Jasmine. The Kumars are a close family. My heart breaks for them."
"It's a tough situation," Damon agreed. "I also have one of our diamond experts tapping into his network of dealers. If someone tries to sell or cut the diamond, hopefully he'll know."
"Good."
"I'm still concerned about your safety, Parisa. Obviously, you weren't expected to survive last night's attack, and when you did, someone tried to shut you up. Have you remembered anything else that might be helpful?"
"No. I'm making a lousy witness."
"You're not just a witness, you're also a victim. And you were still coming down off the toxic fumes in your bloodstream. If anyone should be feeling guilty, it's me. I put you in that safe house. I'm wondering if someone at the bureau leaked the information—maybe Rowland. I saw Vincent this morning in Deputy Director Hunt's office."
Elusive Promise GO PL 2 Page 5
