"What did he say?"
"He expressed all the right sentiments, including concern for your health. Both Rowland and Hunt want you to come into the office, so we can get you additional protection."
"That's not going to happen, especially not with Vincent hanging around. I need to stay off the bureau's radar. We probably shouldn't use your phone anymore."
"This is a new number since Christmas and is only known by the five people in our group. I don't use the phone for anything else. We're okay."
"All right. Before you go, Damon, I need to talk to you about something else. I don't know if it's connected, but it might be."
"What's that?"
"About three weeks ago, there was a bombing at Café Douceur in Paris. A radical group called Brothers of the Earth, that has ties to Bezikstan, took credit for the attack. Two names have come to my attention: Sara Pillai and Isaac Naru. Sara grew up in Bezikstan and was living in Paris at the time of the attack. Her stepbrother, Isaac, has ties to Brothers of the Earth, and he was also believed to be in Paris when the bomb exploded. Can you find out what the bureau knows about the attack and whether Isaac or Sara have surfaced anywhere since the blast? I'd love to know if they're in New York City."
"I can do that," he said slowly. "But do you want to tell me where you're getting this information?"
"Yes." She took a breath, her grip tightening on the phone. "I didn't escape the safe house attack on my own. The man from the party—the one who pulled me out of Jasmine's bedroom—also found me at the safe house. He followed us there from the hospital. He was going to wait outside until dawn to speak to me, but when he saw the man in uniform go into the building and leave the front door opened, he followed."
"What the hell?" Damon exclaimed. "We were followed from the hospital? I checked for a tail several times."
"I'm pretty sure the guy is in law enforcement; I just don't know which branch. But he definitely has skills to avoid detection. He claims his name is Jared MacIntyre and that he's a freelance journalist chasing down a story on the Paris bombing. He was at the consulate party because the woman I just mentioned, Sara Pillai, is believed to have been dating Benjamin Langdon, while Ben was studying abroad in Paris. The Langdons are very close to the Kumars. I knew the family from my time in Bezikstan and spoke to Ben and his father last night."
"You got all this information from the journalist?"
"Yes. He alleges that he was following me because he saw me talking to the Langdons and figured I might help him get more information on Ben since he saved my life at the consulate."
"And you believe him?"
"I believe some of what he's telling me. Like I said, I think he's working for someone—I just don't know who."
"I'll run him through our databases. Where is he now?"
"I'm not sure," she hedged. "But he'll be back."
"You're playing with fire, Parisa."
"Maybe. But my gut tells me Jared is not a danger to me. He did save me twice."
"Because he wants something from you."
"Yes. But I don't mind helping him get to Ben if it means finding who might have been behind the terrorist attack. And if that event is tied to Jasmine's kidnapping, then he might have given us the best lead we have."
"He could have given that lead to the police or to the bureau—why didn't he?"
"I don't know. And I probably have no right to ask this of you, Damon, but could you keep his name off this lead until we know who Jared is? If he does work with another agency, we could suddenly find ourselves tied up in red tape and territorial fighting. That will only slow down the search for Jasmine."
"I can do that for now. I'll start digging into everything you gave me."
"Great. I'm going to talk to Anika and Kenisha today. Call me if you find out anything."
"You do the same, and watch your back, Parisa. You're still a very loose end."
"I know." As she ended the call, the apartment door opened. She was relieved to see Jared, although that seemed like a foolish thought. He could be as dangerous as anyone.
"Any news?" he asked, a curious gleam in his green eyes.
She slid her phone into the pocket of her coat. "Not really. What about you?"
"Same."
"Well, we're not getting too far too fast," she said dryly, quite sure he'd gotten an update from someone.
He gave her a smile that sent an unwelcome wave of heat through her body. She couldn't remember the last time a man's smile had had such an effect on her. She reminded herself it was a smile she couldn't trust and to think otherwise would be foolish.
"Something wrong?" he asked with a quirk of his brow, as his gaze swept her face. "You seem a little on edge."
"I'm debating my next move."
"I didn't realize translators had moves," he quipped.
"I'm feeling more like a detective at the moment. I want to do everything I can to help find my friend. The Kumars are staying at the Clairmont Hotel. I'd like to check in on them."
"Good idea. I'll drive you."
"Fine, but you're not coming inside. I can't bring a stranger into their midst. Not now. Not after everything that has happened."
"I understand, but perhaps you can find out if they've been in touch with Ben or the Langdons."
"I can probably work that into the conversation."
"How did you find out they're staying in a hotel?"
She shrugged. "A friend told me that while Mr. Kumar is at the consulate with several law enforcement officials, the vents in the building are still being cleaned, so family and staff are staying in the hotel." She paused. "Where did you go?"
"I had to check in with one of my friends," he said, deliberately using her word.
"Did your friend have anything to say?"
"Unfortunately, no."
She wondered if that were true, or if Jared was holding out on her, but she was going to concentrate on what she needed to do next.
"Are you ready to go now?" Jared asked.
"Actually, I'd like to take a shower and change clothes first, if that's all right."
"The bedroom and bath are yours," he said, with a wave of his hand. "And the bedroom door locks, in case you were wondering."
"Good. But I'm not afraid of you."
"Why not?" he challenged.
"Because I still have my gun." She took it out of the waistband of her leggings as a pointed reminder that she could take care of herself.
He smiled and then pulled up his long-sleeve shirt and took out his own gun.
She couldn't stop her jaw from dropping. "Why didn't you show your gun before—like in the safe house when I was being attacked?"
"I didn't need to."
Her gaze narrowed. "Since when do reporters carry guns?"
"It's a dangerous world, Parisa."
"Don't I know it," she muttered, grabbing the handle of her suitcase and dragging it into the bedroom. She didn't bother to lock the door, because he could easily break through the flimsy lock. And while she didn't know who he really was or what his long-term game was, her instinct told her she could trust him—for now.
Six
Jared put his gun down on the table, waiting to hear the click of the lock on the bedroom door, but it didn't come. He was surprised. Parisa definitely didn't trust him, but, apparently, she trusted him enough. He wished he could say the same.
She'd clearly been speaking to someone in law enforcement, probably the man she'd called earlier. And she had some kind of credentials. If she'd just been a witness to the kidnapping, she would not have been given any facts about what was happening at the consulate or where the Kumars were now staying.
If he had to guess, he'd say she was FBI. Her driver to the safe house had been Special Agent Damon Wolfe. And when she'd made her call from the car earlier, even though she'd been careful in her word choices, it had been clear that she knew the person she was speaking to.
Pulling his laptop computer from the top drawer of his desk, he ope
ned it, and logged into an encrypted site. There, he found a copy of the police report that Gary had sent him—the interview between the police and Parisa. He skimmed through the report, noting that Parisa had stated that she'd gone upstairs with Jasmine, because the bride-to-be wanted a break from all the attention. Had that really been it?
The kidnappers had only put the toxins in the third-floor ventilation system, which was a newer system and separate from the one servicing the first two floors. Someone had to know that Jasmine would go upstairs. Had Parisa actually been the one to set Jasmine up? To get her to go to her bedroom?
His gaze narrowed on that thought. But that would make Parisa a conspirator, and he didn't believe that. If he hadn't found her and gotten her out of the bedroom, she could have easily died along with the guards.
But who else would have known that Jasmine would even go upstairs during the party?
Or had the kidnappers planned to do it later that evening?
He frowned, hating when a piece of the puzzle didn't fit. Jasmine could have easily gone home with Westley that night. In fact, she probably would have.
There was something he was missing. But what?
Leaving that question hanging, he spent the next fifteen minutes reading through witness statements, none of which were of value to the investigation as far as he could see. He noted that Gordon Roberts, the security guard who had been posted at the back stairway, had disappeared. Two waiters had also vanished after the kidnapping—Victor Salgetti and Ray Bateen. Gary was already researching the three men, and he was sure the other agencies involved were doing the same. Hopefully, someone had left a clue behind.
Clicking out of the police report, he pulled up photos of Sara Pillai and Isaac Naru. He wanted to show them to Parisa. She claimed she'd never heard of them, but there might be a chance she'd seen them somewhere, possibly at the party.
Sara was a slim girl of twenty-two, with brown hair that she almost always wore in a ponytail. She had striking features, and he could certainly see why twenty-one-year-old Ben had fallen for her. The photograph of her had been taken in Paris a week before the explosion. She and Ben had had a picnic in front of the Eiffel Tower and Ben appeared to be completely infatuated with the woman sitting on the blanket across from him.
The moment, the relationship, seemed innocent and not at all noteworthy, if not for what had happened a week later.
His gaze moved to the second photo. Isaac Naru was a short and stocky man of twenty-nine years, with a square face and a brooding, shifty expression. His photo had been caught by a security camera at London's Heathrow Airport as he'd waited to board a plane to Paris three days before the explosion. Had he been contemplating what he was about to do?
Neither step-siblings had been seen since the blast at the café. There had been no record of them leaving Paris or arriving anywhere else. Ben had departed Paris four days after the blast. He'd taken a direct flight to JFK Airport. For the past two weeks, he'd been staying with his parents at the apartment they'd rented a year earlier. Ben didn't appear to be taking classes, although he had not yet graduated from Everly.
He opened another computer window and pulled up a photograph of Ben that he'd taken at the party. He really wished now that he'd made a move on Ben while he'd had the chance. He'd been waiting to see if he'd connect with Sara or Isaac, but he'd waited too long.
He heard a click and as the bedroom door opened, his attention moved to Parisa. She'd changed out of her leggings into dark-blue jeans and a cream-colored ribbed V-neck sweater that clung to some very nice, full breasts.
A knot entered his throat as his gaze moved to her face. Her eye was not as swollen as it had been, but there was purple-and-black bruising around the lid and the bridge of her nose.
Despite the bruises, she had beautiful features with her wide-set dark eyes, long, sweeping lashes, and a sexy mouth. Her skin had a warm, honey-glow, and was creamy, no freckles or skin spots—nothing to mar the perfection.
His pulse sped up as she looked back at him, as he felt the strong pull of attraction that had hit him the first moment he'd seen her. For a split second, at the party, he'd almost forgotten why he was there, what he was supposed to be doing. And he couldn't make that mistake now.
It wasn't going to be easy to concentrate with her around, but he would have to find a way. Later…maybe later…they could explore some other distractions.
Not that she'd probably stick around for later.
Not that he probably would, either.
But there was something exciting about that, too.
Parisa cleared her throat, as if her thoughts had been going down the same dangerous road. "What are you doing?" she asked.
He tried to remember what he was doing, but the blood in his brain was rushing to other parts of his body.
"On the computer," she added.
"Right. I want to show you some photos."
She moved next to him and peered over his shoulder as she took a look at the three pictures. "I recognize Ben, of course. I'm guessing the woman is Sara Pillai?"
"Yes. And the other guy is her stepbrother, Isaac Naru. Have you seen them before? Did you notice if either Sara or Isaac were at the party?"
She immediately shook her head. "I'm sure I've never seen them. When were the photos of Ben and Sara taken?"
"Several days before the blast."
"Ben looks happy, carefree, not like someone about to do something terrible."
"Maybe he didn't know what his girlfriend was involved in."
"Are you sure she was his girlfriend?"
"Look at the photo."
"I see two people having a picnic."
"They were inseparable for a week, spending every day and every night together." He paused, deciding to tell her a bit more. "Sara had been working in Paris for about two months before Ben showed up there during his study abroad program. She was a waitress at the Café Douceur."
"That's interesting." She pulled out a chair and sat down across from him. "What about Isaac?"
"He had been working in London but quit his job about six weeks before the explosion. He made a trip to Bezikstan during that time and another trip to Mumbai. When he got to Paris, he stayed at a hostel."
"Not with his sister?"
"Sara had three roommates in a very small flat. But once Ben arrived, she was staying in his hotel room."
Parisa gave him a thoughtful look. "You know a lot about them, Jared."
"I do my research."
"Was Sara working at the café the day of the blast?"
"She called in sick. Good timing, huh?" he asked, unable to hide the bitter note in his voice.
Parisa immediately picked up on it, her gaze narrowing. "This feels personal, Jared."
"I tend to get personally involved in my stories. It's a bad habit, but sometimes it makes the end result better. Because I care, I go the extra mile."
"Right. That might be true, but I don't really believe you. At any rate, you said the authorities are looking for Sara and Isaac, and I would assume for other members of this radical group. Why don't you just let them do it? Or work with them?"
"If the authorities find them before I do, that's great, but the more days that pass, the greater the odds that anyone will be held responsible for that explosion."
"All right," she said, getting to her feet. "I appreciate you sharing the pictures with me, and I think your goal is a good one. I would love to take down these terrorists, but right now, I need to focus on Jasmine."
"I understand."
"Are you ready to go to the hotel?"
"Sure." He closed the computer. "Before we leave—why do you think the kidnappers set up the toxin for the third floor when Jasmine had been staying at Westley's house almost every night last week? How could they guarantee she'd ever go up there with the ring on her finger?"
She stared back at him. "That came up in my discussion with the police. I don't have an answer. Although, I do believe that we were in Jasmine's
bedroom. Her purse was there. She moved it from the couch to the table. I'm sure she would have gone upstairs to get it at some point, even if she was planning on leaving the building."
He nodded. "Good point. Have any other details from last night come back into your head?"
"I just remember seeing men's shoes go by. There are garbled sounds in my head, but I can't identify the word—if any were spoken. I might be imagining it. The sound could have come from my heart pounding loudly against my chest." She took a breath. "I knew—I just knew that if I gave into unconsciousness, I'd never wake up."
"Maybe that's why you survived. You were fighting." He gave her a thoughtful look. "Just like you were fighting last night when that guy was choking you."
At his words, she put her hand to her throat, and he could still see the faint traces of redness on her skin.
"I would have taken him down," she said. "I just needed one more second to get leverage."
"If you had one more second. You're not lacking in confidence, I'll say that."
"Neither are you."
He tipped his head. "That's true. I'm also a fighter. I don't quit."
"I don't quit, either. Let's go to the Clairmont. We'll have a better chance finding answers there than here."
* * *
The Saturday traffic was crazy busy. Jared maneuvered through crowded side streets in an attempt to make his way around several parades. It took them almost an hour to go about four miles, and the clock had just passed ten thirty. Every minute that passed seemed like one more minute wasted. Parisa grew increasingly frustrated. They needed information, a lead, something…
It would have been faster to take the subway, but she wasn't ready to throw herself into a big crowd just yet. There would be too many faces to scan, too few escape routes.
"We don't have a tail," Jared said, as she not only glanced in her sideview mirror but also looked over her shoulder. "I've been watching."
"Damon was watching last night, and he didn't see you."
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