"When did you know there were problems?"
"I didn't know most of it until the night we left, but my stepfather had been hearing rumblings for a while. Things were changing. There was income disparity. The government felt elitist to many of its residents. And they didn't like that America was having what they felt was too big of an influence on political matters. They wanted us gone. My stepfather didn't want to shut down the embassy. He thought he could win the diplomatic war if he could keep people talking. But they didn't give him a chance to talk more. They overran the gates one night. There were guns going off, grenades tossed into the courtyard. One of the Marine guards was killed. His name was Stan Sutherland. I still remember him. He used to give me licorice."
She drew in a breath and squared her shoulders, as if battling the pain of her memories. "Anyway, we had to leave through a tunnel. I know—the irony of another embassy tunnel has not escaped me. We ended up in a school yard. We waited there for the helicopter to come and rescue us."
"You were all together, or did Harry stay behind?"
"We were together until the last minute. The helicopter landed, and we were all running toward it. But I stumbled and fell."
He leaned forward, seeing remembered terror in her eyes. "What happened?"
"My parents were busy getting the staff and their families on board. They didn't realize I'd fallen. And then the rebels found us. They started shooting. I froze. I thought I was going to die. But someone grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. He ran me to the helicopter and pushed me on board, just as it was about to take off. He truly saved my life."
"Who was he?"
She stared back at him. "Neil Langdon—Ben's father."
He sucked in a breath. "Really?"
She nodded. "Yes. Neil helped us escape, but he didn't come with us. Neil was a British citizen, and Elizabeth's family lived in Bezikstan, so they felt safe to stay there. It was the Americans the rebels wanted out."
"So, you owe Neil your life." He found that fact to be disturbing. Would Parisa want to protect Neil's son because of what Neil had done for her?
"I do owe him my life," she agreed.
"And you don't want his son, Ben, to be a terrorist."
"I really don't. But…"
He was relieved to hear the word. "But?"
She met his gaze. "I'm not a sixteen-year-old girl anymore. And that bomb blast in Paris killed two people. If Ben knows anything about it, then he needs to share it with the authorities, so the bombers can be brought to justice."
"I'm glad to hear you say that. Because I did get a piece of information while you were sleeping."
She straightened in her chair. "What was that?"
"Sara Pillai used her former roommate's passport to enter the country. She arrived at JFK yesterday morning. She's here in New York City."
"Why didn't you tell me that before?"
"I'm telling you now."
"Neil told us Ben was out with friends. Maybe he's with Sara."
"If they're together, they're in the shadows. I have no idea where Sara went after she left the airport."
Parisa gave him a troubled look. "Maybe we need to put more eyes on her. I think we should call the FBI."
"The FBI and various other agencies have been looking for Sara since the blast."
"Maybe not in New York City."
"Feel free to share that information, but I'd prefer if you didn't say where you got it."
"Fine. What name did she travel under?"
"Melissa Holmes."
She pulled out her phone and sent a text.
"I assume that the reason you decided to text and not call your friend is because you've already discussed Sara with the FBI?"
"Yes. I mentioned there could be a connection between the blast and the kidnapping, especially since the terror group originated in Bezikstan. Do you have a problem with that?"
"No. I figured you shared the information. I don't have a problem if someone else finds Sara and Isaac before I do. I just want them to be found. As for Ben, I think you have a better shot of getting information out of him than law enforcement."
"Possibly. Who are you working with, Jared?"
"I have someone who helps me with research."
"Is that a woman?"
"No, it's a man. Does that matter?"
"Just curious." She paused. "Do you have a woman in your life? This apartment has some feminine touches but nothing that personal."
"The feminine touches are from the interior designer. And I'm currently single. You?"
"I'm also single. And I'm not unhappy about it. I have plenty of time for whatever else I may want."
"I wasn't going to suggest you're unhappy." He wondered about her defensive tone.
"Good, because I'm not, even though my mother thinks I need a man to complete my life."
"Which you don't."
"Damned right I don't." She got up and took her bowl and his to the sink. "Since you cooked, I'm going to do the dishes."
"You don't have to do that."
"It's not a big deal. And it's not like I don't have time."
He smiled. "We do have a rather long night ahead of us. What do you want to do?"
Her cheeks turned pink. "I don't know. Go to bed. I mean, you can use your bed. I'll sleep on the couch."
"All right."
She seemed surprised by his acquiescence. "Okay then."
"But I'm not tired yet, and I can't imagine you would be after your nap," he said.
"We could go on the computer and do some research."
"Sure."
"And then we could watch TV or talk."
"Or whatever," he added, just to see her blush again.
"We're not doing whatever. I already told you that."
"Well, if you change your mind—"
"I won't," she said, cutting him off. "Let me finish this and then we'll decide what to do."
* * *
Doing the dishes wasn't quite as good as a cold shower, but it was a nice distraction from Jared, who seemed to get sexier and more irresistible by the moment. Parisa almost wished he hadn't told her about losing his mom on 9/11. He'd painted such a vivid picture of that day, she'd felt like she was reliving it with him, and his heartbreak, his anger, had been palpable. His emotions had made him seem much more real to her, much more likeable, because he'd shared his pain with her.
She tried to tell herself that that had probably been the point of his sharing, that he wanted her to like him, to trust him. But that felt too cynical for this situation. While Jared clearly had secrets, his agenda felt patriotic, honorable. Or did she just want that to be the case?
Shaking her head, she finished loading the dishwasher and then turned it on, her gaze moving over to Jared. He'd put his laptop computer on the kitchen table and was intensely studying the screen. He always seemed to be simmering…burning to get to an answer or a truth. And she didn't think he ever willingly gave up.
But why was he so fixated on the Paris explosion? Was there something to it that she didn't know?
Jared looked up from the computer and gave her a nod. "You done?"
"Yes." She moved out of the kitchen and pulled a chair up next to him. "What are you working on?"
"Just checking the news," he said, as he closed the laptop. "Wondering if there would be anything about the kidnapping."
"Was there?"
"Nothing we don't know."
"So, why did you close the computer so quickly?"
He shrugged. "Habit."
"You're used to being secretive?"
"I'm used to guarding my information. You can't break a big story if there are too many leaks."
"Well, I'm not competing with you on a story."
He tipped his head. "Good point."
"At any rate, I was thinking that Brothers of the Earth sounds solidly male. Are you sure Sara is a part of it?"
"I don't know how involved she is. Only men are official members, but there are plenty of w
omen around—wives, girlfriends, siblings. The fact that she worked at the targeted explosion site and called in sick that day leads me to believe she knew what was coming. She could have done something to warn the people she worked with, but she didn't. She's complicit in their deaths."
"Maybe she was scared."
"So what?" he asked harshly. "People died."
"I know it's not an excuse; I'm just trying to get a handle on her. One thing I'm curious about—you were watching Ben at the party. If you wanted to talk to him, why didn't you? Why did you wait?"
"Believe me, I very much regret that. I wanted to see if he was there to meet with Sara and Isaac, but I left it too long. It was a mistake."
She could see the anger in his eyes. "And you don’t like to make mistakes."
"No, I don't, not when there are lives on the line. This isn't over, Parisa. They're going to act again. And if they have a fifty-million-dollar diamond, plus another ten million in ransom coming their way, the results could be catastrophic. We have to stop them."
"We will. We'll find a way. Don't give up now, Mr. Confidence."
At her light jab, he blew out a breath, his tension easing at her words. "I'm not giving up. I'm just frustrated, and I hate doing nothing. So, what do you want to do? Watch television? Play cards?"
"Are those my only choices?" she asked.
He gave her a sexy grin. "I have other ideas, but unless you've changed your mind about getting a little closer…"
"I haven't," she said quickly. Or had she?
Eleven
Parisa forced that silly question out of her head. Of course she hadn't changed her mind about fooling around with Jared. "Let's play cards," she said decisively.
"All right. How about poker?"
"As long as it's not strip poker."
"That would make things more interesting."
"Not going to happen," she told him, even though the idea of seeing Jared without clothes was more than a little appealing.
"I thought you'd be more adventurous." Jared got up from the table and opened a nearby drawer, pulling out an unopened pack of cards.
"I'm adventurous. Want to skydive, bungee jump, climb up the face of a skyscraper, I'm your girl, but sex with a mystery man who could be married, be a criminal, or be gone before the sun comes up—not so much."
He sat down across from her and opened the cards, shuffling them like a well-trained dealer. "I'm not married, and I'm not a criminal."
"What about the last part?"
"I could be gone before the sun comes up—if I had a good reason to leave."
"There you go."
"But I think you could do the same—if you had a good reason."
"Maybe," she admitted. "Which is why playing cards and not having sex is the best decision."
"I'd call it a decision, but definitely not the best one," he drawled.
She smiled, enjoying their charged-up conversation and the fact that she felt more like herself than she had in a long time. As he shuffled the cards again, she said, "Did you by chance work at a casino?"
"For a few months actually—in Las Vegas. I worked high stakes poker."
"Sounds like there's a story there."
"It was interesting to watch what people are willing to gamble, how good they are at hiding their emotions, what makes them sweat, and how they interact with people they think are equals versus those who are clearly beneath them."
"I'm guessing they don't act well."
"That probably wasn't a difficult guess since you have moved in a world of privilege."
"That's true. I have met a lot of people with money, but the ones who impressed me the most were the ones who used their financial status to make the world better. I don't have a lot of patience for materialistic people. Not when I've seen so much suffering. I wish there was more sharing of wealth, more working together, because when people do that, lives can be forever changed."
"Did you see that suffering as the stepdaughter of a diplomat or as a translator?"
"A little of both," she said quickly, realizing how much she was giving away. "So, what are we playing?"
"Your call—poker, Crazy Eights, Go Fish, gin rummy, blackjack?"
"Let's play blackjack."
"Fine, I'll be the house."
"Great. We both know the house always wins."
"You want to be the house?"
"No. I like bigger odds," she said. "The challenge of beating the house makes it more interesting."
He smiled at her. "Ah, your competitive spirit is kicking in. Shall we play for money?"
"Since I don't have any money at the moment, let's play for something else."
"You already ruled out stripping."
"Yes, I did. Let's play for information. Loser has to answer one personal question about themselves, and it cannot be a lie."
"All right," he said, with another shuffle. "Let's do it." He dealt the cards, one to her, one to him, then another to her face down, while he placed his second card face up; it was a jack.
"Damn," she muttered. She had the terrible feeling he had an ace under there or another face card, and she had a six and a nine for a total of fifteen.
"You want a card?" Jared asked.
She should hit on fifteen. It was a logical move, but Jared seemed to be a man upon whom luck smiled. Still, if she didn't hit, he could beat her with a lot of combinations. "Hit me."
He put down an eight—twenty-three. Bust.
Then he turned over his second card—a queen, for twenty. "You lose."
"Fine, what's your question?" she asked with a disgruntled sigh.
"Who was your last boyfriend and why did you break up?"
She was happy the questions were more personal than professional. "That's two questions," she complained.
"Fine, answer the first one."
"His name was Paul. He was a good guy."
"But not good for you?"
She shook her head. "He didn't understand or appreciate the demands of my job. Mostly, because he never wanted to talk about what I did, only what he did."
"Sounds like a loser."
"He was like a lot of men I dated—more interested in themselves than in me."
"I doubt that."
"I'm talking about beyond the bedroom. I haven't met many men who wanted to know the real me."
"Do you show people the real you—even if they ask?"
She stared back at him, knowing that this shadowy, mystery man probably knew as much about keeping secrets as she did. "You'd be surprised how few ask."
"I'm asking."
"Only because you have an agenda."
"Not completely true."
"But partially true."
A slow smile spread across his face. "You've actually made me open up more than I normally do."
"Right back at you, Jared. Is that your real name?"
"Yes. Is Parisa your real name?"
"You know it is. You've done research on me."
"And you've done research on me. Or you've had your friend do it for you."
"There's very little about you on the internet. You clearly are not someone who is posting cat pictures on social media."
"Not a cat fan. Dogs all the way."
"What? How can you say that? Kittens are so cute."
"And completely indifferent. They can love any warm body whereas a dog is loyal, devoted, family."
She thought about that. "You're more like a cat than a dog, so it's interesting that you wouldn't pick that animal for a pet."
"Maybe because I want more in a pet."
"Well, I like cats, and I like dogs, for different reasons. But really, any animal is precious. I never got to have a pet when I was growing up, because we moved all the time. What about you?"
"We always had dogs, mostly Labs, a couple of golden retrievers. They were way too big for our city apartment, but my dad grew up in the country, and he loved having dogs in the house. My mom wasn't nearly as excited about it, but she lov
ed my dad, so…"
As his expression softened, she said, "It sounds like they had a great relationship."
"To me, it looked awesome. They fought, but never with meanness. It was always just small irritations, and usually my dad would end up making my mom laugh, and suddenly they were kissing. She used to say he was a charmer."
"I think you take after him."
He smiled. "Maybe a little."
"Okay, we got off track. Deal the cards."
The next hand gave her blackjack, which made her very happy. "Okay, I'm going to go with your questions—last girlfriend and why you broke up."
"Her name was Carrie. And we broke up because she used me."
"How did she do that?" she asked curiously.
"You already got your two answers."
"But we're still on the topic of Carrie. So, it counts. Go on."
"A friend of mine is a movie producer. Carrie was a model, who wanted to be an actress, and she thought I could get her there."
"I did not expect that to be what she wanted. Who's your friend? Has he produced anything I might have seen?"
"His name is Larry Corker. His latest movie was Tears in a Bottle, named after a Jim Croce song."
"I didn’t see it, but I saw the trailer. That movie was super popular."
"Larry is a good producer, and he had a fascination with the singer who wrote the song and then died in a tragic plane crash."
"Where did you meet him?"
"College. First day of freshman year. There was a blowout party in the dorm, and Larry came to school as a rather protected kid. He'd never gone wild, and he made up for it in one night. He actually passed out in the hallway, naked. I found him in the morning, got him some clothes, gave him some coffee. He was mortified. He thought he'd already ruined his college experience, but I got him over the hump. We became good friends. And he continues to pay me back with private screening invites."
"Did you try to get Carrie in to see him?"
"No. I don't use my friends. That pissed her off. She said everyone uses everyone, so what's the big deal? And that if I wanted something, I wouldn't hesitate to do whatever I needed to do to get it."
Elusive Promise GO PL 2 Page 11
