Elusive Promise GO PL 2

by Barbara Freethy

  But that something needed to stay on the back burner.

  He doubted he'd have trouble convincing Parisa of that fact. She had her priorities straight. Find Jasmine. That was all that mattered.

  And he did want to find Jasmine, but he also wanted to find April's killers. It was beginning to look like they might be one and the same, which would make it easier. Neither he nor Parisa would have to choose their target over the other. At least, that's the way he hoped it worked out.

  Maybe Ben would tell the FBI something that would be useful, and since Parisa was an agent and had Damon Wolfe as her inside eyes and ears, they would be able to stay in the loop.

  But for now, he was going to put all that on hold. His stomach was rumbling, and he always thought better when he wasn't hungry.

  Concentrating on the road, he drove down the Palisades Interstate Highway until he got to another river park and headed into the parking lot, where the taco truck was one of six trucks serving up food.

  It was two o'clock on Sunday afternoon, past the lunch hour, but there were still plenty of people buying food. After ordering an assortment of tacos, they sat down at a picnic table with their food and two cold beers. The sun was still bright, the air warming to the mid-fifties.

  He faced the parking lot, giving Parisa the view of Manhattan on the other side of the river. He wanted to make sure he was ready in case someone found them again. He felt confident that they hadn't had a tail on their way out of the city, but he didn't want to underestimate whoever was after Parisa.

  The tacos were just as good as he remembered. They'd opted for fish, chicken, and beef, and he couldn't help smiling as Parisa worked her way quickly through two of them. She ate almost as fast as he did, something else they had in common.

  She gave him a pointed look. "You're staring at me."

  "Appreciating your enthusiasm," he said, thinking that wasn't all he was appreciating. The pink in her sweater brought out her eyes and her smile made him feel warm all over.

  "I'm always enthusiastic about food," she said with a more relaxed expression than she'd had earlier. The tacos were clearly doing the trick at easing her tension.

  "Me, too," he admitted.

  She finished her last bite and took a long swig of beer. "I don't love beer, but today it tastes exactly right. This was the perfect choice, Jared."

  "I'm glad it didn't disappoint."

  "Have you been here before?"

  "Many times, especially when I was in high school."

  "It's been around that long?"

  "I'm not that old."

  She laughed. "You're at least on the other side of thirty."

  "By a few years. You?"

  "A little less than a few. But the fact that you might be a tad older does not make you wiser."

  "You think you're smarter than me?" he challenged, resting his forearms on the table.

  "I'd say I'm as smart."

  "Is that really what you want to say?" he teased.

  She laughed. "No, but I'm sticking with it. And you're getting to know me a little too well."

  "Playing cards with you made some facts inescapable." He paused, wanting to know even more about her. "When did you decide to join the FBI?"

  "When they asked me. It wasn't even on my radar. I'd always planned to work for the state department as my stepfather did, and I was working as a translator in DC when the FBI recruited me. I was intrigued by their offer. I was a little bored just translating and transcribing. I wanted to make a difference in a bigger way. And, as we've just discussed, I have a competitive drive and a thirst for achievement. I like pressure and big moments. I like putting it all on the line for the greater good. And the FBI gave me a chance to do that, so I signed on." She paused, giving him a knowing glance. "You like that, too."

  "Adrenaline can be addicting," he agreed. "How long have you been an agent?"

  "A little over four years."

  "Has the bloom worn off the rose?"

  "That happened awhile ago, but I've enjoyed my different assignments."

  "What were you doing in San Francisco?"

  "Classified."

  He tipped his head. "Got it. What about your family? Do they know you're an agent?"

  "No. My stepfather would handle it well, but my mom would just worry about me, and I don't see the point of putting her through that. They are thrilled that I get to travel as a translator and don't ask too many questions. Sometimes I think Harry knows, but he hasn't said anything."

  "What about extended family? Do you have any?"

  "Harry has a sister and a brother-in-law and a couple of kids who are older than me. They live in various parts of Connecticut. They are all married with children. But we see them on some holidays. On my mom's side, my grandfather went back to India a long time ago, and I don't even know him. I think my mother speaks to him occasionally, but probably no more than once a year, if that. There's still bitterness between them, because she felt like he abandoned us, which he did."

  "I can see why she'd feel that way—why you'd feel that way, too."

  "Their estrangement made it more difficult for me to relate to that side of my family. My grandfather has some siblings in India, and they also have children, but I've never met any of them. As for my biological dad's family, I haven't seen him or them since I was three years old. I'm connected by blood to a lot of people I've never met. It's strange. But I've learned over the years that family is really the people in your life you can count on—at least for me." She took another sip of beer. "Now, it's your turn, Jared. What's your story? How did you come to be in the CIA? Was it because of 9/11?"

  "Yes. Before that, I wanted to be a basketball player or a sports writer or maybe work in film."

  "Okay—those are all different choices."

  "The sky was the limit, until I realized it wasn't. After 9/11, everything in my life changed. Things I thought were important were meaningless. Every problem I'd ever had seemed incredibly trivial. I knew I had to do something that would honor my mother's death and make her proud. I wanted to stop the terrorists before they got to US soil. The CIA, with its global perspective, seemed the best place to do that."

  "Do you still think so?"

  "I don't know," he admitted. "There are a lot more politics than I ever expected and so many gray areas. The best way for the agency to get intel is to work with people who are doing terrible things and try to turn them. I sometimes have a problem with who we're protecting and at what cost."

  "Like the asset in Brothers of the Earth."

  He nodded. "Exactly. I don't know who that person is, because it's above my pay grade. But I do know that they're still alive, still working with the terrorists, while April is dead. I understand it on a purely logical, strategic level, but…"

  "But your heart hurts," she said simply, meeting his gaze.

  "Yeah, it does. I can't stop wondering if the asset knew that April was being targeted, and if they stayed quiet, if they let her die."

  "And no one will tell you that?"

  "I don't have a need to know."

  "That's a popular phrase at the agency."

  "Too popular and used to conceal more than it should."

  "Didn't anyone else go to bat for you, Jared? There must be other people at the CIA who would want to see April get justice."

  "As I said, I made a few mistakes after April died, and that shut down my pipeline of information. Besides slugging a deputy director, my boss is afraid I'm too personally invested. She thinks that will lead to mistakes. She assures me that everything that needs to be done is being done."

  "But you don't believe her."

  "No. I think they'll sacrifice justice for April to get more intel from the asset."

  "Maybe that's not a horrible thing," she said slowly.

  He frowned. "Really? You don't think that's a horrible thing?"

  "I'm just wondering if the justice can come later—if preventing future attacks isn't the more important goal. And I think
you've wondered the same thing."

  He shrugged, not wanting to admit that. "Here's what I think—we can get justice and take down the group at the same time. We can go on offense, instead of continuing to play catch-up, to work some asset, who clearly couldn't prevent what happened at the Café Douceur or chose not to."

  "Do you think there's a sympathizer in the CIA who is protecting this asset for another reason?"

  "I can't rule it out."

  "Well, I hope you can achieve your goals, Jared, but let's face it, it's a big ask. This terrorist group is spread across a couple of continents. Tearing down the entire organization is going to take a lot of manpower."

  "Right now, I just want to take down Isaac and Sara, and I'm betting Isaac is in the city, too. I also think they're connected to Jasmine and the diamond. It's all part of a big play for a tremendous windfall. And you know what they're going to do with all that cash—wreak havoc on the world."

  "You're starting to kill the glow of my taco happiness," she murmured.

  "Sorry."

  She rested her arms on the table and gazed into his eyes. "What are we going to do now, Jared?"

  "I honestly don't know. Do you have any ideas?"

  "We could go back to the Kumars. They should be happy to see me again. I'm sure they've been notified of Ben's involvement by now, and the fact that I found him and turned him over to the bureau would put me in a heroic light."

  "True, but I'm not sure what there is to gain by talking to the Kumars. They're not going to know anything until tomorrow at ten when the ransom is supposed to be paid."

  "There has to be something we can do. I can't just do nothing."

  "I'm not thrilled with the idea, either. Hopefully, your pal Damon will come up with some good information."

  "I should turn my phone back on in case he tries to reach me."

  He pulled out his phone and turned it on as well. He didn't believe anyone was tracking their burner phones, but it would probably be better if they picked up a new set after they left their current location.

  "No missed calls or texts," Parisa said. "He's probably tied up with Ben's interrogation."

  He didn't have any calls from Gary, either. "I don't think we should go back to the apartment."

  "I don't, either. Why don't we find a hotel on this side of the river and regroup?" she suggested.

  "I have a better idea."

  "What's that?"

  "You'll see," he said, getting to his feet.

  "I thought we were done with secrets," she complained.

  "This is just a small one." And one he hoped he wouldn't regret. "If you don't like it when we get there, we can go somewhere else. But I need to clear my head, and I know the perfect way to do it."

  As they got into the car, he sent a quick text. Then he turned off his phone.

  Eighteen

  On the way to wherever Jared was taking her, they stopped to pick up two new prepaid phones and tossed the ones they'd been using previously into a dumpster behind a restaurant. She knew Jared had another phone that he seemed determined to hang on to, but he'd turned it off, so hopefully it was untraceable. She had to trust that a spook knew how to stay off the radar.

  As Jared headed toward Upstate New York, she became increasingly more curious as to where they were going, but she had to admit the quieter highways, the thick canopies of trees, the houses set back from the street, and the landscape dotted with horses and barns and long driveways made her feel calmer. She liked Manhattan with its energy and pace, the amazing food, art museums, and plays. But this more rural part of New York also had an appeal. They weren't that far from the city, but it felt like they were in another world.

  Jared turned off the highway and entered a narrow lane that wound past a couple of houses, ending in a circular drive in front of a two-story house, with a big, rambling porch. There was lots of open space around the home, including a border of trees that created a wall of privacy, and a creek that meandered across the property.

  As she stepped out onto the loose-pebbled drive, she said, "Whose place is this? And if you tell me it's a safe house, I'm going to have to suggest to the bureau that they step up their game."

  He smiled. "It's not a safe house. It's the home my family moved into after 9/11."

  "What? Wait a second. You're bringing me to your dad's house?" She was more than a little surprised.

  "He's not here. He lives in Hawaii now. I bought the house from him three years ago, and I put it in a trust that cannot be traced to me."

  "Not even by a rogue FBI agent?"

  "Nothing is foolproof, but this place is as close to that as you can get. Let's go inside."

  She followed him up the steps and into the house.

  "It's a bit musty," he said, as they stepped into the entry.

  The small foyer had dark hardwood floors and a staircase leading up to the second floor. Off to the right was a wood-paneled living room. On the other side of the hall was a dining room, and she presumed there was at least a kitchen and maybe a bath on this floor.

  Jared walked into the living room, pulling dustcovers off the couches and chairs. The style of décor was more rustic farmhouse than the modern contemporary pieces he had in his Manhattan apartment.

  "My dad left his furniture behind when he moved," Jared said. "At some point, I probably need to pick up some new pieces."

  She walked into the room, pausing by a series of photographs on the wall. She felt a tug on her heart as she stared at a family of four: mother and father and two boys of elementary school age. The picture had been taken in front of a Christmas tree. Everyone was dressed in red and black. Jared's dad was a mirror image of his son, with brown hair and light eyes. His mom had dark-red hair and the kind of smile that drew you in, much like Jared's. Jared, who appeared to be about twelve, was making a goofy face at the camera, while his brother appeared more well-behaved.

  "My mom loved that photo," he said, coming up next to her. "Even though I was making trouble. She said it captured the moment perfectly."

  "Sounds like she thought you were a troublemaker most of the time."

  "I liked to have fun," he admitted.

  "And your brother—does he have the same mischievous personality?"

  "No. He's very chill, laid-back. He doesn't move too fast, doesn't think too hard, doesn't worry at all. I envy him. He takes after my dad. I'm more like my mom." He paused, glancing back at the photo. "Those were happy times. I really had a great childhood. I took it for granted."

  "Most people do," she murmured.

  He looked back at her with his penetrating green eyes, and she caught her breath, fighting the urge to kiss him again, to take this small quiet moment and make it even more intimate, to give him comfort, to share his pain, to bring him pleasure.

  But then Jared stepped back.

  She felt an absurd wave of disappointment. Had she just misread the moment?

  "You want the tour?" he asked, digging his hands into his pockets. "Or do you want to have a little fun first?"

  "I'm leaning toward fun," she said warily. "But what does that involve?"

  "A trip next door."

  "That was not the answer I was expecting. Especially because a second ago…never mind."

  "There's time for that kind of fun later. I have something else in mind, something that will clear your head. If you're game. And I'm betting you are."

  "Of course I'm game. Lead on," she said, feeling an irresistible pull to join in whatever adventure Jared had in mind.

  He took her out the front door, around the back of the house, through a thicket of trees and a wooden gate.

  "Is this your property, too?" she asked, as they moved down a narrow path.

  "No. It belongs to my neighbors, Pam and Carl Hale. They've been family friends forever, and when my dad moved to Hawaii, they got custody."

  "Custody of what?" she asked, getting her answer as she heard a soft neigh from the barn they were approaching. "Horses?"


  He nodded and led her into the barn, stopping by the first stall, where a chestnut horse gave a whinny of approval as Jared stroked her nose.

  "Hey, Honey," he said. "Have you been a good girl?"

  It felt odd to hear Jared speak in a soft, husky voice to a horse. "Do you two want to be alone?" she asked dryly.

  He grinned. "Jealous?"

  "Of you calling a horse honey?"

  "That's her name." He stepped back and waved his hand toward the dark-gray horse across from Honey. "That's Barnabas, and next to him is Colette."

  "You know all their names?" she asked in surprise.

  "He should. He named them," a man said, coming into the barn.

  For a moment, her heart leapt into her throat, and she almost reached for her gun, but Jared was walking forward, his arms extended, as he gave the older man a bear hug.

  "It's good to see you, Carl. And I only named Barnabas and Honey. It was your wife who named Colette. How is Pam?"

  "She's fine. She's out shopping with her sister. Wish I'd known you were stopping by a little earlier. Pam would have liked to see you."

  "Sorry about the short notice. I want you to meet my friend, Parisa. This is Carl."

  "Nice to meet you." Carl shook her hand with rough fingers. He had a curious glint in his gaze as he added, "About time Jared introduced me to one of his girlfriends."

  "I'm not his girlfriend," she said quickly.

  "Well, that's a pity." Carl gave Jared a pointed look. "What's wrong with you?"

  "Hey, I'm working on it. But I might need some help from Honey and Barnabas."

  "They're all ready to go," Carl replied. "You ever ridden before, Parisa?"

  "A few times," she admitted, inwardly thrilled that Jared's plan involved horseback riding. "But not in the last ten years."

  "It's just like riding a bike," Jared told her.

  "We're really going riding?" she asked him, as Carl pulled Honey out of her stall.

  "It's the best way I know to clear my head. I know you want to get back to everything, but we have some thinking to do, and there's a path that winds through the hills and around a small pond."