Twelve
Parisa woke up Sunday morning feeling energized and ready to get some answers. She'd had a good night's sleep and the fog that had been clogging her brain since the kidnapping was finally completely gone. She was also relieved not to have had to wake up and fight for her life. Apparently, her location had not been compromised.
After a quick shower, she dug into her suitcase, happy she'd brought it with her from the safe house. She put on black jeans and a soft pink sweater and headed into the kitchen. She found Jared once again at the stove. He also wore jeans with a long-sleeve gray T-shirt. He must have gone into the bedroom and grabbed new clothes while she was showering. But she didn't care about that right now. She gave him a happy smile. "I was hoping the bacon and eggs weren't a dream," she told him. "I could get used to having my own personal chef."
He handed her a plate and a mug of coffee. "Enjoy."
"Oh, I will." As she sat down at the table, she noticed he wasn't eating. "Where's your breakfast?"
"I ate while I was cooking."
"Very efficient."
"I can multitask. How did you sleep?"
"Surprisingly well. I hope the couch wasn't too uncomfortable."
"It was fine. I can sleep anywhere."
He refilled his coffee mug and brought it to the table, taking the seat across from her. "Your eye looks better today."
"Nothing a little makeup couldn't cover up." She sipped her coffee. "This is good, too. Strong. Just the way I like it."
"I had a feeling you were no-nonsense when it comes to coffee."
"Definitely. I'd rather save my calories for a big-ass hot fudge sundae than put whipped cream in my coffee."
"Good call."
"Speaking of calls, I tried the Langdons again. Neither one answered. I think we should just go to their home. I already told Neil I'd be coming over today, so it won't be a surprise."
"I'm up for that, and I'm glad you said we, because I'm not sitting this one out in the car."
"Is there a chance the Langdons will recognize you from the party or anywhere else?"
"I don't believe so."
"Then I'll just tell them you're my boyfriend."
He grinned. "Perfect. We can hold hands."
"Only if you want me to break your fingers," she warned him.
"I believe you could do that."
"You'd be right," she said with a sly smile, as she sipped her coffee.
"Then I'll keep my hands in my pockets. At least for this trip."
"On the way, we need to pick up a book of poetry. I'll forge a note from Jasmine to lend truth to my story."
"There's actually a bookstore down the street."
"Great. I need something that would heal a broken heart."
"If there's a book that can do that, that author must be rich."
"Have you ever had a broken heart?" she asked curiously, wondering if this mystery man had ever let anyone get that close to him.
He nodded. "Hailey Johnson—fifth grade. She had white-blonde hair and freckles all over her face. I was fascinated by them—by her. I used to walk to recess with her, and then she dumped me for Brad Warren."
"What did Brad have that you didn't?"
"An apartment building with a pool. It was really hot that week."
"I'm beginning to see a pattern of females dumping you for males with more to offer."
"I guess charm isn't always enough."
"I don't think charm is enough, but being a good person is worth a lot. And, this might seem strange for me to say, but I think you're a good person, Jared."
"Why do you think that?" he asked curiously.
"You have a protective streak. You can't walk away from someone in trouble, even when helping them might make your life more difficult. Like you couldn't walk away from me at the party, even though you could have gotten in a lot of trouble for being upstairs. If security had discovered you, then you might be sitting in an interrogation room right now. But you did what was right."
He shrugged, looking a bit uncomfortable with her comment. "It was a gut instinct. I didn't really think about it."
"You should just take the compliment."
"Fine. I'm a good person."
"And…"
He smiled as he sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "And what? You're a good person, too?"
"I'd rather you didn't make it a question."
"Sorry. I think you're a good person as well, Parisa."
"Because…"
"Because you're trying to help me get to Ben, when all you really want to do is get to Jasmine. It's also possible that getting me to Ben might hurt the Langdons—the man who saved your life. But that's not stopping you. You're a big picture kind of woman. You go for the greater good. I like that."
She was touched by his words. "I'm helping you because the puzzle you're trying to solve is an important one."
"And because you like me."
"I don't think I said that."
His gaze met hers. "But you do—like me."
"I like you, too, probably more than I should."
"I could say the same thing. I don't usually trust people I don't know. In fact, I don't usually trust anyone unless I have a good reason to do so. But for some reason, you're different." She drew in a breath and let it out. "We should get going. We have a lot to do today."
He nodded. "Yes, we do." He got to his feet and grabbed her empty plate. "I'll put this in the sink, and then we'll leave."
* * *
By the time they stopped at the bookstore and picked up a poetry book, then got into the car and headed uptown, it was almost eleven. Hopefully, Ben would be home from wherever he'd spent the night. Parisa kept a sharp eye out for a tail, knowing that Jared was doing the same.
The Sunday traffic was still busy, not quite as bad as the day before, but it was typical Manhattan: too many people, too many cars.
"While I'm driving, why don't you tell me more about the Langdons, about Ben's parents?" Jared suggested.
She was glad that their conversation was all business now. Back at the apartment, things had gotten a little too personal. "Neil is an intelligent, kind man, very empathetic, and he has a dry sense of humor. He taught French, Spanish, and world history at my school. I, of course, spent a lot of time in his classes as I loved language even then."
"What languages are you fluent in?"
"French, Portuguese, Spanish, and Farsi. I'm pretty good in Russian, Chinese and Japanese, too."
"How do you do it? How do you keep all the words in your head?"
"There's a rhythm to language. It comes easily to me. I think part of why I'm so good at it is that I don't overthink it. So many languages share words that I can piece things together even if I don't know every syllable. It's like seeing five pieces of a nine-piece puzzle and being able to imagine what's missing. With language, I can do that." She gave him a curious glance. "Do you speak anything besides English?"
"I took French in high school and college, but I wouldn't call myself fluent. I can swear in Spanish and Portuguese."
"What about words of passion? Have you never wanted to tell a woman how beautiful she was in another language?"
He flung her a smile. "I usually let my actions do the talking."
She couldn't help but smile back at him. Jared had certainly charmed her with some of his actions. She'd spent too many minutes of the night before reliving their kiss and wondering if it could possibly be as good as she remembered. But the only way to find out would be to kiss him again, and that was not a distraction either of them could afford.
Clearing her throat, she said, "Anyway, we were talking about the Langdons."
"Right. Let's get back to them. You said Neil is British, but Elizabeth is from Bezikstan?"
"Yes. Elizabeth grew up in Bezikstan but went to college in London. She then became a stage actress. Neil said the first time he saw her was when she was in a production of Cats. He went to the play four times that week until he found a way to get backstage and ask her out. She thought he was insane. He knew the play so well by then, he could actually recite some of her lines. She said no at first. But Neil was persistent. He kept coming back, and eventually she said yes to a date. A year later, they married, and after she had Ben, they decided to move to Bezikstan to be closer to her family." Parisa took a breath, as she thought about their story. "Elizabeth used to help out in the drama department at the school. She'd run lines with the kids and work on the sets. Both she and Neil were very involved in the curriculum. Ben would often hang out at the school with them. He was always toddling around."
"And the Langdons' relationship with the Kumars? How did that happen?"
"Well, I think it started through Anika and Jasmine. The Kumars were very involved in their children's education."
"Did your stepfather and mother get involved with the Kumars through you and your relationship with the girls?"
"Not entirely. Mr. Kumar was the minister of commerce when my father was the ambassador. They often worked on improving trade agreements between the US and Bezikstan. We would have them over for dinner, and they would do the same, and sometimes the Langdons would be there, too. Eventually, we all became close. Everyone felt like family."
"Did you keep in touch with anyone after you left Bezikstan?"
"Anika, Jasmine and I wrote each other the first few years, but that gradually faded away. Before Friday night, it had been fifteen years since I'd seen anyone from Bezikstan, but when we came together at the party, it felt like no time had passed. When I went upstairs with Jasmine, we were the same two girls who'd once spent hours talking together. It felt completely normal. I realized how much I had missed her. We were just getting reacquainted when the air became foul. And then Jasmine was gone." She drew in a hard breath. "I need to find her, Jared. I feel a personal obligation to bring her home. I was the last one to talk to her. I heard her fears about losing herself to Westley, about giving up her life for his. I saw how stressed she was by the weight of that ring on her finger. She was both happy and sad at the same time."
Jared glanced at her, sympathy in his gaze. "I get it. This is personal for you."
"It is, and it really has nothing to do with the fact that I almost died; it's all about Jasmine. She's my friend. And she's a sweet, kind, gentle person. I wish I could be more involved in searching for her. I hate having to hide out."
"You can't help Jasmine if you're dead."
"I know, but I don't like running scared."
"You're not running. You're investigating from the shadows. What was it like living in Bezikstan?" he asked, changing the subject.
"It was wonderful. My mother is Indian, so I wasn't unfamiliar with the culture, although Bezikstan has its own traditions. Knowing Hindi, which is one of the main languages of Bezikstan helped me to blend in. When you can speak to someone in their own language, it is much easier to break down barriers. Harry used to tell me that we're really not so different from each other. When we talk, when we listen, when we try to understand, we realize that."
"I would agree. Unfortunately, some people don't want to listen—they just want to fight."
"Yes. But when there's a chance to win with words, it's important for us to take it. However, I don't go to a gun fight with just a dictionary."
"Good to know." He flung her another smile. "I like how passionate you are about language."
"I'm passionate about breaking down walls, and language can do that. But while I can be idealistic, I am also very practical. So, if language is my superpower, what's yours?"
"Uh, I don't know if I have one," he replied.
"Oh, I'm betting you do. You're not getting shy on me now, are you, Jared?"
"Maybe I'll let you figure it out for yourself."
"I think one of your superpowers is being able to blend in wherever you go. You're like a chameleon. No one notices you're there, unless you want them to notice. Like at the party—you wanted me to notice you."
"I did."
"But you were not there to flirt with me, so why did you? Why weren't you focused purely on Ben?"
"You looked really gorgeous in that black dress."
She flushed at his words. "I wasn't asking for a compliment."
"You were asking for a reason. That's it."
"Well, thank you."
Jared slowed down, searching the street for a place to park.
Whoever was feeding him information had clearly given him an address. She still wondered who he was working for. If he wasn't FBI, was he CIA or Homeland Security? Or was he a private contractor—a private investigator?
The Paris bombing was a global issue. That made her think he worked internationally. If he was part of an agency, why did he seem so isolated?
At some point, they were going to have to put all their cards on the table. But that point wasn't now.
After Jared parked, they got out of the car and walked down the street to the Langdons' building. There was a doorman in the lobby, who asked for their names, then made a call upstairs. After a moment of conversation, he hung up the phone and gave them a nod. "You can go up—912—ninth floor."
"They're home," she said, feeling excited that they were going to talk to someone.
"This is a luxury building and knowing a little about Manhattan rents, I'd have to ask how a teacher from Bezikstan can afford this," Jared commented, as they got into the mirrored elevator.
Her brows knit together at his question. "Good point. I think Neil might come from money, but I don't know for sure."
"Worth looking into," he muttered, thinking he needed to expand his research beyond Ben.
"Let me take the lead with the Langdons," she said, as the elevator doors opened. "They'll expect that."
"No problem. I'll just be your devoted boyfriend, who is incredibly relieved that you weren't kidnapped." He grabbed her hand. "For our cover."
"You're pushing it, Jared."
He laughed. "Not yet I'm not, but who knows what's coming?"
As a flicker of desire ran through his gaze, her gut clenched, and her fingers tightened around his. In truth, neither one of them knew what was coming next, but she was looking forward to finding out.