Nine
It was dark when Parisa woke up, and she jerked up on the bed, jumping to her feet, as she tried to remember where she was. Then she realized she was in Jared's apartment. The clock on the nightstand said eight fifteen. She couldn't believe she'd slept for five hours.
As she walked across the room, she wrinkled her nose at the appealing smell of garlic.
Opening the door, she was more than a little surprised to see Jared cooking in the kitchen. Something was sizzling in a frying pan on the stove, and there was an open bottle of red wine on the counter.
"You're cooking?" she asked in amazement, as she moved over to the counter.
"I got hungry. I figured you'd be, too, once you woke up."
Guilt ran through her. There was so much to do. It felt wrong to have fallen asleep. On the other hand, she'd desperately needed the rest. "I am hungry," she admitted, her stomach rumbling as she contemplated the steak filets in the frying pan. "It smells good."
"Almost done," he said, popping open the oven and pulling out two baked potatoes and a pan filled with roasted brussels sprouts.
"Hmm, now I know why I smelled garlic," she said.
"I hope you eat meat."
"Definitely."
"Help yourself to some wine, if you like." He pulled a wineglass out of the cabinet and set it on the counter in front of her.
"Looks like you've now familiarized yourself with the kitchen."
He smiled. "I must admit I haven't done a lot of cooking here."
"Where did all the food come from?"
"There's a market downstairs."
"Handy."
She poured wine into a glass and sat down at the counter, watching as he spooned butter over the steaks. He moved with confidence and purpose and he looked sexy as hell, strands of hair falling over his forehead as the heat warmed his face. She couldn't remember the last time a man had cooked for her, and despite the extraordinary circumstances they were living in, this moment seemed remarkably normal.
He glanced in her direction, his green eyes warm and smiling. "How's the wine?"
"It's perfect," she said, even though she had yet to take a sip. "You appear to know what you're doing."
"I do know what I'm doing."
"Are you ever not confident?"
"Hmm, I'd have to think about that," he said with a grin.
She couldn't believe how comfortable she felt with a man she didn't know at all.
"How did your call go earlier?" he asked. "Apparently, you didn't learn anything that made you want to rush out of the apartment and do something."
"I did get some information, but there was nothing for us to do about it."
"What did you hear?" He turned down the flame on the steaks as he gave her his attention.
"The kidnappers made a ransom demand of the Larimers—ten million dollars, to be paid by Monday at ten a.m. The demand came in before we saw Westley and Anika. Maybe they were meeting about that."
"And I assume there's proof that Jasmine is alive?"
"Yes. It was a huge relief to know that there's still time to find her."
"Are there any leads?"
"Not that I was told. I don't know the details of the ransom exchange, either," she said. "I'm just happy that the Larimers are willing to put up that much cash for a woman who is not yet in their family."
"It's a lot, especially when they've already lost a diamond worth five times that."
"Maybe the Kumars will chip in. They're not as wealthy as the Larimers, but they have money."
"I'm sure they will," he said, returning his attention to the steaks. He flipped them over, then turned off the heat.
"Can I help?" she asked somewhat halfheartedly.
"I've got dinner. But if you want to try contacting the Langdons again…"
"I can do that. I should have done it earlier. I was on your bed, and it was so comfortable, I was just going to close my eyes for a minute. I feel guilty I slept so long."
"You were exhausted. You don't have to defend yourself. But if you can talk to Neil or Elizabeth and find out if Ben is staying at the house, maybe we can go by there and see him after we eat."
She pulled out her phone and saw no missed calls. "He didn't call me back. But I'll give him another shot." She punched in Neil's number. She was almost surprised when he answered. She put the phone on speaker, so Jared could hear the conversation. "Neil, it's Parisa."
"Oh, my God, Parisa. We've been so worried about you. How are you?"
"I'm fine. I'm recovered. I called you earlier. Did you get my message?"
"Yes. I'm sorry. I haven't had a chance to call you back, but I'm happy to hear you're well. Elizabeth spoke with Kenisha earlier, and she said you haven't been able to remember anything that would help the police find the kidnappers."
"That's unfortunately true."
"We've heard about the ransom demand and are very happy that Jasmine is alive."
"It's definitely good news. I really want her to be all right."
"As do we. Jasmine and Anika are like daughters to Elizabeth and me, and Jasmine has been so kind to Ben since he came to the city."
"Anika mentioned that." She licked her lips, happy they'd zeroed in on Ben but not wanting to raise any alarm bells. "How is Ben handling everything? Is he staying with you?"
"Not tonight. He told Elizabeth he wanted to stay with friends, get his mind off the terrible events of last night. None of us slept at all."
"I know the feeling. Do you think Ben will be home tomorrow? I want to talk to him about something."
"He should be back sometime in the morning. What did you want to speak to him about?"
She searched her brain for a good and unalarming reason for her to want to talk to Ben. "When Jasmine and I were talking upstairs, she mentioned Ben was feeling down after a romance in Paris that didn't go well. She wanted to give him a book of poetry that had helped her when she'd gone through a breakup, and she thought it might do the same for Ben. She'd actually written a personal note to Ben on the inside cover. I was looking at it when the air went bad and everything went nuts. When I got to the hospital, I still had the book in my hands. It seemed like a sign that I was meant to pass it along. I was thinking it might help Ben get through this, too."
"That's very thoughtful."
"It's Jasmine who was thoughtful. She was worried about Ben. Did he tell you what happened?"
"He hasn't spoken to us about any failed romance, but then he doesn't share his romantic life with us at all."
"I think her name was Sara."
"Sara? Hmmm. He dated someone named Sara back in Bezikstan, but that was a long time ago."
"Perhaps they reconnected."
"Maybe Ben told Elizabeth about it," Neil said. "If you want to bring the book by tomorrow, I'm sure Ben would appreciate having something that Jasmine thought was important for him to read."
"I'll do that."
"Are you sure you're all right, Parisa? Is there anything I can do for you?"
"No, I'm good. I just want Jasmine to come home."
"She will. You must not give up hope or faith. It's what gets us through the hard times. We must continue to believe that all will be as it is meant to be."
"I'm trying to stay positive. I'll see you tomorrow."
"I look forward to it."
She disconnected the phone and looked across the counter at Jared. She'd deliberately avoided his gaze while making up her elaborate story. It was easier to lie without an audience.
"That was impressive," he said, a gleam in his eyes. "A book of poetry that Jasmine had inscribed just for Ben to heal his broken heart. Who could refuse that? How long did it take you to concoct that story?"
"About ten seconds."
"And you think I'm the better liar?"
"I didn't say you were better. I just said you were a liar."
"Good point."
"At any rate, it looks like we can talk to Ben tomorrow."
"If he comes home."
"Do you have resources who might be able to find him tonight?"
"My resources have been coming up empty on that front."
"Then I guess we have to wait. Is that steak done, because I'm starving?"
"It's ready. Why don’t we eat at the table?"
She nodded, moving over to the table where he'd put out two place settings. "This was nice of you to do. With this being the city of incredible takeout, it would have been easier for you to order something."
"I've done that a lot. I felt like a good piece of meat." He brought their plates to the table and then grabbed the glass of wine he'd been enjoying while he was cooking.
She cut into the filet, and it was a perfect shade of pink. "Just the way I like it," she said.
"I should have asked."
"It's perfect." In fact, she couldn't remember having a steak this good in a very long time. Or maybe she was just that hungry.
As they ate, she couldn't help thinking that Jared hadn't asked a lot of questions about her earlier phone call with Damon. Was that because he'd gotten his own information from some other source? She'd been asleep a long time. Long enough for him to have shopped for food, cooked dinner, and probably talked to whoever he worked for or with.
"So, tell me more about you, Parisa," he said, interrupting her thoughts.
"What do you want to know?" she asked warily.
"I was wondering about your mother and stepfather. You said they were good friends with the Kumars. Why weren't they at the party?"
"They're out of the country. My stepfather retired last year, and he and my mother travel often for pleasure. They're in Bali now, on a month-long spiritual and meditative retreat."
"That sounds…relaxing."
She smiled at his choice of adjective. "Does it? It sounds stressful to me. Forced quiet is not my kind of thing. But apparently getting in touch with your soul requires structure and rules. My parents seem to love it. This is the third time they've gone on one of these retreats in the last year. I guess it's good they both enjoy it. It would be more difficult if only one wanted to go."
"Sounds like they have a happy marriage."
"They do. Harry married my mom when I was eight years old. My real dad left when I was three, so I barely remember him. Harry has been the only dad I've known. He's a good man, very smart, well educated, well spoken. He cares a great deal about the world. He has lived a life of service, and it has often inspired me."
"What about your mother? What's she like?"
"She was born in India. Her name is Riya. She came to the US when she was eleven with her parents. She's creative and kind, quiet and beautiful."
"Like her daughter."
She smiled at his words. "Nice of you to say, thank you. I'm not that creative. I try to be kind. Quiet—not so much, and beautiful, well, I do look like her, although my skin is a bit lighter than hers, probably because my biological father was blond and pale."
"Does your mother work?"
"She worked in a university admissions office before she met Harry. After they fell in love, she focused on being his wife and my mother. We traveled to whatever post Harry was assigned to. It was a nomadic life, but it was happy." She paused. "My mother and stepfather have had a powerful love story since they first met. They've always been extremely devoted to each other. Sometimes, I felt a little outside of their story, not that they ever wanted me to feel that way. It's just the way it was. It probably would have been different if I'd had a sibling. I wouldn't have felt so alone." She took a sip of her wine. "Now it's your turn. Tell me about your family."
His expression tensed. "There's not much to tell."
"Then it won't take long," she said, giving him a pointed look. "And think about your answer. Make sure it's truthful, like mine just was."
Their gazes clung together, and then he gave her a subtle nod. "All right. I can give you the truth." He got up from the table and walked over to the desk, pulling open the bottom drawer. He came back with a folded piece of paper that had yellowed with age. He sat down and slid it across the table to her.
She felt a bit of nervous trepidation as she unfolded the paper, not sure what she was about to learn, but sensing that it was going to be important.
The paper was a copy of a newspaper clipping. There was a black-and-white photo of a smiling woman with dark hair and light eyes, whose features looked quite similar to Jared's. Next to the photo was an obituary. The date was September 15, 2001. The woman's name was Carol Montgomery.
Her stomach churned as she skimmed through the obit. Carol Montgomery, a loving mother and wife, had died in her office in the World Trade Center on 9/11. She was survived by her husband, Brett, her two sons, Jared and Will, and her father Gilbert.
"Oh, my God," she murmured, glancing over at Jared. He'd lost his normal cocky smirk, his green eyes dark and serious, his expression tense. "This is your mother?"
"Yes. She was an accountant. She spent her days adding up profits and losses for a real-estate firm. She was sitting at her desk when the first plane hit the building, right at her floor. Everyone said she probably never knew what happened, that she was killed instantly. I pray that's the way it went down. I don't want to think about her being scared, knowing she wasn't going to see us again. But the truth is—I don't know. They didn't find her for hours. She was buried in rubble."
A sickening feeling swept through her. "That's terrible. I'm so sorry."
"I was sixteen years old. My brother Will was twelve. My father, Brett, was a high school teacher. He and I were at the same school. I still remember when he came into my classroom with terror in his eyes. And then we ran six blocks to the middle school to find Will. The sky was black. The air was thick; it was difficult to breathe. And there were so many sirens. We lived fifteen blocks from Ground Zero. We could see my mom's office from our rooftop deck."
She shook her head at the horror of his story. "I can't imagine what you went through."
"We didn't know she was dead until two o'clock the following afternoon. We waited up all night, hoping for a miracle, and worrying that the terror wasn't over."
She'd wanted Jared to tell her something true, and he'd certainly delivered, but his story made her sick to her stomach.
Jared cleared his throat and took another sip of wine. "My dad was devastated after she died. He couldn't come to grips with what had happened. My mom was just an ordinary person doing a rather boring job. She wasn't ever supposed to be in danger. She wasn't supposed to go to work one day and not come back."
"No, she wasn't." She glanced down at his mother's smiling face. "I can see you in her features."
"I have her eyes."
"Why is her last name different than yours?"
"She kept her maiden name."
"Is that true or is your real last name Montgomery?"
"It's not important." He drew in a breath and let it out. "After her funeral, my dad finished out the teaching year and then he took me and my brother to a place in Upstate New York, a beautiful piece of property in a rural area where there was a pond and horses to ride, lots of open space, no skyscrapers to remind us of what we'd seen. It was supposed to just be for the summer, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. So, we ended up transferring schools, and we never came back to the city."
"It sounds idyllic."
"It was healing, but, eventually, I wanted more. I went away to college and after that I took a job in Boston for a few years. I've moved around since then."
"Is this apartment your first place back in this city?"
"It is."
"And it has a view of the Freedom Tower. Was that on purpose?"
"Actually, I almost changed my mind about staying here when I saw it, but then I thought it was a good reminder of how easy it is to lose everything."
"Do you need that reminder?"
"No."
"I didn't think so." She gave him a compassionate smile. "That's a sad story, Jared."
"It's my story."
"What happened to your father? Did he ever remarry?"
"He has had women in his life, but he hasn't made it down the aisle again."
"And your brother?"
"He runs a surf shop in Hawaii."
"That sounds chill."
"That would be my brother. Will decided that life is too short to not do what you love."
"That makes sense. Are you doing what you love?"
"Sometimes."
His vague answer reminded her that he was only willing to tell her some of his story, but she did appreciate that he'd opened up as much as he had. "Thanks for telling me about your mom. I know that wasn't easy." She paused, cocking her head to the right as she gave him a thoughtful look. "Why did you decide to share?"
"Because you need to understand my motivation. I know what it feels like to be caught in a terrorist attack, Parisa, even if I wasn't the one who died."
"Which is why you're so interested in the Paris explosion."
"Yes."
"But I'm still not sure what it is about that particular blast that is so intriguing to you. There have been others, some closer to home, some with more devastating consequences."
"One death is a devastation to that person's family."
"I know, but I feel like I'm missing something."
"Let's change the subject. Are you ready for dessert?"
She blinked at the abrupt question. "Uh, yeah, I guess. Do you have dessert?"
"All the fixings for ice cream sundaes: hot fudge, whipped cream, nuts, and, of course, ice cream."
"Sounds delicious."
He grinned, giving her a wicked smile. "Although I can think of a few other ways we might use the whipped cream."
"None of which we're going to do," she said quickly.
"It's not a crime to admit you're attracted to me."
"You're the one who's attracted to me," she countered.
"Well, I can't argue with that, not after that kiss we shared earlier."
"It was hot, and you know it."
She frowned. "I don't even know you."
"You don't have to know me to want me. But that bothers you, doesn't it?"
It did bother her, but she wasn't going to tell him that. "What bothers me more is that we lost Westley and Anika. We got distracted."
"So, you can at least admit you were distracted."
She sighed. "Fine. We have some chemistry, but we're not going to do anything about it. We're only together because of Jasmine."
"And because you need a safe place to stay, and for some reason you find it easier to trust me than the person you check in with every few hours."
"Well, as you've mentioned several times, you have saved my life, and the safe house the FBI put me into didn't work out too well. So, let's make some sundaes and then we'll figure out what to do next."