Page 17 of Elusive Promise

"That's too many questions."

"Take them one at a time."

"I can tell you this—I didn't have anything to do with the kidnapping."

"That's not enough. Tell me more," she said, a determined glint in her eyes. "Are you working for someone? Homeland Security? FBI, DEA, ATF?"

"That's a lot of initials. What you need to know is that I want to help you find Jasmine."

"All those agencies have a better chance of finding Jasmine than you or I do."

"Maybe not. We might have the inside track."

"I can't imagine why. And I'm not going to work with you, until you tell me who you are."

"You think working with the FBI is a better option after one of their officers just tried to kill you?" he asked.

"I'm sure he wasn't really an officer."

"But he knew where you were, and that apartment was clearly a safe house."

"Most people wouldn't know what a safe house looks like."

"An empty apartment with a guard—it wasn't a tough guess."

"How did you find me there? You better tell me something, or I'm going to walk out the door."

He smiled at her challenging words, feeling remarkably charged up by the conversation. He liked a woman who could keep up, and this woman was not only keeping pace with him, she was charging ahead. He had no doubt she would make good on her threat to leave if he didn't give her something. "I followed you from the hospital to the apartment."

"Why didn't you come looking for me when I first got there?"

"I decided to wait until morning, until you were awake, but then I saw a guy approaching the building. He had on a uniform, but the way he was moving gave me pause. When he went inside the building, the front door stayed open. That seemed odd. I went to investigate and saw the guard on the ground. That's when I knew you were in trouble."

She shook her head in bemusement. "I can't believe you followed us from the hospital, and we didn't see you."

He shrugged. "Maybe the person who took you to the safe house isn't that good at spotting a tail."

"He's very good, which means you must be good at avoiding detection."

He ignored that as he leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. "Now, it's your turn. Who are you, Parisa Maxwell?"

"You already know. I work for the state department."

"What I know is that you fought your attacker like someone with training. You picked up the gun like you knew exactly what to do with it. You didn't scream for help. You didn't call the cops or the FBI until we were away from the building, and when we came into this diner, you picked this table and your seat, so you could watch the door."

"I was being cautious."

"Are you a cop? Private security? FBI? Military? A spy?"

"I asked you the same exact questions, and you didn't answer. Why don't we cut to the chase? What's your job? And why were you at the party?"

He decided to tell her something, so they could move the conversation along. "I'm a reporter. I came to the event looking for a person who might have information for a story I'm writing."

"Who? And what's the story?" she asked suspiciously.

"Ben Langdon. You were talking to him at the party. It looked like you were friends."

Her eyes widened. "Ben Langdon is a college student. Why do you want to talk to him?"

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