Page 6 of Elusive Promise

She coughed as she looked toward the vent and saw thick, swirling air coming through the slats. Instinctively, she put a hand over her mouth.

"What is that smell?" Jasmine asked, getting to her feet. Then she suddenly swayed and sank to the floor.

She got up to help Jasmine but found herself tumbling to the ground, feeling light-headed and dizzy. She covered her mouth and nose with her fingers and tried not to breathe. Something was terribly wrong.

The bedroom door opened, and she was relieved, thinking the guards were coming to rescue them.

But as two pairs of men's shoes rushed by her, they seemed—wrong. One man was wearing black Nike's; the other had on brown boots.

She tried to lift her head, to say something, but she couldn't move. She felt paralyzed. Someone kicked her leg. She didn't know why. She tried to see but realized her eyes were closed. She was sinking into oblivion, and she willed herself to keep fighting, because if she fell asleep, she didn't think she would ever wake up.

Two

Jared MacIntyre had his target in sight. He took out his phone and pretended to be reading a text when he was in fact taking photographs of guests, who were engaging in conversation with the person he'd been following for the past week.

As he finished snapping the latest group he couldn't help glancing back at the camera roll, at the beautiful brunette with the deep-brown eyes, sexy smile and killer curves, who had crossed paths with his target a half hour earlier. He'd definitely had a visceral reaction to her, but what had really bothered him was the fact that he didn't know who she was.

He'd studied the party guest list at great length, matching names to faces, long before he'd come to the consulate. But he didn't rememberherface, which was extremely odd, because she had the kind of heart-stopping beauty he would not have forgotten.

Her long, thick, dark-brown hair fell over her shoulders in flowing, silky waves, and her facial features and olive skin, implied that she was a mix of cultures. He'd seen her greet several people, including the bride-to-be, with a warmth that seemed very familiar. So, who was she and why hadn't she been on the guest list?

He opened up a text and sent her photo with one questioning word—name?

He'd no sooner done that when a waiter passing by with a full tray of glasses suddenly stumbled, sending sparkling wine in every direction, including the front of his shirt.

"Sorry, so sorry," the young man said.

He gasped at the sudden, cold wetness. His shirt was drenched.

A woman who'd been standing quite close to him began squealing about her dress, and there was a general commotion as waitstaff came to clean up the mess and offer towels and apologies to those who had been soaked in champagne.

He pushed the conciliatory waiter away, muttering that he was fine, and stepped out of the fray, searching once more for the person he was supposed to be watching.

It took him only a minute to realize his target was no longer in the living room.

He walked through the crowd with a growing sense of uneasiness. He couldn't help but wonder if the dropped tray hadn't provided the perfect distraction to slip out of sight. He could have been made and the sudden champagne spill might not have been an accident at all.

He quickened his pace, walking out of the living room and down the hall.

He'd studied blueprints for the consulate in great detail. He knew there were nine rooms on the first floor: the main living room where most of the partygoers were gathered, a smaller sitting room, the library, the dining room, which was filled with several long buffet tables, two restrooms, a small office, and a small bedroom with attached bath. There were additional offices, bedrooms and bathrooms on the second floor, while five bedrooms and five bathrooms took up the third floor, and where the more private and personal rooms for the family in residence were located.

He also knew there was a back stairway off the kitchen and if one needed to make a discreet exit or entrance, there was a short tunnel out of the basement that led to an alley a block away. He'd used that tunnel to get into the party without an invitation.

As he moved through the rooms, he couldn't help noticing that the bride-to-be didn't seem to be present, either. Nor did the beautiful brunette he'd seen talking to Jasmine and to his target.

He made his way down the hall. He needed to get upstairs, but he wouldn't be able to get past the guard without bringing attention to himself. The back stairway was a better bet.

He moved into the banquet prep area next to the kitchen, walking confidently among the servers. No one paid him any attention, which was exactly as he wanted it. He stopped by a pantry closet, shrugged out of his suit coat, and grabbed a chef's coat, putting it on over his clothes. Then he entered the kitchen.

It was controlled chaos: smoky, steamy heat coming from the ovens, lots of people rushing around, and beyond all that noise was a back hallway, a stairway. He expected to find a guard there but there was no one stationed at the bottom of the stairs. That seemed odd, too. The Kumars had brought in additional security because of the Larimer diamond.

He went up the stairs, bypassing the second floor in favor of the third. There was a door at the top landing. He opened it and peered down the hall, shocked to see the two security guards who had been following Jasmine sprawled on the floor, unconscious. There was no sign of blood, but there was a terrible smell in the air.

He pressed the material of his chef's coat across his nose and mouth and made his way toward the guards. A nearby door was ajar. He pushed it open and saw a woman lying on the ground. She was struggling to move, her eyes flickering open, then closing.

His heart jumped. It was the beautiful brunette in the clingy black dress. He rushed over to her.

"Jasmine," she stuttered. "Took Jasmine."

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