Page 7 of Elusive Promise

Her words sent a rush of alarm through him, but first he had to get her away from the terrible and obviously toxic smell.

He pulled her to her feet.

She swayed against him. "You? Who?" she murmured, her gaze meeting his.

He didn't bother to answer as he half-dragged her, half-walked her out of the bedroom and down the hall to the back stairwell. He closed the door to keep the fumes out, then opened a small window at the top of the stairs.

He pushed the woman as close to the window as he could. She took several breaths and seemed to gain strength with each one.

"What happened?" he asked.

She stared back at him in bemusement, her eyes cloudy and unfocused. "Someone…took Jasmine. Didn't see. Air…bad."

He heard a shout from the hallway. The guards had been discovered. It would be only seconds before security would be all over this area, and he couldn't allow himself to be caught up in whatever was about to happen. "Stay here. Someone will find you. They'll help you."

"Wait. Who are you?"

He didn't answer her question as he dashed down the stairs. As he hit the bottom step, he ran into several guards coming through the kitchen. "Heard a woman scream," he said, pointing toward the stairs. "Up there."

The men ran past him, probably thinking he was just one of the cooks. He made his way into the kitchen, where the servers were still moving about, although there was some chatter about an emergency. He slipped through the door leading into the basement without anyone noticing. Stripping off his chef's coat, he jogged down the steps, into the wine cellar, and out another door, moving past old furniture and boxes, finally reaching the far end of the room where a large bookcase had previously blocked the door to the tunnel.

He quickly realized that the bookcase had been moved, and the once hidden door was clearly visible. He went through the door with wary steps, pulling out the gun he'd tucked under his coat, keeping it at the ready as he maneuvered his way through the tunnel. The final door led to four stone steps and an alley behind a restaurant near Central Park. There were no lights, no security cameras—nothing but dumpsters and dark shadows.

He walked down the alley, ending up at the park, as sirens blazed through the air. He wandered down another path, disappearing into a thick thatch of trees, and staying in the shadows as he worked his way back to the front of the consulate.

There were four police cars out front. They'd set up barriers around the front of the consulate. A steady stream of people flowed out of the building in their cocktail dresses and expensive suits.

Was his target among them? Or had his target been involved in whatever had happened to Jasmine Kumar?

Unfortunately, he was too far away to identify anyone, and he'd just lost the best chance he'd had in weeks.

As ambulances pulled up in front of the building, he took out his phone, his hot breath swirling in the cold night air. He punched in a number, then said, "We have a problem."

* * *

Parisa was only dimly aware of being carried downstairs and put in an ambulance. Upon arrival at the hospital, she was treated with oxygen in the ER, and had blood drawn to see what toxins she'd been exposed to. With an IV in her arm, providing some much-needed fluids, her head finally began to clear.

Through the glass window of the examining room, she could see numerous people milling about in the hallway, including uniformed police officers and men wearing suits and badges. She also saw Jasmine's father, Raj Kumar, as well as Westley Larimer and his father Phillip.

Everyone looked impatient and terrified as they listened to a female doctor report on her condition. She knew that the doctor would tell them what she'd already told her—that while they didn't have the bloodwork back yet, her vitals were strong, her oxygen levels were returning to normal, and barring any other unforeseen problems, she should make a full recovery.

But the people in the hallway probably weren't that interested in her prognosis. They wanted to know if she was ready to talk about what happened.

First, she had to remember…

She'd been chatting with Jasmine in her room when something had been pumped into the ventilation system. Two men had come in and grabbed Jasmine. But she hadn't seen anything, had she?

Closing her eyes, she willed her memories to come back. She saw shoes, black and brown. Men's shoes.What else?

She was frustrated that her mind couldn't come up with more details. She felt like she was trapped in a thick fog, a terrible nightmare.

The door clicked, and her eyes flew open as Raj, Westley and two men in suits entered her room. As the door was about to close, a third man stepped inside, and she caught her breath at the familiar blue eyes of Special Agent Damon Wolfe, one of her best friends at the bureau.

His gaze widened when he saw her, and he gave her a short nod, but made no mention of their relationship, or her real job, as he introduced himself as a special agent with the FBI.

The dark-haired man in the gray suit was Kabir Bhat, director of security for the consulate, and the balding man in black slacks and a wool coat told her he was Martin Vance, an NYPD police detective.

"Parisa, how are you feeling?" Raj asked, his innate sense of politeness probably prohibiting him from asking what he really wanted to know.

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