2
Ace’s gaze remained on the door through which Jasmine had disappeared. “And that’s just the filming,” he commented, mentally counting the seconds Jasmine was out of his sight.
Then, she emerged from the room and rejoined her camera crew.
Ace let go of the breath he’d been holding.
Hank continued the conversation Ace had lost track of. “After the filming, there’s the editing, music, marketing and more.” The former Navy SEAL shook his head, his lips forming a wry smile. “I have so much more respect for all those names that scroll across the screen in the movie theater when they show the credits.” He chuckled. “I always wondered, and now I know, what a key grip is.”
Jasmine worked with the cameramen once more, then stepped back into the shadows.
Once the cameramen were in place, the lighting guy gave a thumbs-up. The director nodded, spoke with Sadie and then stepped back.
“They’re about to start filming,” Hank said.
When the director raised a hand, everyone grew quiet.
The director looked around at the placement of the cameras, Sadie and the lighting, then nodded.
Ace felt as though everyone took a collective breath, waiting for it...
“Action!” the director called out.
Ace’s attention was divided between Jasmine, the actors, the cameramen and the supporting staff.
The beautiful, blond actress, Sadie McClain, did not command his attention like Jasmine.
Sure, Sadie was gorgeous, dressed in khaki slacks that hugged her hips, boots up to her knees and a flowing white blouse tucked into the narrow waistband of her trousers.
Her mane of golden hair had been styled into a natural wind-swept look with loose waves falling to her shoulders. She worked her way through the museum corridor, pretending to be a patron until she arrived at a golden statue encased in a glass box.
As Sadie studied the statue, her character assessing her chances of stealing it, Jasmine slipped out of the main museum corridor into the side room again.
What was she doing in there?
Ace wanted to follow her, but to do so, he’d have to pick his way through the camera crews and lighting people. He didn’t want to get in the way while the cameras were rolling. God forbid he should trip over a cable, make a noise or cast a shadow and make them have to start all over again.
So, he stood as still as a rock, all his attention on that room, counting the seconds until Jasmine came out or the director called, “Cut!”
Finally, Jasmine emerged from the room.
At the same time, the director yelled, “Cut!”
The crossbody satchel she’d worn pushed behind her now rested against the front of her hip; her hand balanced on it. Her head turned toward the museum entrance and back to the organized chaos of camera crews shifting positions and responding to the director’s suggestions. An American cameraman approached the Jordanian crew and spoke in English.
Members of the Jordanian camera crew frowned, looking lost. One of them spotted Jasmine and waved her over.
Jasmine’s brow furrowed. Her gaze darted toward the museum entrance once more before she strode across the floor to join the cameramen. She listened to the American cameraman and translated what he was saying for the Jordanians, who, in turn, grinned, nodded, and went to work adjusting angles.
Jasmine stepped back into the shadows.
Ace nodded to Hank. “Excuse me. I want to check on something.”
Hank’s eyes narrowed as his gaze swept through the people milling about. “Anything to be concerned about?”
Was there anything to be concerned about? Ace’s gut told him something was off, but he didn’t see a need to alarm Hank until he had a better idea of what. “No, I just want to look at some of the displays.”
“Are you a history buff?” Hank asked.
“A little. I’m always amazed at artifacts that were created centuries much earlier than our country’s inception.”
Hank nodded. “Yeah, some of the items in this museum date back hundreds of years before Christ.” He gave Ace a chin lift. “Explore while you can. It looks like they’re getting ready for another take.”
His gaze remained on Jasmine as Ace strode across the smooth stone floors to the room Jasmine had visited twice in less than an hour.
The room was climate-controlled, with soft lighting and several display cases positioned at its center. At a brief glance, nothing appeared out of place, but as Ace moved closer to the display cases, he frowned. They appeared...
Empty.
His pulse leaped as he read the information plaque beside the row of cases.
Copper scroll. 1 st century AD .
He circled the cases and found that they all had keyed locks. He didn’t dare lift the tops off the cases. If he did, he’d leave his fingerprints all over the glass and possibly be accused of stealing what had been inside.
His stomach knotted. Jasmine had been in here. Had she come to steal the copper scroll? Did she have it stashed in that satchel she’d carried around all afternoon?
Ace spun on his heels and left the room. His gaze went to the last place he’d seen Jasmine. She wasn’t there.
His pulse slammed into hyperdrive as he scanned the vast corridor where the film crew worked.
She was nowhere to be seen.
Ace strode toward the museum’s entrance. As he neared the massive doors, someone opened the door and slipped through it.
That someone was Jasmine.
What the hell was she up to? If she’d stolen the scroll, he had to get it back. If he didn’t, the museum would hold Hank’s team responsible for the theft, especially considering they were the security team.
The copper scroll was a national treasure. If he didn’t get it back, it could cause an international incident as well as delay film production.
Ace slipped out of the museum and paused to locate the thief.
Dark hair flashed as Jasmine rounded the corner of a building across the street from the museum.
Ace had to wait for a delivery truck to pass in front of him before he could cross the road. As he waited, two large men dressed in black entered the side street, heading in the same direction as Jasmine.
Once the delivery truck passed, Ace crossed the street and broke into a jog, hurrying toward the street Jasmine had turned onto.
As Ace reached the corner of the building, he heard a woman shout, “No!”
He turned onto the street.
A block away, the two men in black had Jasmine by her arms. She fought like a wildcat, kicking, twisting, and struggling while holding onto the satchel looped over her neck and shoulder. One man ripped the scarf from her head and reached for the satchel’s strap.
“Hey!” Ace yelled, racing toward the men.
Jasmine used the distraction to twist and kick the man on her right in the groin. When he doubled over, she brought her knee up, slamming it into his face.
The injured man released her arm.
Jasmine turned to the other man, but not soon enough. He backhanded her on the side of her face hard enough to send her flying.
As she fell backward, the man grabbed the satchel and yanked, pulling it over her head as she fell hard against the wall of a building.
Clutching the satchel like a football, the man ran. His partner staggered to his feet and followed.
Ace would have gone after them but was more concerned about Jasmine.
The men ran to the end of the street. A car pulled up, they dove in, and, in seconds, they were gone.
Jasmine lay against the wall, her eyes closed, a red mark on her cheek where the man had hit her.
Anger burned in Ace’s gut. He wanted to go after the men and beat the shit out of them. But he couldn’t leave this injured woman lying in the street.
He knelt beside her and touched her shoulder. “Jasmine.”
Jasmine moaned, blinked her eyes open and stared up into his face, her brow furrowing. “Ace? What—” She glanced around, her frown deepening. “Where am I?” She met his gaze again. “Is it really you?”
His lips turned up on the corners. “Yes, it’s me. You’re in Jordan.” His brow dipped. “You were attacked.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “What happened?”
“Two men attacked you,” he said.
“Two men...” She shook her head slowly. “Jordan...” Then her eyes widened, and she looked around frantically. “My satchel! Where is my satchel?”
“The men who hurt you took it.”
She struggled to get to her feet. “Where did they go? I have to get it back.” As she stood, she swayed.
Ace slipped an arm around her narrow waist. “They’re gone.”
“No!” She raked a hand through her hair. “I need that satchel.” Jasmine pushed away from Ace and started running back the way they’d come, then stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Which way did they go?”
He tipped his head in the direction the men had gone.
When Jasmine turned in that direction, Ace stepped in front of her and gripped her arms. “They’re gone. You won’t catch up to them now.”
“Why didn’t you stop them? They stole my satchel!” She tried to shake off his grip on her arms.
His lips pressed together, and his grip tightened. “What was in the satchel, Jasmine?”
“Something important. I have to get it back. Please, let go of me.”
“Was the copper scroll in your bag?” he asked quietly so only she could hear his words.
Her gaze locked with his. For a moment, she hesitated, as if deciding whether or not to trust him. Then she nodded. “I had to take it. If I don’t get it back, someone I care about will die.”