Page 22 of Fallen Hero

“What’d he want?” Fallon asked.

“He has a proposition.”

Pete’s ominous answer had me adding my half-eaten breakfast to the table next to his plate. “What kind of proposition?”

Pete’s gaze landed on Calista even though I’d been the one to ask the question.

“The mutually beneficial kind. He’s offering us use of a penthouse in downtown Dubai, which would help Calista’s cover and offer us more security.”

“I’d ask how he knows I need to be in Dubai today, but I can guess,” she grumbled.

“The catch?” Fallon challenged.

“There’s a woman—a senior girl in Bur Dubai who needs an exfil. Shep needs us to find her and make sure she makes her flight.”

A ‘senior girl’ was a prostitute who was in a slightly elevated position. She was in charge of watching the less-experienced girls and reporting back to her pimp if a girl stepped out of line.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Calista’s fingers were drumming on her thigh.

“Pure Shep,” Fallon mumbled. “Only he could manage to find a prostitute who just so happens to need safe transport in a city we haven’t even been in for twenty-four hours.”

Shepherd Drexel might’ve been the one man on the planet who gave me a shiver of fear. If he wanted to, he could systematically ruin your life. There’d be nowhere you could hide from him, no hole deep enough to keep you safe. If he wanted your life—he’d take it. And he wouldn’t do something as easy as putting you in the ground; he’d keep you alive like a mouse to play with.

“Bur Dubai?” Calista inquired. “Is she a massage girl?”

You couldn’t walk the streets in that area without seeing hundreds of business cards littering the ground. All of the cards were advertisements for ‘massages.’ Phone numbers you called to order a prostitute, in the sense the pimp would tell you what back alley or storefront to go to. The prostitute would then take you to a nearby apartment, where you’d get off, then get robbed.

I couldn’t find it in me to feel bad for the men who were divested of their money and jewelry after they paid for sex with a woman who was there against her will. The women weren’t actually prostitutes. They’d been forced into sexual slavery.

Women who’d been lured to Dubai with promises of employment as maids, cooks, nannies, but when they arrived, they were in debt to the people who’d funded their visas and travel expenses. The debt plus interest was worked off by taking as many johns a night as they could, and when the girls didn’t perform, that’s when the senior girl stepped in.

It was humanity at its worst.

“Yes. She was brought here from India. Her family wants her back.”

Calista eyed Pete skeptically, and I knew why. The unfortunate truth was, in most cultures, the woman would be ostracized. She’d be seen as used, filthy, unworthy. The woman would find no help healing from the trauma and abuse. No love and comfort.

“Shep spoke to her father. He’s promised she’s welcome and will be brought back into the family.”

Calista’s fingertips once again tapped. “And Shep’s sure the woman will be safe?”

“He wouldn’t send her home if he wasn’t positive,” Pete assured her.

“Where does she work?”

“Meena Bazaar.”

I picked up my phone off the coffee table and pulled up a map of the area. The Bur Dubai district was across the Dubai Creek, close to Port Rashid and north of Jumeirah. The area was mostly Pakistani, Indian, and Bangladeshi.

“It would be a stretch Amir Bakir would step an Italian-loafered foot into that district, but he could have scouts or associates in the area. Us being seen there would be a risk, especially Calista,” I pointed out.

“Amir wouldn’t be caught dead in the red-light district. That’s below his station, and he thinks common prostitution is foul,” Calista returned. “But he does have people who notify him if a girl worthy of his attention is in play.”

The drumming started up again, but there were only a few taps before she leaned forward and dropped her plate on the table.

“I can wear a shayla to cover my hair and neck,” she decided. “Modest clothes will cover my body. I have brown contacts. I can’t do much with my face, but in the cover of darkness, I should be fine. When does Shepherd need this woman picked up?”