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The henchman handed the passport over to the prince. A diminutive, robed female figure stood off to the side, clutching a small cloth duffel. Her head was down, so Coop couldn’t see her face. She had no way of knowing what was happening to her, and she had to be terrified.
The prince didn’t spare her a look—she was a mere female—but gave Coop the passport. Coop flipped it open with his thumb. Glanced at the name and the photo. He walked over to the girl and tilted up her chin with his thumb. Just like he was buying a fucking slave.
It was unmistakably her. Dark brows, round cheeks, trembling lips, and deep brown eyes wide with terror, something he couldn’t do anything about right now.
He pocketed her passport and turned back to the prince. “You enjoy the ring, Your Highness. And that Lombardi trophy right in the middle? Solid platinum.”
But the Lombardi trophy on the real ring, which was locked in his bedroom safe, was picked out in diamonds—genuine ones, not the cubics that crusted the reproduction rings. He’d had half a dozen replicas made to donate to various charity auctions. The bidders all knew they were copies, but they’d still been popular items.
“Come on,” he told the girl, hoping she’d cooperate so he wouldn’t have to spook her further by touching her.
Her shoulders hunched, as if she were already trying to protect herself from the atrocity she believed was coming, but she followed him.
“Enjoy her,” the prince said as they passed.
Coop wondered how many guards would jump him if he punched the son of a bitch in the teeth, but he was too well-disciplined for that kind of indulgence. Without a backward glance, he led the terrified servant from the lobby. One reproduction Super Bowl ring. That’s all this girl’s life had been worth.
They passed through the hotel’s front doors. Only as he led her around the corner toward the street where Piper was waiting in his car did he address her. “Welcome to America, Ms. Jamali.”
***
Watching their reunion made the whole ordeal worthwhile. Piper looked as happy as he’d ever seen her, and Faiza was crying. Piper moved to the backseat to be with the girl, and he slid behind the wheel. As he drove, she held Faiza’s hands and explained what had happened. Faiza could barely speak, but the joyous way she threw her arms around Piper spoke volumes.
Piper had chosen Berni Berkovitz’s condo as the safest place to stash Faiza for the night. Berni, of the brisket and divinity fudge, wore an odd combination of red tights and a man’s ragged cardigan. She flapped her arms in greeting. “This is so exciting! So thrilling!”
The Berkovitz apartment was overstuffed, overheated, and smelled vaguely of mothballs, but Coop agreed with Piper that it was safer keeping Faiza here than at the club. “I don’t know what Muslims eat,” Berni said as she drew them inside. “But I have some chocolate cake. Is that okay with your religion?”
“Oh, yes,” Faiza replied. “But I do not think I could eat. So much has happened.”
He needed to talk to Sherlock privately, and he stepped in. “Mrs. Berkovitz, why don’t you show Faiza where she can put her things while Piper and I make some plans. And I’m sure she’s going to want to call her aunt.”
Faiza’s anxiety resurfaced. “Is there more problems? I do not want to make problems for you after you have done so much for me.”
“Everything’s fine.” He gave her a reassuring smile, but the prince could realize at any time that he’d been duped, and Piper needed to make sure Faiza was on her way before that happened. “Ms. Jamali . . .” He dipped into the pocket of his suit coat and pulled out her passport. “I believe this is yours.”
Faiza walked toward him slowly, her eyes glued to the passport in his hand. She stopped in front of him, not grabbing it, merely touching the green cover with her fingertips.
“Go on,” he said gently. “Take it.”
She did, holding it as if she couldn’t believe it was really hers. She lifted her head, and pressing one hand to her heart, bowed deeply before him. “Shokran jazeelan,” she said in a choked voice. “Thank you.”
Damn. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be bawlin’, too. Not Piper, though. He’d swear not even a gallon of pepper spray could make that woman cry.
Faiza no sooner followed Berni into the bedroom than Piper threw herself smack into his arms. If it hadn’t been for his quick reflexes, she might have sacked him again. Not that she’d sacked him the first time, but try telling her that.
“You’re the best!” she exclaimed. “The absolute best man in the world!”
She curled her arms around his neck, nestled her head under his chin, and he forgot all about sacks. Despite the disparity in their sizes, her body fit perfectly against his. Her breasts flattened against his chest, her hips rested against the front of his thighs. His hands automatically went to the small of her back. She squeezed him hard, and he went hard in return, as randy as a kid copping his first feel.
She looked up at him, big blue eyes all gooey with gratitude and utterly oblivious to the physical effect she was having on him. It took every morsel of his self-discipline not to curve his hands around that ass, but after last night, he knew if he did he’d get a punch in the gut. Or worse.
How had this unnatural power shift happened? She was hugging him as if he was her best buddy. As if that kiss in the hallway hadn’t happened. As if she’d frickin’ forgotten all about it!
He steeled himself, took her by the arms, and firmly set her a safe distance away, all the while praying she wouldn’t look down and see exactly what she’d done to him.
He wanted her to be at least a little hurt by his rejection, but she only registered happiness. “I knew you could do it! Oh, Coop, you’ve changed her life forever.”
He glowered at her. “Stop jumping around and tell me your plan for getting her out of here.”
