“Hell, no!” That’s the last thing he wanted: Piper Dove rushing in with her magic bracelets and golden lasso. “You didn’t tell me there was going to be that much press.”
“You’re the best.”
“All right. I’ll be there.” He disconnected and shoved his cell back into his pocket. “Damn it all to hell. I can’t skip out. I gotta leave.” He dipped his head regretfully, as if he’d lost the chance of a lifetime. “It’s not too often I meet somebody who understands how to live big the way you do.” More headshaking on his part. More regret. Now came the tricky part.
He went over to reclaim his ring. “There was something I wanted to talk to you about, but… Oh, well…” He held out his hand.
The ring stayed where it was. “Please. Tell me what it is.”
“This is kind of embarrassing.” Mortifying was more like it. “But you and me… we’re men of the world, right? Discriminating about the finer things. The two of us… we know what we want.”
“Of course.” The prince caressed the ring with his thumb.
“One of the princess’s drivers is a friend of mine-knows I enjoy women. Younger ones. I mean, what man doesn’t, right? You’ve got this servant girl… Name’s Faiza. The driver pointed her out to me.”
“Ahh…” The prince beamed at him. “You fancy this servant girl?”
“She’s my type. Real, real young. Looks about thirteen.” He forced the rest out. “My favorite kind of woman.”
“Ah, yes.”
His skin was crawling. “I was wondering… Do you think you could talk the princess into letting the girl come… work for me? Permanently?” He’d hit the word work extra hard, and he gave the prince a few moments to fill in the degenerate parts for himself. “Heck. I shouldn’t have asked.” Again, he held out his hand for the ring. “Glad you appreciated my ring. I’ll get out of here now and let you enjoy the rest of your evening.”
“Wait.” The prince moved a few steps away. “It might be possible… But of course, I would have to compensate the princess.”
“Well, sure. You say the word, and I’ll write a check. What do you think the girl is worth? A couple of thousand?”
“Money between friends? No, no. But perhaps, a token of our friendship?”
Sherlock had assumed Coop could simply convince the prince to turn the girl over, but Coop had known better. “By a token, you mean…?”
The prince’s thumb caressed the ring. “Whatever you think the girl is worth to you.”
“You drive a hard bargain, but… You got her papers? Passport? I don’t want to lose that ring and then have her skip out on me.”
“But of course. One phone call.” The prince gave him an oily smile and reached for his phone. Coop pretended to stare out the window during the short, barked conversation in Arabic. He and the prince had struck a deal.
Coop couldn’t wait to get away, but he wasn’t turning over the ring without the girl, and he knew how to take his time. He finished his drink and sidetracked the prince’s story about a particularly repulsive sex game by recounting a story of his own, this one about last season’s Giants game. Finally, the two of them were on the elevator riding down to the lobby.
One of the royal henchmen stood at the front desk riffling through a stack of passports he’d apparently retrieved from the hotel safe. Since the United States and Canada had a loose border, Coop had tried to convince Piper that a passport wasn’t absolutely necessary, but she’d been her own stubborn self.
“Without a passport, it’ll be nearly impossible for her to apply for legal status,” she’d argued. “She won’t be able to go to school and get health care. They’ve stolen her identity, Coop. The passport represents what little of it she has left. Promise me you’ll at least try.”
He hadn’t promised anything, but the short time he’d spent with the prince had steeled his resolve.
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.