The sound of footsteps cut through her grogginess. She peered around the water heater and saw a figure wearing stiletto boots and carrying a backpack coming down the stairs. The same backpack Taylor brought to work each evening. Taylor glanced around, then crossed the basement toward the liquor storage room.
The lock had been changed, and there were now only two keys—one for Coop and one for Tony, the club manager, a decent guy who’d already earned Piper’s trust. It was his key that, at Piper’s request, had spent the past two nights conveniently lying out on his desk.
The lock rattled. Piper raised her camera, quickly adjusted the settings, and clicked away.
***
Two nights later, Taylor was gone. She and her boyfriend Keith, Spiral’s ex-bartender, had been operating a small but profitable black market business selling Spiral’s top-shelf brands. Piper had only been working for Cooper Graham for six days, and she’d already earned her salary.
Around eleven o’clock, Deidre Joss entered the club with Noah. Coop must have been looking for her because he appeared right away and led her up to VIP. But Noah Parks had spotted Piper, and he didn’t follow.
While Deidre had traded in her black office attire for an amazing beaded black sheath, Noah still wore his conservative businessman’s suit and a necktie. “I’m surprised to see you here,” he said, taking in Piper’s new mulberry dress.
“Coop hired me to do some social media for him.”
Noah regarded her stonily. “I’m sure you’ve told him by now who you were working for.”
“I promised confidentiality, and that’s what I’ve delivered,” she replied tersely.
“You’re saying you didn’t tell him?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. And please remind Deidre of that the next time she needs to hire an investigator.”
He took a sip from his glass and regarded her thoughtfully. “Impressive.”
Not long after, she spotted Jonah scowling at her from across the floor, a scowl she suspected would get more unpleasant if he learned she intended to get his pal Dell fired. From the beginning, something about Dell’s manner had made her suspicious, and her suspicions had paid off earlier tonight when he was managing the door and she’d seen him take a tip in the form of a bag of white powder from a drunk who wanted to get in.
She went upstairs to check out VIP. Noah had joined Deidre and Coop there, but Coop was only paying attention to Deidre. He hadn’t said much to Piper about the nightclub franchise he was developing, but she knew him well enough to suspect that Deidre’s refusal to make a final decision on financing was driving him crazy—not that he’d let her see that. Another man would be courting other firms, but Deidre had a stellar reputation, and Coop, being Coop, would only want to work with the best.
He laughed and leaned in closer to Deidre. Setting aside business, Coop genuinely liked her. Piper felt a stab of jealousy. Not because he liked her. No, that wasn’t it at all. Of course not. Piper was merely jealous because Deidre had it all: a megasuccessful business, a huge bank account, brains, beauty, self-confidence . . . And because Coop so obviously liked her.
She wanted to hit herself in the head. She was jealous! Jealous because she wanted Coop to like her, too. A ridiculous reaction. Coop was her employer, and all that mattered was that he like the way she was doing her job.
Thanks to Duke, she had years of practice scrubbing away feelings that made her uncomfortable, and she buried her self-disgust in a couple of warm bourbon fudge brownies from the kitchen.
Deidre and Noah finally left. Piper made her way through the lounges to the dance floor where the vibrant LED wall showcased the throng of bodies gyrating to DJ PhairoZ’s electro beats. Coop wasn’t far away, his customary throng crowding him.
An oversize goon in Gucci—she’d caught a glimpse of his logoed belt—was doing his best to back Coop against a wall. He wasn’t an ordinary fan. This guy was drunk and belligerent. He was also as tall as Coop and fifty pounds heavier. His arms gesticulated in agitated loops, and the club’s laser lights turned his complexion from blue to red to Hulk green. She glanced around for one of the bouncers. As usual, none were in sight. Wishing she’d traded her stilettos for flats, she pushed her way through the dancers just as the goon clenched his fist and leaned in.
Coop put a hand to the guy’s chest. The goon didn’t like that. His arm shot back, ready to throw a punch. She hurled herself forward and caught his arm before it could land. Shifting her weight, she thrust an elbow to his solar plexus and dropped him to the floor.
The dancers skittered back. Reeking of booze, the goon croaked for air and tried to get up. The side seam on her new mulberry dress ripped as she straddled him. She caught a momentary glimpse of Coop’s incredulous face before Jonah and Ernie appeared, blocking her view. They looked down at her, as if she were the one at fault.
“Get him out of here,” she ordered. Jonah’s expression was murderous, but he and Ernie led the guy away.
One of the female servers rushed over to her. “Are you okay?”
“Of course she’s okay,” the aggravated voice of her employer retorted. “She’s the Man of Steel. Just ask her.”
So much for gratitude.
PhairoZ did a quick switch to acid techno. A firm hand hooked her arm and drew her none too gently off the dance floor. As Coop maneuvered her through the crowd, she realized the skirt of her damaged dress had ripped at the side, revealing an unimaginative pair of white hip huggers.
He directed her through the kitchen and out the door that led into the back hallway. Only then did he drop her arm. She knew him well enough to know what was coming, and she wasn’t having it, so she got in his face before he could get in hers. “Unlike your bouncers, I won’t stand by and watch my employer being assaulted.”
His face reddened with massacred ego. “I wasn’t being assaulted, and don’t you ever try to protect me again.”
“Somebody has to do it.” She was the professional here, and she struggled for calm. “Your bouncers need to stay closer to you. That drunk was getting ready to throw a punch.”
“Which he’d never have landed.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“I hired you to watch the staff, not me.”
They were so close she could smell the laundry detergent from his sweater. “You do understand this is a conversation we wouldn’t be having if I was one of the men on your staff.”
“You’re not. And don’t you try to pull the sexist card on me!”
“When the card fits, play it.” The way he was looming over her made it nearly impossible to hold her temper. “If one of your bouncers had pulled the guy off you—highly unlikely, since they’re way too busy trying to hook up with the female guests—you wouldn’t have thought twice about it.”
His eyes narrowed—wary—and she thought she had him, but he wasn’t giving up so easily. Instead, he moved even closer, so she could feel his body heat right through her torn mulberry dress. “I don’t need to be rescued by anybody.”
Her professionalism dropped away. Now she was as angry as he. “Really? What if it’s two on one? What are you going to do then?”
“Especially then,” he said, with something approaching a sneer.
They were nose-to-nose now. Or they would have been if she were a head taller. “How about three to one?”
“I take care of myself.”
She refused to back off. “What if somebody has a gun? What are you going to do then?” She expanded her chest, which, unfortunately, brushed the tips of her breasts against him.
He reared even higher, more of him pressing against her. “Better question—what would you do?”
“I’m trained! You’re not.”
“What you are”—he growled—“is a pain in the ass.” And without warning, he crushed her to him, his head descending, and his mouth clamping over hers.
She was so shocked she gasped, parting her lips, which gave him an access he immediately claimed.
His kiss invaded. Took over. Hard and demanding. His hand went to the rip at the side of her dress. He touched the bare skin of her hip, and his fingers were like flames. Every cell in her body came alive. Wide-awake. Cock-of-the-morning, crowing from the roof of the henhouse, sun blazing high in the sky . . . that wide-awake.
She bit back a moan. He felt so good. Tasted so good. He reached farther into the slit of her dress. His knee pressed between her legs. She wanted this. Wanted it enough to forget everything and give in. Wanted it—
“No!” She shoved hard against his chest. “Back off!”
She was furious with him, more furious with herself. “You try that again, and you’ll end up on the floor . . . like your drunken friend.” She spun away and rushed upstairs.
***
He was sweating as if he’d just finished a full day of speed drills. What the hell had happened? Was he turning into one more thug who thought playing football gave him the right to assault women? He sagged against the wall, sick inside, trying to pull it back together. Women kissed him, not the other way around. They rose up on their toes, looped their perfumed arms around his neck, opened their mouths, and dove right in. He was going crazy. That was the only explanation. People had told him he’d have adjustment issues with retirement, but he’d never expected anything like this. He was twice her size, and no matter how mighty She-ra, Princess of Power, thought she was, he could crush her.
God, she was pissed. She should have given him a hard knee to the nuts.
But she hadn’t.
Because she’d been pissed, but not afraid of him. If she’d felt threatened, even the smallest bit, he’d be doubled over right now clutching his crotch.
Or maybe he was looking for an excuse for bad behavior. A way to feel okay about what he’d done. But there was nothing okay about going after a defenseless woman.
Who wasn’t defenseless. Not even close. But still . . .
Shit.
He liked having her around. Hated having her around. She was messing with his focus. But she was also doing a great job, and he’d be a total sleaze to fire her over what had just happened, since he was the one at fault.
He’d have to find another way to deal with her—a way that wouldn’t get him ejected from the game.
***
Her cell rang four hours later, summoning her to the Peninsula earlier than she was scheduled to be there. On the way, she blared her horn at anybody who got close to her. Why had Coop kissed her like that? Because she was winning their argument, that’s why, and he couldn’t stand to lose. A total power play. Much more frustrating was her response. Of course, he’d noticed. Now she’d have to work twice as hard to make certain he didn’t get any more of an upper hand than he already had.
One of the male officials greeted her at the Peninsula with the news that Princess Kefaya wanted to meet with her. Piper couldn’t imagine why.
An older servant met her in the lobby and guided her to the elevators. When they got off, the servant led Piper through a black marble foyer into a spacious living room suite with large corner windows.
Princess Kefaya entered from one of the adjoining rooms. Even though it was early, she was fashionably dressed in a luxurious fuchsia tunic that fell to midthigh over sleek gray pants. Elegant gold cuffs encircled her wrists, and a ransom in diamond earrings sparkled through her long coal-black hair.
Faiza followed her into the room. Piper had only caught a glimpse of her since that first day, but she’d thought about her frequently. Faiza stayed by the door, her eyes on the carpet. What must it be like to live every day without hope for a better future?
“You are the driver who works for the American football player?” the princess asked.
“Yes.”
“My brother, His Highness, Prince Aamuzhir, is in town. He is a fan of American football. You will bring your employer to meet him tonight. His Highness is staying on the eighteenth floor.”
“I can’t do that.”
The princess wasn’t used to anyone telling her something couldn’t be done, and her eyebrows arched like a cat’s spine. “Faiza! You will personally make arrangements with this driver and see this is done.”
Faiza nodded, her head still bowed. She led Piper from the suite to the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, Piper threw up her hands. “Faiza, I can’t make Coop do anything, let alone this.”
“But the princess has ordered it,” Faiza said earnestly.
“The princess is going to be disappointed.”
Faiza’s forehead puckered. “Can you not persuade him?”
“This is the United States,” Piper said as gently as she could. “I know it’s hard to understand, but we don’t care here about what foreign princesses want.”
Piper watched the play of expressions on Faiza’s face move from despair to fear to resignation. Piper couldn’t bear it. “This isn’t your fault. I’ll go back and explain.”
Faiza regarded her sadly. “Do not trouble yourself. This is my difficulty. If I had not mentioned to my friend Habiba that you work for a famous American football player, none of this would have happened. Habiba means no harm, but she likes very much to talk.”
“But you’ll be the one punished.” Piper knew it was true, and the injustice infuriated her. She was further enraged when the elevator doors opened and the bright light of the lobby revealed what she hadn’t noticed before. Faiza’s dark purple hijab didn’t quite hide a bruise on her cheekbone.
Rage boiled through her. A pair of stern-faced guards stood near the elevator. She grabbed Faiza’s arm. “I don’t feel good. Help me get to the restroom.”
Faiza regarded her with concern, but she was accustomed to serving others, and she immediately directed Piper past the disinterested guards and across the lobby to the ladies’ room. No one was inside. “Who hit you?” Piper demanded. “Did the princess do this?”
Faiza touched her cheek. “No. It was Aya.” The distasteful way she uttered the name spoke volumes. “Aya is in charge of Her Highness’s servants. She likes things done quickly, and I was too slow.”
“And the princess allows her to hit the other servants?”
“She does not notice.”
“She should!” They were alone, but Piper automatically lowered her voice. “Your aunt in Canada . . . Would she let you stay with her if you could get there?”
“Oh, yes. She has told me this. Every time we come to the United States, I dream of going to her, but it is impossible. I have no way of getting there, and even if I did . . . If I was caught . . .” Her dark eyes were as empty as an old woman’s looking at her own death. She shook her head at the futility of such a thing. “I must find my happiness in knowing how deeply my khala keeps me in her heart.”
“That’s not good enough.” The royal family was leaving tomorrow night. Piper hesitated. “What if there was a way to . . . get you into Canada?”
This was crazy. Piper had no idea how to get Faiza away from her employers and across the border.
Faiza’s face was a playground of emotions, with hope and defeat riding opposite ends of a seesaw. Defeat quickly won out. “I would do anything, but there is no possibility, my dear friend. Your kindness means much to me.”
Kindness wasn’t enough. All the way home, Piper thought about helping Faiza escape. It wouldn’t be easy to get her out of the country. But it might be possible.
All she needed was a little help . . .
9
“You want me to do what?” Cooper Graham snatched a cherry lollipop from his mouth.
She’d cornered him in his rooftop garden, where he was nurturing his cucumbers before the first frost could get them. Even though October had arrived, the garden’s high brick walls, multiple levels, and comfortable lounging area formed a beautiful oasis. Raised vegetable beds held cool-weather crops of leeks and spinach; beets, turnips, and broccoli. Big glazed pots and stone jardinières displayed mixes of rosemary and zinnia, parsley and dahlia, lemongrass and marigol
d. She hadn’t liked discovering he’d built this garden himself. It upset some of what she wanted to believe about him.
“You’re an adrenaline junkie,” she pointed out, crumpling some mint leaves in her fingers. “This should be right up your alley.”
“You really are taking medication. Crazy pills!” He plopped the lollipop back in his mouth and returned to the cucumbers.
“A deeply offensive comment,” she said with a sniff. “But I’ll rise above.”
“You do that.”
As she moved around a pot of pepper plants to get closer, she noticed a potting table tucked behind the wooden lattice that defined the garden’s lounging area. Something on top caught her attention. She gave herself time to regroup by going over to investigate. “What’s this?” She held up a perfectly rounded ball of hard-packed dirt, one of half a dozen sitting on top of the table.
“Seed bomb. Unlike you, I have no ethics.”
“Meaning . . . ?”
“I’m a guerrilla gardener. Some clay, peat moss, and a batch of seeds shaped into a ball. That’s all it takes.”
She was starting to get the picture. “You’re an urban Johnny Appleseed. You toss these into empty lots.”
“It’s getting too late in the season now. Best times are spring and early fall. With a little luck and some rain at the right time, a hardscrabble plot of dirt starts to bloom.” He reached across the cukes to pull off a few yellowed tomato leaves. “Coreopsis, coneflowers, black-eyed Susans. Maybe some prairie grass. Fun to watch.”
“How long have you been doing this?”
“Two, three years. I don’t know.”
“I thought you were laundering drug money.”
He grinned for the first time since she’d cornered him. “You did not.”