First Star I See Tonight

  “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.”

  His grouch didn’t faze her. “I’ll give her a few days to settle in and make plans with her aunt. Then—”

  “Not a good idea.” He increased the distance between them, which put him next to a dusty silk flower arrangement, and told her about the prince and the ring, making sure she understood how many holes there were in her original plan. “The prince has a big ego and a small army to go with it. It might take him years to figure out he’s been tricked, or he might already realize it. Best to get her on the first flight out of the city tomorrow. Better yet, fly her out of Milwaukee. It’s not that much farther than O’Hare, and there’s no sense in taking unnecessary chances.”

  “I’m not putting her on a plane.”

  “You damned sure are. I’m paying.”

  She brushed him off. “There are no direct flights, and she’s been traumatized enough. Thunder Bay is right across the border from the North Shore of Minnesota. I’m driving her.”

  “Why would you even think of doing that?” he exclaimed.

  She looked at him as if he were the lowest worm on the planet. And there it was again. The feeling that he wasn’t man enough to meet some kind of challenge that existed only in her mind.

  “Because it’s the right thing to do,” she said.

  He huffed and puffed, feeling more and more like a blustering idiot. Finally, he made himself shut up. “Fine!” he said, exactly like a sulky teenager. “Have it your way.”

  But even as he stormed out, he knew what he had to do.

  10

  Her car wouldn’t start! Of all the mornings for this to happen, why did it have to be today? Faiza sat in the passenger seat, clutching her precious passport and darting nervous glances at the cars traveling past Piper’s old condo building. If it weren’t for Coop and his counterfeit Super Bowl ring, Faiza’s employers would almost certainly ignore her defection. Still, Piper couldn’t fault Coop for what he’d done. She’d imagined his celebrity status would be enough to get the prince to hand Faiza over as a gift, but Coop understood wealthy egotists better than she did. A bad miscalculation on her part.

  While Faiza gnawed at her bottom lip, Piper poked around under the hood of her Sonata, but it wasn’t until she inspected the fuse box that she saw the problem. A couple of the fuses were missing. Who the hell had—?

  A car stopped next to her, window down. “Get in.”

  It was Coop, sitting behind the wheel of a silver Audi sedan and looking like the king of the city. “You did this!” she exclaimed. “Where are my fuses?”

  “I’ll give ’em back when I’m ready,” he drawled.

  He got out of his car and opened the passenger door of her Sonata. “Good morning, Ms. Jamali. I’m driving you ladies to Canada today.”

  “No!” Spending hours in a car with him would take too much work on her part. She didn’t want him to be decent. She wanted him to keep on being the self-absorbed, arrogant, entitled jock she’d invented in her head when she’d first started to follow him.

  But Faiza was glad to see him and eagerly transferred cars, leaving Piper with no option other than to follow. He overrode Faiza’s protests about sitting in the Audi’s front passenger seat and relegated Piper to the rear. She snatched up the seat belt. “Not only am I perfectly capable of driving to Minnesota by myself, but I g
uarantee I’m a better driver than you.”

  “How do you figure?” he said as he pulled away.

  “I’ve been following you, remember? You’re hard on the brakes, you tailgate when you get frustrated, and in general, you’re too aggressive. I, on the other hand, am trained in evasive driving, ambush avoidance, and offensive contact driving.”

  “Impressive, but I don’t get speeding tickets. I happen to know you can’t say the same.”

  “Only because there’s not a cop in the state of Illinois who’s going to give a ticket to the great Cooper Graham. But let’s see how the Wisconsin Highway Patrol feels about you when we cross into Packers territory.”

  “Even there,” he said smugly. “When you’re a big-name athlete like yours truly, you can get away with just about anything.”

  “Life is so unfair,” she muttered. “And where’s your Tesla?”

  “In the garage. It has to be recharged about every three hundred miles, so road trips require some planning.”

  “Whose car is this?”

  “Mine.”

  She forced her teeth to unclench. “How many do you have?”

  “Only two. Unless you count my truck.”

  “Why do you need a truck?”

  “Haul stuff. Every man needs a truck.”

  She sighed and started picking the fuzz off her sweater.

  As they drove toward the Wisconsin border, Faiza told them about her conversation with her aunt the previous night. Coop used all the charm he never bothered to expend on Piper to chat with her. Faiza maintained her modesty, not looking directly at him, but she clearly adored him. Only as he ventured into politics did Faiza grow fiery.

  “The word Islam means ‘peace, purity, submission, and obedience,’” she said. “What has terrorism to do with any of those things?”

  They talked more about the Middle East, about food and music. Near Madison, they ordered lunch at a Burger King drive-through. Faiza was enchanted with the idea of getting a meal through a window. Coop refused Piper’s money, as well as her offer to take over the driving. “If you get any ketchup on my seat covers, I’m leaving you by the side of the road,” he said.

  Faiza took his threat seriously and promised she’d be very careful. “Not you, Faiza,” he said. “Only her.”

  “You do not like Piper?” Faiza sounded genuinely distressed.

  “It’s complicated,” he said. “You see, Piper’s crazy in love with me. I have to keep her at a distance.”

  Piper snorted.

  “Oh, no,” Faiza cried. “Piper is not crazy. She is very intelligent.”

  This launched Coop into an explanation of American slang. By the time they’d cleared the Wisconsin Dells, he’d taught Faiza not to take words like crazy or awesome literally, as well as explaining the meanings of cool, chill, hang, and What up?

  Faiza’s giggles made Piper’s heart sing, so she was shocked at how peevish she sounded when she said, “Knowing American slang won’t do her much good in Canada.”

  “They have American television in Canada,” he pointed out.

  Piper was ashamed of herself. Just because she’d been feeling left out was no reason to be so churlish.

  Like most men, Coop hated to stop the car, and she accused him of timing them when she and Faiza ran into a service station restroom.

  “Glancing at my watch doesn’t mean I was timing you,” he said righteously.

  She gave him the hairy eyeball. “How long did we take?”

  “Six minutes and thirty-two seconds.”

  As irritating as she sometimes found him, he could still make her laugh.

  “Buckle up, ladies,” he said. “This spaceship is taking off.”

  They reached Duluth midafternoon, and he finally let Piper take the wheel—mainly because she was sitting behind it when he reappeared from his own restroom trip. “Five minutes, fifty-two seconds,” she said. “You’re holding us up.”

  Faiza giggled from the backseat.

  “Four minutes tops. You’re lying.” But he climbed into the passenger seat without protesting.

  The wild beauty of Minnesota’s North Shore, with its rocky bluffs, cobblestone beaches, and breathtaking views of Lake Superior, was a well-kept secret from most of America, but Duke had brought Piper to the North Shore on several camping trips when she was a kid, and she’d always loved the area. The signs they passed for fried walleye, smoked whitefish, and wild rice pancakes made her desperately miss the old chauvinist with all his flaws and all his love. Coop was more taken with the advertisements for homemade pies.

  “Pull over!” he ordered as he spotted a road sign for the ominously named town of Castle Danger. She turned into a rustic restaurant facing the highway. He emerged not long after with three slabs of pie. “Caramel apple pecan.”

  The pie was too hard to eat while she was navigating a twisting, two-lane highway, so she couldn’t do more than take in the delicious cinnamon fragrance while Coop made exaggerated moaning sounds and provided a food-porn narrative about flaky crusts and gooey filling. “What do you think, Faiza?” he said. “Best pie you ever tasted?”

  “Delicious,” she replied, but the closer they got to the Canadian border, the more nervous she’d become, and she only took a few bites.

  Grand Marais was the last significant town before the Grand Portage border crossing, and when they were several miles away, Piper asked Faiza if she would consider taking off her head scarf until they went through. “We’re an odd-looking group,” she said. “Even though all our papers are in order, it would make the crossing easier.”

  Faiza gnawed her bottom lip and gazed at Coop in the front seat. “I cannot do this, Piper.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Coop said. “Pull over, Sherlock, and I’ll show you how it’s done.”

  “Do you have a clue how obnoxious you are?”

  “What you call obnoxious, other people see as charming and good-looking.”

  She grinned and pulled over.

  The border guard recognized Mr. Big Shot right away, and after a couple of autographs and some football talk, waved them through.

  Faiza’s aunt lived in a modest white-framed house on a hilly street that offered a distant view of the Thunder Bay port. She’d been watching for them and dashed out before the car even stopped.

  Faiza flung herself into her aunt’s arms, both women weeping. Other friends and relatives spilled from the house, many of them congregating around Piper to thank her for what she’d done. The women kissed her; the men hugged Coop. They were offered food and drink. The effusiveness of their praise made her self-conscious. After a final, tearful good-bye from Faiza and promises of prayers from everyone, Piper beat Coop to the driver’s seat, and they were on their way.

  It had been a long day, and it was beginning to grow dark. She hadn’t thought ahead to where they’d stay for the night, but Coop informed her he’d reserved rooms at a place in Two Harbors, a North Shore town a good three hours away. She was drained from the events of the past couple of days, and she’d have preferred someplace closer, but he refused. “I’ve heard about this place, and I want to check it out.”

  “How much?”

  “More than you can afford. You can pay me back in overtime.”

  He was being difficult just to be difficult, but then he redeemed himself. “I’ll admit I wasn’t crazy about getting involved in this, but I’m glad you nagged me into it. You did a good thing back there.”

  “You, too,” she said.

  An uncomfortable silence fell over the car. She was glad when he flipped on the radio.

  He took over the driving when they stopped for gas. Around ten o’clock, he pulled off the two-lane highway into the town of Two Harbors. There weren’t many big hotel chains on the North Shore, but even so, she hadn’t expected him to turn into the gravel lane that ran alongside the city’s iron ore docks.

  The hulking docks were eerie at night, their towering, ribbed-steel skeletons reminding her of a dysto
pian vision of ruined skyscrapers in a once great city. A freighter loading ore from the nearby mines was berthed at one of the docks, the glare of giant floodlights making the scene even ghostlier.

  Ahead of them, on top of a bluff, the thin beam from a lighthouse pointed a sweeping finger into the harbor. Coop followed the gravel road right up to the gate of the red brick building. With its narrow windows and chalk-white trim, it would have looked like an old-time schoolhouse if it weren’t for the square light tower rising above one corner.

  “We’re staying here?”

  “Some friends told me about it. This is the oldest continuously running lighthouse on Lake Superior. The historical society turned it into a B and B a while back.”

  She reached for the door handle. “As long as it has two bedrooms, I’m fine with it.”

  “Hold it!” He hit the door lock, trapping her in the car and looking pissed for no reason at all. “You don’t seriously imagine I’ll try to get you into bed?”

  His reaction took her by surprise. She came up with an exasperated sigh. “I wouldn’t think so, but there was that odious kiss the other night, and since I seem to be a guy magnet for the most unlikely men, what do I know?”

  “You’re not a guy magnet.”

  “Really? Then what was that kiss about?”

  “It was about saving your stupid life.” He pointed one long, sturdy finger at her. “Let’s get something straight, Sherlock. I have no sexual interest in you. None. Zip. Zero. The only reason I kissed you was as a distraction from what I really wanted to do, which was strangle you. Now this conversation is over.”

  He unlocked the doors and ejected from the car.

  What is with him? She obviously needed sleep because she was a tiny bit peeved about his dismissal of her sex appeal, a jab that wouldn’t have bothered her if it had come from anyone else. More than a tiny bit. She was peeved enough to want to challenge him, but a middle-aged woman who introduced herself as Marilyn had appeared at the door. “Mr. Smith? Welcome.”

  Mr. Smith? That was the best he could come up with?