Qadir stared out of the window of the limousine. Tarek was unusually quiet as well. The drizzle of rain fit his mood. He had woken alone again.
He turned his head to face his brother. “Tarek, will you do me a favor, please?”
Tarek blinked and nodded. “Anything, Qadir.”
“Will you find someone to follow Aimee? I need to know where she goes, who she sees, and most of all, where she lives.”
Tarek frowned. “Do you suspect she is cheating on you?”
Qadir scowled and shook his head. “No. I worry about her. She refuses to accept anything from me, not even a cell phone. I want to make sure she is safe. That is all.”
Tarek smiled in understanding. “Consider it done.”
Qadir nodded his thanks and returned to his view of the gray, wet concrete and looming dark buildings. The week away from Aimee was going to seem like an eternity. The morning already did.
Aimee was shivering with cold. On her last delivery, a car had driven past her and splashed cold water up her legs. She chatted a little with Mrs. Yang, then placed her shopping basket on the floor near the cat food, headed to the back of the Yangs’ grocery store, and closed the bathroom door behind her.
After removing her boots and stripping out of her wet jeans, she turned on the hand dryer and held her jeans under it, hoping to dry her pants and warm her hands at the same time. It was hard not to crawl up under the dryer and just stay there. If it wasn’t for the seven hungry mouths she had to feed, she would have seriously considered it—though the resulting electric bill and hogged bathroom would not endear her to the Yangs… so, probably not. A girl could dream.
Ten minutes later, her jeans were still damp but no longer dripping and warmer than they had been. She dressed and opened the bathroom door. Across the hall, the office door was open, and she could see the video feed from a store security camera that Mr. Yang must have installed recently.
She walked down the short hall and retrieved her basket, adding two dozen cans of cat food to it, a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and two containers of noodle soup. She was off work for the next two days and the forecast called for more rain.
She picked up a package of cough drops as well. Her throat had been feeling scratchy since around noon. The last thing she needed was to get sick.
She walked up to the register just as two teenage boys entered the store. She recognized them as members of a local gang. Mr. Yang came out of the back to ring her up while Mrs. Yang headed for the back office, the two of them seamlessly moving to their usual positions when someone dangerous came into the store.
“Yo, nice board,” one of the boys said, eyeing the skateboard she had propped up next to her.
She ignored him, smiling at Mr. Yang as she bought the food and packed it all into her bag. The boy started to reach for her skateboard, but she caught it with her foot, sliding it between herself and the counter. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder.
“What’s the matter? You don’t want to share your board?”
“Thank you, Mr. Yang,” she said in Mandarin.
“You be careful, Aimee,” he replied in the same language.
She grabbed her board and turned to find the teen standing so close that her bulging bag actually hit him. He was glaring at her.
With casual detachment she said, “Tell Biggy that Wheels sends her love and that I’ll stop by to see his grandma this week.”
The suddenly wary boy stepped back. The second boy snickered and lightly punched him in the arm. She stood still while the skateboard-lover looked her up and down.
“You know Biggy?” he grudgingly asked.
Aimee stared back at him, not smiling. “Yes. The Yangs are under my protection. Biggy promised me five places. This is one of them.”
“You’re full of shit. Why would Biggy give you grace?”
Aimee did smile then. It didn’t reach her eyes.
“Why don’t you ask Biggy?” she suggested.
She pushed past the boy and pulled open the door. Adjusting the hood on her coat, she entered the rain-darkened night. She didn’t look behind her when the bell jingled again as someone left the store behind her.
“She’s still not answering her phone,” Qadir growled, pocketing his cell phone as he exited the small private jet.
“The man I have following Aimee is concerned about her,” Tarek replied as they walked to the car.
They slid into the limousine, and Tarek handed Qadir the report. He flicked through it with a frown. Aimee had gone into an abandoned warehouse three days ago and hadn’t come out.
“We’ll be there in about forty-five minutes. The realtor will let us in,” Tarek informed him.
Qadir looked out the window. A storm had passed through this area nearly two days ago. Six inches of snow remained on the ground. Pedestrians, bundled up against the bone-chilling cold, carefully avoided the mounds of dirty snow the city workers had piled up along the curbs. It was a dramatic difference from where he was yesterday.
Forty-five minutes later, they pulled up outside of the abandoned warehouse. A tall chain-link fence surrounded the building down to the edge of the water. A large For Sale sign was posted on the gate.
Qadir studied the building for several minutes before a Kia SUV pulled up, and a woman in her fifties wearing heavy make-up and a suit that was too snug for her size hurried over. Her blood-red painted lips were plastered in a large smile. Greed and appreciation gleamed in her eyes. At her approach, he powered down his window.
One of his bodyguards stopped her before she could reach the limo. A mild argument ensued before she handed the man the keys to the gate and another set for the warehouse. She gave a plaintive look at the limo before retreating to the warmth of her car.
The keys were quickly used to open the gate, they drove to the entrance, and all but the drivers exited the cars and approached the front door. Qadir’s bodyguard unlocked it.
The man who had been tailing Aimee stepped out of the gloom. Qadir and Tarek nodded to him, and they all entered the freezing tomb of what was once a prime manufacturing building.
Each of them turned on their powerful flashlights and swept beams of light around the neglected interior. The warehouse was nearly the length of a football field. Their breath fogged the air. Their footsteps echoed.
“Where did she enter?” Qadir asked.
The man who had followed Aimee replied, “Over there, sir.”
Qadir walked over to the spot on the far side of the warehouse. Beneath a window, a wooden box displayed many dirty footprints, all in the same shoe size, some faint, some newer. He followed the tracks.
They were almost to the stairs when a movement out of the darkness set his bodyguards on alert. Qadir relaxed when several kittens appeared. Within moments, six kittens and a mother cat wound around their legs meowing loudly.
Tarek’s beam of light illuminated empty cat food cans neatly clustered on the floor and piled in a trash bin nearby.
“Someone’s been feeding them,” Tarek noted.
Qadir nodded, looking up at the top of the stairs. A closed office door was visible.
A muffled cough spurred Qadir to take the stairs two at a time and push open the door. Tarek was right behind him.
He shone the flashlight around the room. A small stove was set up on the table. Another muffled cough and a low moan drew both men’s attention to a pile of clothes and blankets. A shiver of dread ran through Qadir. His heart wanted to reject what his mind understood. Crossing the small room, he knelt down next to the makeshift bed and slowly pulled the covers back.
“Aimee, habibi, what have you done?”
He pulled his glove off and caressed her flushed cheek. She was burning up!
Her eyelashes fluttered, and she gave him a crooked smile before wincing and burying her face in the covers as a prolonged coughing fit gripped her.
“Qadir,” Tarek murmured beside him.
“Call Dr. Fuah. Have him meet us at the hospital,” he said.
“No… no… hos-hospital,” Aimee pleaded.
“This time I will have to overrule you, habibi.”
“Not-not moving. Too c-c-cold,” she grumbled, trying to pull the covers back over her head.
“Aimee,” he growled.
She shook her head before wearily closing her eyes. “C-can you pl-please feed-feed the kit-kit-kittens?”
“Get her out of here,” Tarek gently ordered. “Dr. Fuah will meet you at the manor house. He says the hospitals are swamped at the moment. If she needs more care, he will have her transferred to a private hospital.”
“I’ll take care of the kittens for the Miss,” the man who had been following her said.
Qadir ignored them all. He threw aside the pile of clothes on top of Aimee, wrapped the quilt around her, and scooped her into his arms. She briefly struggled as he stepped through the door.
“My stuff! I need it. My board. I—” She coughed. “—got to have… my board.” She turned her head into the covers as she coughed again.
“Go,” Tarek said. “I’ll gather her belongings and bring them.”
Qadir shot his brother an expression of gratitude before he carried Aimee down the stairs. He strode toward the entrance, his mind still reeling from the fact that his lover lived as a homeless person while he traveled in luxury.
He slid into the back seat of the limousine. The driver immediately pulled away. They exited the gate without stopping for the realtor who had eagerly opened her door hoping to catch him.
As the limo sped through the streets, Qadir held Aimee’s shivering body tightly against him. He reached along the door and increased the heat in the confined space. She snuggled against him with a soft sigh.
He looked out at the crowded streets. He felt like he was actually seeing the people walking along the sidewalks for the first time. He had been born into wealth and had never known deprivation. He never worried that his resources were too few to care for himself. He’d certainly never been close to dying from neglect.
How many others were like Aimee; vibrant and capable, but just one unlucky moment away from complete disaster?
Forty minutes later, he was carrying Aimee into his manor house. The butler greeted them at the door. Dr. Fuah and his two nurses followed them in. Qadir ascended the stairs and strode to his master bedroom. The nurses moved ahead of him and turned back the covers. He gently laid Aimee on his bed. She moaned softly, gripped the covers of her worn quilt, and rolled onto her side and curled into a ball.
“I will inform you of her condition, sire,” Dr. Fuah said with a stern expression.
Qadir wanted to argue but bowed his head in agreement. He quietly exited the room as the two nurses began talking soothingly to Aimee.
He walked into the living room and stopped, unsure of what to do. He had never felt so helpless in his life.
Walking over to the bar, he poured a drink of bourbon. He looked up when Tarek entered carrying Aimee’s scant belongings.
“This is everything,” Tarek said, placing the small collection of items next to the couch. “Bill will capture the cats. He said between his wife and daughter, they will have a good home.”
“Thank you, Tarek,” he said.
Tarek looked up. “Any word on her condition?”
Qadir shook his head. “Not yet. We’ve only just arrived ourselves.”
Tarek nodded, walked over to the bar and poured himself a drink, then settled onto the couch. Qadir sighed and sat down in the chair across from him. He stretched his long legs out in front of himself and stared at the golden liquor in his glass without actually seeing it. All he could see was Aimee’s flushed face. All he could hear were her brutal coughs.
“You are falling in love with her,” Tarek commented.
Qadir smiled. “Not falling—have fallen,” he confessed. He took a deep breath. “She is smart, beautiful, funny, passionate, and she scares the hell out of me.”
“Sounds like you won’t be bored,” Tarek chuckled before shaking his head. “I can’t believe she was living there.”
Qadir scowled and rose to his feet. “I can’t either. If she had told me she was homeless—” He shook his head. “I should have known. Her clothes, her unwillingness to tell me where she lived. She’s proud, Tarek, and stubborn. She’s independent as hell.”
“And compassionate…. She will be a great queen one day.”
Qadir bowed his head in agreement. “Yes, she will be.”
Time passed slowly. Minutes turned to an hour, then two. Qadir and Tarek talked about the business and politics of their various meetings, but Qadir’s eyes kept straying to the doorway. He was about to say to hell with it and go back upstairs when Dr. Fuah appeared.
“Sire,” Dr. Fuah said with a bow.
“How is she?”
“She will be fine. She was dehydrated and as far as I can tell without an X-ray, she has pleurisy and mild bronchitis. I have her on an IV drip with antibiotics. She needs nourishment and rest for the next week. I would like the two nurses to remain with her. I’ll stop by again tomorrow to check on her.”
“Thank you, Dr. Fuah,” Qadir replied.
“I’ll walk out with you, Kamil,” Tarek said.
Dr. Fuah smiled and bowed his head. Qadir waited until they left before he set his glass down on the bar, exited the living room, and took the stairs up to his bedroom two at a time. The two nurses rose to their feet and bowed to him when he entered the room. His eyes were focused on Aimee’s pale face.
“How is she?” he inquired.
“We have bathed her, and she is sleeping better. The medicine is already beginning to help, though it will take forty-eight to seventy-two hours before she feels much better.”
“There are two bedrooms down the hall. You may use those. I will stay with her tonight,” he said.
Both women’s eyes widened.
“But sire, we were instructed—"
He gave them a look that had them hastily bowing and exiting the room. The soft click of the door behind him signaled that he was alone with Aimee. He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, lifting her pale hand in his.
He traced the veins along her skin, and paused, his hand hovering above the IV port. She coughed in her sleep, struggling for a moment to catch her breath, before she settled with a soft sigh.
“Ah, habibi, what am I going to do with you?”
Her fingers flexed, squeezing his with the barest of pressure. It was probably wishful thinking, but at the moment, he would take any sign that she heard him. He rose to his feet and went into the bathroom. After a quick shower, he pulled on a pair of jogging pants.
Leaving one of the lights in the bathroom on, he partially closed the door, turned off the bedside table lamp, and crawled into bed. He slid his arm around Aimee. She immediately turned onto her side with her back to him and scooted close. He cushioned her arm so she wouldn’t pull on the IV line.
“Qadir,” Aimee murmured.
“Yes, habibi.”
“I’m glad you came back,” she mumbled.
He kissed her shoulder. “So am I, habibi. So am I.”