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he’s, like, eighty? Or some kind of…sultan? You know? Those girls who end up in slavery in Saudi Arabia?”
    “I’m scared foryou.”  
    A knock on the window startled me. Harris opened the car door. “It’s time, Miss St. Claire.”
    “I have to go, Layla.”
    “Be—be careful, okay? Call me as much as you can, so I know you’re alive.”
    “I will.”
    “So…I’ll talk to you later, Key.” She tried to sound casual about not saying “goodbye.” I loved her fiercely for that.
    “Later, babe.” I used the fake accent that always made her laugh.  
    She laughed, and then hung up on me. I sniffed, smiling, feeling somewhat reassured by talking to Layla.  
    Harris closed the door behind me, and then gestured to the movable stairway leading up to the door of the jet. “Ready?”
    I shook my head. “Not even close.”
    “Understandable. There’s champagne and other refreshments on the plane. Shall we?” He touched the small of my back with three fingers, a gentle nudge.  
    I ascended the steps on jelly-weak knees, and entered the jet. It was…stunning. Like in a movie. Cream leather seats, flat-screen TVs, thick carpeting, a silver bucket of ice sitting on a special tray near one set of seats, with a bottle of what I assumed was hideously expensive champagne. A flight attendant in a navy blue suit was already on board, ready to wait on me.  
    I glanced at Harris in shock.  
    “You’re entering a whole new world, Miss St. Claire,” he said. “One with many privileges. Sit, relax, and try to calm yourself. You will not be harmed, you will not be entering into any kind of slavery. You are merely…changing situations.”
    I nodded, unable to speak. I sat, buckled in, and held on to the arms of the seat as the jet taxied and took off. When we were airborne, the flight attendant poured me a flute of champagne, which I sipped slowly and carefully. I needed to take the edge off my nerves, but I needed my wits about me for whatever came next.  
    The flight was a little over three hours, and then we landed with a gentle bump at a private airfield. I had no idea where we were.
    I exited the plane and followed Harris to a waiting car, this one a stretch limousine. He held the door for me, closed it, and then slid into the driver’s seat. He said nothing, only waited as someone else loaded my suitcases into the trunk.  
    I’d half expected to see someone sitting in the shadows of the limousine, but there was no one. Only long expanses of black leather, lights, and a radio, and more champagne. I folded my hands on my lap and waited as Harris drove. It was a long journey, and we got closer to what looked to be New York. We went over the Brooklyn Bridge and into Manhattan. We wove through thick traffic, heading uptown.  
    After almost an hour of driving, high-rises piercing the night sky all around, Harris pulled the limousine into an underground garage.
    My heart was hammering as Harris led me, sans suitcases, to the elevator. The elevator rose quickly, leaving my stomach in my heels. Harris was silent, standing beside me, hands folded behind his back. The elevator stopped, the doors opened, and we stepped out. We were in the foyer outside what I guessed was a penthouse. Thick, dark slate-blue carpeting, navy blue walls, wide mahogany French doors, a flowering tree in one corner, and a floor-to-ceiling window revealing a breathtaking view of New York City.
    Harris stopped by the doors and turned to face me. “This is it. As far as I go.” He reached into his suit coat pocket and withdrew a length of white cloth. “If you agree, I will put this blindfold on you. By allowing me to put it on, you are agreeing to willingly follow every instruction given to you without hesitation. If you do not agree, I will take you home, and repayment of the funds will be expected forthwith.” He blinked at me, waiting. “Do you so agree?” His voice was formal.  
    I took a deep breath. “I don’t have a choice, do