But a part of her wasn’t sorry for what she’d done. In modeling, you deal with a lot of piggy men—photographers, designers, and agents who let their hands “accidentally” brush or press or linger. So often, she’d wanted to do more than just stand there and take it. Several times she’d at least said something, angrily telling a guy what he could do with his wandering hands. But this was the first time she’d lashed out physically, and it felt good.

But now she’d pay for it.

Panic began to rise, but she quickly swallowed it. Be smart. Be proactive. Know your surroundings.

What would Nir do?

The room she was in was small, its only furnishings an old black metal chair with severely chipping paint and what she could only assume was a mate to her own. An unfruitful attempt to tip from side to side let her know the other chair had much more mobility than hers did.

She saw no windows, no mirrors, no cameras—only four walls desperately in need of a fresh coat of paint. But there was the cold. The room had plenty of that.

The door opened. Two officers walked in and took up positions in front of her, one in each corner of the room. A third uniformed man walked in behind them and closed the door. Even more than the stars on his shoulders, his attitude told Nicole he was the superior among the trio.

He stood behind the empty chair and stared at her. Nicole stared back until it became too awkward, then looked down at her hands. They were resting on her lap.

“My men and I are having a debate,” he said, suddenly smiling.

Nicole quickly looked up again, surprised at hearing English.

“I say your name is pronounced le Roo like the French. They say it is le Rucks. But I believe that would be far too ugly a name for so beautiful a woman. I would be very grateful if you would settle the dispute.”

“Your—” Her voice broke into a cough. She hadn’t realized how dry her throat was. She continued hoarsely, “Your pronunciation is the correct one.”

“Ha!” he cried. “Ignorant fools!” Turning to the other two, he spoke in Farsi. When she heard her name mentioned, the men scowled at her.

Returning his gaze to her, the man continued. “My name is Lieutenant Asadi, and I would like to thank you for increasing the contents of my wallet at the expense of my two officers. But maybe you can help me more. We have another bet. We found some photographs of a Nicole le Roux on the internet. She looks a lot like you, but I say it can’t be you. I can’t believe someone who seems so modest in person could actually make her living dressing like a whore.”