The Freedom Broker (Thea Paris #1)(24)

He pushed himself off the floor and glanced at his Stocker & Yale P650 watch: 3:00 a.m. Damn, they’d better get some sleep. A last check of his e-mails. He turned to Thea. “A former Legionnaire I knew in Afghanistan is investigating Henri’s background in the Legion.”

She glanced up from her computer, dark shadows circling her eyes. She’d had the same haunted look after Nikos’s kidnapping twenty years ago. She’d been eight, Rif had been seven, Nikos twelve—children caught in a nightmare.

He wanted to comfort her, but that would likely get him the business end of the SIG Sauer he’d procured for her a couple of hours earlier. After the attack in the alley, he wanted them both properly armed. Screw the rigid Greek gun laws.

“You want to talk about what happened in the alley?” he asked.

“Absolutely not.” She started typing, her gaze shifting back to the computer screen.

She was more like dear old Pops than she’d probably admit. Smart, resilient, a survivor. Qualities both father and daughter had. Christos had used them to climb to great heights professionally and personally. He’d been a good godfather and mentor to him, too. In fact, Rif wouldn’t even have been born if Christos hadn’t saved his dad’s life. During the 1974 Turkish invasion of Cyprus, Christos, then a Greek soldier, had found Hakan alone, bleeding out in a barn. Despite being enemies, Christos had helped the young Turk survive, donating his own blood to replenish Hakan’s. Rif didn’t think his father would ever consider that debt paid.

“What about the latest text—any thoughts?” he asked, knowing better than to hope for a glimmer of suspicion about Nikos.

“Kidnappers usually get straight to the point, and the point is usually money or other demands. Waxing philosophical in Latin is an absolute waste of time, which could be deliberate. They might be keeping us engaged while they transport Papa somewhere. Once the story is leaked, it’ll be on every news station, so they’ll want a remote location to hide him.”

“The oil negotiations start in a couple of days. Of the potential scenarios, it seems most likely that someone doesn’t want Christos there.”

“That’s what my gut tells me. Dammit, we took every precaution with Papa—all members of his staff had intensive kidnap-prevention training.”

“This isn’t your fault, Thea.”

A loud knock sounded. He moved toward the door, Glock in hand, but Aegis beat him there. Who the hell was visiting at this hour?

“Thea, open the door.”

Aegis’s tail wagged, but the familiar voice sent bolts of tension ricocheting down Rif’s spine. He released the chain on the door and forced himself to point his Glock downward, aiming at the floor. He couldn’t treat this man as his enemy. Not overtly.


Nikos strode into Thea’s hotel room. His world had turned bright red, mottled with anger, and he struggled to regain control of himself. Aegis’s enthusiastic licks helped ease the pressure in his head, but even the ridgeback couldn’t totally dispel his rage.

He tossed the Greek newspaper at his sister’s feet. Eleftherotypia’s headline read: Oil Billionaire Kidnapped. “When were you planning on telling me?”

The fact that Rif was in her room irritated Nikos even more. Soldier Boy was always hanging off his sister, using any excuse to play the role of protector. But no one cared more about Thea than he did. Their blood bond was stronger than any friendship or past history with Rif.

His sister picked up the paper. “It’s true. Papa has been taken. I was going to call you, but then Rif and I were attacked in a nearby alley this evening. I have no idea how the papers found out about his abduction.”

Nikos inhaled deeply, studying the bruises covering his sister’s neck, her pale skin. She was obviously shaken. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, but he wasn’t convinced. It took a lot to unsettle his sister. He kept stroking Aegis, soothing himself.

“Your sister can look after herself just fine.” Rif, an unwelcome presence at the best of times.

“She has to—it’s not like she can rely on you.” Nikos couldn’t resist taunting the man.

Rif moved toward him, the muscles in his jaw clenching.

Thea raised her hands. “Stop it, both of you. I’m sorry, Nikos, you have every right to be upset.”

He refocused on his need for information. “What have you heard from the kidnappers? Do they want money?”

“We’ve received two Latin texts, quotes from Cicero. No ransom demand.” She tucked her hair behind her right ear, fully exposing the scar, a gesture she used whenever she was in battle mode.

He felt bad about the accident that had caused the scar, but it had been Rif’s fault for goading him. The interloper had gotten too close to his sister, the two of them thicker than thieves. He’d felt shut out, alienated.

“A philosopher-kidnapper? Papa has all the luck. Perhaps they’re sipping sherry and discussing the merits of the Socratic method in modern interrogation.”

“Don’t joke. His entire crew—with the exception of Chef Henri, also missing—was executed on the Aphrodite.” She placed the newspaper on the desk.

Hmm. Whoever had done this was serious—meticulous, bold, and willing to kill, if necessary. The kidnappers would be hard to track, but he needed to find Christos before Thea did. “Any leads?”