The Freedom Broker (Thea Paris #1)(26)
Her phone beeped. She checked the message before explaining the news to Rif. “We have a line on the helicopter that might’ve been used to transport Papa from the Aphrodite. The pilot lives in Athens. I’ll send men to intercept him.”
A gentle knock sounded at the door. “Room service.”
Aegis growled.
“Did you order something?” Rif reached for his Glock.
“No, but I recognize that voice.” A quick check of the peephole provided confirmation. She opened the door while Rif remained in the shadows.
Peter Kennedy stood on the threshold, a room service cart in front of him. He smiled. “I ordered breakfast and got enough for both of us. When I heard about your father, I was worried about you.”
Creepy. Who ordered room service and delivered it to another room? “Come in.” She’d planned on eating a protein bar for breakfast to save time, but maybe Peter’s arrival could be useful.
The CFO’s smile faded when he noticed Rif and the ridgeback, hackles raised. “Oh, am I interrupting?”
“Not at all. Rif’s here as my bodyguard.”
“Nice of you to bring enough for me.” Rif lifted one of the silver domes and snatched a piece of bacon for himself, giving one to Aegis. Peter stiffened beneath his Versace suit.
“Sure, of course . . .” the CFO stammered, blinking as Rif downed a slice of toast.
“Peter, we plan on leaving shortly. Would you like a lift to Athens in the Gulfstream?” she asked.
She wasn’t crazy about spending time with Peter, but she hadn’t felt satisfied by their discussion the previous night. If he knew anything—and she sensed that he did—they needed to get it out of him.
She moved toward the room service cart. “Thanks so much for breakfast. Let’s see what else you ordered.” She lifted the second silver dome.
“Your favorite—” Peter started, then stopped.
Her heart tripped. Instead of breakfast fare, the plate held a watch—her father’s watch, the one he always wore, the one her mother had given him early in their marriage. Proof of life? Hope?
Thea slipped on a pair of vinyl gloves she kept in her kit and picked up the Santos de Cartier Galbée, checking the inscription on the back: TO OUR FUTURE. LOVE, TATIANA.
Rif crossed the room and pushed Peter against the wall, hand on his throat. Aegis’s ears shot straight up, and he paced before the two men. “What the hell is this?”
Peter sputtered. “I didn’t know it was there. I just ordered breakfast. I might’ve mentioned that I was taking it to Thea’s room. . . .”
“Try again.” Rif’s voice was sharp.
“I swear on my life, I had nothing to do with this.”
She considered Peter’s reaction when she’d lifted the dome and heard his words trail off. When he’d seen the watch, his eyes had widened for a brief second, no longer, an indicator of genuine surprise. Now his face showed fear, not guilt. “Let him go,” she said to Rif.
Rif released him, and he slumped to the floor, gasping for breath. Aegis looked as if he wanted to finish the job, so she called him to her side.
She spoke in a measured voice. “If you want to join us on the plane to Athens, pack your bags. We leave in twenty minutes.”
Peter scrambled to his feet. “You know I’ll do everything I can to help you.” He backed out of the room, his uneasy gaze on Rif and Aegis.
Rif slammed the door after he’d left. “I don’t trust him.”
“Me either, but he was telling the truth about the watch.”
Rif frowned. “He’s hiding something.”
“Of course he is, but threatening him won’t work.” Brute force wasn’t the way to get through to a guy like Peter—she had to make him feel like part of the team, let him know that whatever he’d done could be forgiven. “You need to work on your approach.”
“We have different styles.”
“What do you call yours—unbridled testosterone? Torture?”
He stepped closer to her, his voice tight. “I’ll do whatever it takes to find Christos.”
She let go of the argument. They might have different approaches, but he cared for Papa and was doing everything he could to help. “If Peter comes along, I want you to play nice. Meanwhile, let’s go question the kitchen staff.”
Chapter Sixteen
Nikos strolled along the African savannah section of Athens’s Attica Zoological Park. He sported a typical touristy polo shirt and khaki pants, a bag of peanuts in hand.
A tightness settled in his throat. Who had taken Christos—and why? All his meticulous planning, and what had happened? The one contingency he hadn’t imagined.
The feeling of being thwarted grated on him, an old wound. Father and son had never been able to connect emotionally after his abduction in Africa, but he’d kept trying. Even graduating magna cum laude from Harvard Business School hadn’t impressed his father, who had never offered him a position in the family business.
Despite his father’s obvious lack of confidence in his abilities, Nikos knew he had the acumen and drive to create something special. He’d just had to think differently. He’d had to think outside of Paris Industries. And that he did, creating an organization with the same global reach but selling arms to the underdogs of the world, allowing them to rebel against unjust governments and voracious corporations like his father’s. He also gave aid to the downtrodden, empathetic to their plight, funneling more than half of his income into helping children affected by war. They were the innocents . . . as he had been.