The Freedom Broker (Thea Paris #1)(42)

Max stood at the window, staring down at the street.

“What the hell was that?” She joined him, ice water running through her veins.

“Looks like a limo exploded.” Sweat beaded his forehead.

Max had confided in her that his half sister, Laila, had been in a car accident, a horrible wreck that had burned her beyond recognition. This explosion probably brought back memories best kept buried.

“A white one?” She flashed on the Asian woman from Ares’s plane.

“Black stretch Hummer—not much of it left, but I recognize the shape of the grille.” His voice had a raw edge.

She stared at the smoldering remains blocking the street below, smoke billowing from the wreckage in large plumes.

A couple who had been sprawled on the stairs stumbled to their feet. “There’s Thea Paris and her colleague!” Had someone tried to kill Christos’s daughter?

Sudden movement caught her attention. Thea pointed down the street, then hopped onto a motorcycle with Rifat Asker behind her, the thin tires leaving a mark on the pavement as she peeled off. What had she seen? The bomber?

Tension settled in Max’s jaw. “Let’s go.”

They hurried down the stairs, forgoing the elevator, rushing through the chaos in the lobby. Outside, the stench of burning flesh hung in the air. Gabrielle covered her mouth and nose with her scarf. Sirens wailed, lights flashed, and people cried. Police were already cordoning off the area with crime-scene tape. Paramedics scrambled to tend to the injured. Firefighters tamed the flames of the wreckage.

Max flashed his credentials at the lead detective. They spoke in Greek for a few minutes while Gabrielle scanned the hollowed-out limo. Whoever had placed the bomb in the vehicle wanted to make sure the occupants were very well done. This was no warning to them.

Max returned to her side, his eyes weary. “Helena Paris, Christos’s wife.”

Gabrielle raised an eyebrow. “The kidnapper wanted her out of the way?”

“Or perhaps it was a bomb meant for Thea. Either way, this is a nightmare.”

Gabrielle’s beeping cell interrupted the silence. She read the text. “Quan Xi-Ping.”

“Who?”

“The woman in the white limo. She’s staying at the King George Palace, right next door. Since Thea’s gone, let’s pay our neighbor a visit.”

“Give me a moment.” Max spoke to the lead detective in Greek again before rejoining her. “He will send me the incident report later this afternoon. Now for the butterfly.”

Moments later, they stepped into the opulent lobby of the King George Palace. Chandeliers glistened in the expansive foyer, the marble floors sleek and modern, fresh gardenias perfuming the air. Max spoke to the front desk manager at the carved wooden counter, radiating intensity.

He translated for her. “Our butterfly fluttered away immediately after the explosion. Spooked or involved, it’s impossible to tell.”

“Feels like we’re always one step behind.”

He touched her arm. “Frustrating, but there is one upside to this whole situation. I get to see more of you.”

One night only. And they’d had theirs.





Chapter Thirty-One



Thea cranked the throttle of the stolen BMW, using the motorcycle’s speed and agility to chase Henri’s S8. She’d been exploring the streets of Athens since she was a kid; every street and lane was imprinted on her brain. The wind blasted her face, bringing tears to her eyes. Rif’s arms tightened around her as she cornered hard.

Henri hammered the accelerator. The Audi rocketed forward, crashing into vendors’ displays along the narrow street. T-shirts, knickknacks, and fruit spilled onto the pavement. She navigated the BMW around and occasionally through obstacles, leaning to maneuver the motorcycle. Rif followed her lead, and they moved as one.

The S8 screamed around a corner, narrowly missing a garbage truck trundling down the street. The truck’s brakes squealed. Only a narrow gap remained open. Might be enough room for them to pass. Only one way to find out. She decelerated and threaded the opening, her right arm grazing the side of the truck.

She searched for the S8. As she’d hoped, Henri had made the mistake of turning right. The Audi hurtled toward a dead end and skidded to a stop. Thea hit the brakes, and she and Rif jumped off the bike, sprinting for the cover of a Dumpster.

The Audi’s engine revved loudly.

She expected the car to reverse toward them. Instead, Henri raced the S8 to the far end of the alley, leapt out, knelt behind the car, and began firing at them. Bullets ricocheted off the Dumpster. Peeking out after a short silence, Thea caught a flash of movement and saw Henri speed off on foot down the narrow alleyway.

“Come on.” Rif sprinted by her, his long legs covering serious ground. They turned a corner. Henri fired a few shots, but they merely peppered the walls of the shops along the lane. The crowd fractured, tourists and locals running for cover.

The entrance to the Acropolis lay straight ahead. Henri had no choice but to enter. He plowed through the queue and sprinted past the ticket collector. The security guard on duty tried to grab him, but Henri fired a head shot, killing him instantly. The crowd bolted from the commotion, people screaming. Pandemonium reigned. Even the stray cats and dogs that normally lingered around the Acropolis scurried away.

Rif and Thea followed his path up the hill, struggling to navigate the teeming crowds leaving the popular tourist attraction. Henri was surprisingly agile for a muscular man, but then, he’d been a French Foreign Legionnaire, expertly trained in combat.