“Let’s be clear,” she said. “This is my interview. Do what you do best. Intimidate through silence.”
The edges of his lips turned slightly upward. “That’s almost a compliment.” Given the recent tension about Nigeria, it was practically effusive.
She stopped walking and faced him, her eyes brimming with emerald fire. “I’m just as keen as you are about your new babysitting gig, but our animosity about Nigeria can’t get in the way of finding Papa. That’s all that matters.”
Our animosity? Right. She reminded him of that porcupine they’d run into on the mission, all quills and attitude. No thanks for saving her and Johansson’s asses, no thanks for taking extreme personal risk to find her hostage, no thanks for putting her needs above his.
“Lead the way.”
She strode toward Club 33, her long legs handling the stilettos with authority. He caught up to her in a few strides, reaching the entrance at the same time. “Please, allow me.” He stepped into the dimly lit club. White marble floors, funky lights attached to a curved ceiling, and loud music—it was one of the premier nightclubs in Firá. A lone bartender dressed in black served whiskey to two wobbly figures perched at the bar. Too early for the dancing crowd to arrive.
A blond man commandeered the rear booth as if it was his private palace. Peter Kennedy, Christos’s rising star, complete dickhead, and total ETC—empty the clip—candidate. In Kennedy’s case, Rif would empty it twice.
He’d met Peter several times at Paris Industries functions, and the kindest thing he could say about the guy was that he was Rain Man–smart with numbers. Climbing his way to the top of Paris Industries, he had left his designer-shoe imprint on countless backs. Given Christos’s disdain for Nikos, and Thea’s lack of interest in joining her father’s company, either Peter Kennedy or Ahmed Khali could be the heir apparent. And if Rif’s godfather didn’t survive the kidnapping, Peter would be one step closer to the top.
He’d call that motive.
He stepped aside to allow Thea to slide into the booth first. Peter started to stand, but she waved him off.
“Thanks for meeting us so late.” She smiled, but it was forced.
“Sorry to hear about Piers. He had a heart attack?” Peter asked.
The CFO was divorced with two kids, and Christos had confided in Rif that Peter’s speech had been slurred during a morning meeting recently. That was why Rif wasn’t surprised that his eyes were glassy now, as if he’d had one too many Rusty Nails. His gaze dropped to Thea’s cleavage, and Rif ached to punch him.
Her expression darkened. “We’ll miss him keenly. He was with our family for twenty-two years.”
“Can I assist with the funeral service or help in any other way?” Peter asked.
Sycophant.
“I appreciate your kindness, but Piers came from a small town in South Africa, and the service will be for family and close friends only. Meanwhile, Papa asked me to be a conduit between him and the business for a few days so he can put away his BlackBerry and spend time with Piers’s family. Hopefully nothing pressing is on the horizon?”
Peter’s eyes widened, perhaps skeptical that his workaholic boss was taking five minutes off work, let alone a few days. Still, he had no reason to suspect Thea. Also, she had an air of innocence that made her a skilled liar. Perfect for negotiating.
“Business is always hopping, but we can muddle through for a few days without him. I’ll handle any necessary decisions.”
Rif’s gut told him something was rotten. What about the Kanzi oil deal? Didn’t Peter think it important to mention a multibillion-dollar opportunity that would put the company at the top of their game?
“Actually, I’d like you to double-check with me before making any important decisions. Until my father comes back, you understand,” she said.
The CFO cleared his throat. “Does this mean that you’re considering your father’s offer to join Paris Industries?”
Of course Peter worried more about Peter than anything else. If Christos’s favorite child came on board, the CFO’s aquiline nose would shift out of joint, and he’d possibly be out of a future at Paris.
“Kidnapping captures my interest right now.” Her jaw tightened.
“There’s a board meeting the morning of January second. He’ll be back for that?”
“Sure hope so. I wouldn’t want to sit through that painful experience for him. That’s over and above the call of duty,” she said with a light laugh.
“Believe it or not, I find them interesting. But your job trumps everything. Any good hostage tales to share?”
She didn’t miss a beat. “We recently recovered a teenage girl in Colombia who had been taken en route to school. Turns out her chauffeur was involved. Talk about a violation of trust.”