“Ugh. It’s not like I’m going to wear them again.”
“Yep, but we don’t want the local cops to come looking for Cinderella.” His sharp features were marred by streaks of blood.
He helped her stand. Her head throbbed from its pounding against the cobblestones, so she leaned against him as they hurried down the street.
The squeal of nearby tires startled them. Hakan pulled up in his rented Renault and thrust open the door. His dark eyes widened at the sight of her and Rif. “I heard about a disturbance on the police scanner and knew you were headed in this direction to meet Kennedy. What the hell happened?”
She’d never been so relieved to see her boss. Sliding into the backseat beside Rif, she slammed the door, and Hakan tore away.
“Looks like Christos isn’t the only one the kidnappers are after.” Rif wiped blood off his forehead.
“Should I take you both to a clinic? You don’t look so good.” Hakan’s eyebrows knitted together.
“The hotel, please.” She sucked in a breath.
“I’ll get one of the local docs to come to your room.” Hakan weaved around the corners at warp speed.
“We can’t waste time being questioned by the police. First thing tomorrow, I’ll head for Athens, where we can set up a temporary base of operations.” Her stomach lurched. The message. She searched for Papa’s cell with its flashing red light, indicating a text.
Her hand trembled as she read out loud: “Corruptio optimi pessima. The corruption of the best is the worst.”
“Another riddle—and no fucking ransom demand.” Rif’s voice was tight, clipped.
Hakan swerved into the parking area in front of the hotel, barely missing a stationary taxi. In kidnappings, the hostage takers were in charge, and they knew it. The family was at their mercy. That was why it was so important to understand whom you were dealing with, deciphering what they wanted—but it was challenging when they refused to be identified. “By the way, Nikos is at the party.”
Thea struggled to swallow, not sure if her difficulty was due to the aftermath of being choked or the thought of the turmoil in her family.
Rif squeezed her hand. She pressed back, her way of saying thanks. If she’d been alone tonight, it would have gone very differently.
Chapter Twelve
Ares slipped through the rear gate of the Sphinx restaurant and climbed the stairs two at a time. The din of music, laughter, and clinking champagne glasses filled the night air. He had an invitation to the party via his other persona, but that didn’t mean he was welcome. Not that that had ever stopped him before. He reached into his pocket and felt the reassuring presence of the music box. Almost time.
He paused in the shadows and surveyed the crowd he’d been around most of his life. Socialites flirted with Arabian princes, a female rock star gyrated against a business mogul, models with hungry stares waved away waiters carrying trays of food. Spotlights glittered off rock-size jewels, creating a strobelike effect. He inhaled, breathing in a mixture of expensive perfumes and colognes. Quite a party. But tonight he had no desire to play social games.
On the surface, he fit in well, his Italian tuxedo cut from the finest cloth, his dark hair fashionably styled just below his collar. However, unlike the spoiled people here, his hands were rough. Calluses covered his palms, and a scar from a knife fight slashed across his thumb. Unlike him, no one in this pampered crowd would survive five minutes in the desert without food or water, surrounded by scorpions and other predators—and that included Christos Paris. Ares scanned the room again. As suspected, no sign of the host or his new wife, Helena. Had he really been kidnapped? His men were on full alert, scouring for any clue to Christos’s whereabouts.
A lithe Asian woman in the far corner of the room captured his attention. Quan Xi-Ping. The first time he’d seen her name, he’d had no idea how to pronounce it, but then he’d learned that “Xi” sounded like “she,” and from then on, he’d thought of her as She-Wolf. She lived up to the nickname.
A slight pursing of her full lips told him she was aware of his presence. Smart, tough, confident—good qualities for his main arms supplier. She chatted with three men vying for her attention, her slender fingers clutching a champagne glass. Her pale gown clung to her curves like a second skin. Lady Godiva holding court.
His gaze connected with hers. He glanced toward the stairs. She squeezed the arm of the man closest to her and smiled. Seconds later, she headed in Ares’s direction. He turned away, helping himself to a canapé from a passing waiter. The scent of jasmine flooded his nostrils as she brushed by him and sashayed down the stairs.