She squeezed her eyes shut. Clarity tamed the chaos. Control was obviously important to the kidnapper, and she was about to rip it away.
The room phone rang. “Hello.”
“Ms. Paris, your dress is ready. Shall I send it up?”
“Right away, please.”
Time to take the reins.
Chapter Forty-Three
The plunging neckline on the gift shop’s sapphire sheath revealed more cleavage than Thea was comfortable showing, but her options were few. The dress reminded her of Helena, who’d loved the color blue, redoing her father’s home in the south of France in shades of azure, cerulean, and indigo. Thea’s eyes stung. She wondered if Papa knew about his wife’s death.
She brought herself back to the moment. The kidnapper was in her sights, and she would pursue him relentlessly. She brushed out her long hair, applied lip gloss, and headed through the arched hallways to the grandeur of the Livingstone Room, bracing herself for the night ahead.
Antique furniture and portraits of British royalty gave the large ballroom an old-world, colonial feel. A pianist danced his fingers along a baby grand, and white-gloved waiters served champagne and hors d’oeuvres. First class all the way. And so it should be—billions of dollars were at stake, and the Kanzi officials were about to enjoy a significant improvement in their lifestyle, regardless of who won those oil rights.
Peter was perched beside the bar on the far side of the room. Surprise, surprise. He waved at her, but she pretended not to see him. She’d deal with him later. Right now, she wanted to assess the players, see if anyone stood out as a potential kidnapper, specifically the Quan family, Paris Industries’ direct competition for the oil rights.
She maneuvered deeper into the room, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. The colorful splashes of traditional African garb brightened the space. Many of the women wore elaborate headdresses befitting royalty. Standing in the receiving line for the prime minister, she scanned the room. Like the United Nations, it was filled with people of varied backgrounds, a thousand agendas being pushed forward.
When she finally made it to the front of the line, she was surprised by the compassion in the prime minister’s eyes. “Ms. Paris, I’ve been trying to reach you. I wanted to see if I could assist somehow with your father’s kidnapping. Many years ago, Christos helped my family during difficult times. I will never forget his kindness.”
Her heart softened, thinking of Papa’s charitable spirit. Sure, he was a hard-nosed businessman, but he always gave back to the community. But was the prime minister being sincere about his offer, or was it a cover? “Thank you. I’ll definitely come to you if I need something. He’d be sorry to miss your lovely party.”
The prime minister laughed. “Yes, I could always count on your father to be part of any celebration. Please remember my offer.”
“Will do, and I promise that Paris Industries will stay on top of everything until he returns.”
The receiving line surged forward, and people anxious to rub Buddha’s belly nudged her out of the way. She headed for the back of the room to find a better vantage point.
In direct contrast to the colorfully clothed Africans, the Chinese contingent wore all black, tuxedos for the men, a floor-length evening gown that clung to the lone woman’s svelte figure. Her jet-black hair contrasted with her pale complexion and red lipstick for dramatic effect. Thea recognized Quan Xi-Ping—and her brother, Chi—from Christos’s party. They would be the main negotiators on behalf of the Chinese National Oil Company, bringing more than twenty-five years of combined experience to the table.
Chi was reputed to be a genius with logistics, while his stunning sister was the “closer,” a woman who didn’t take no for an answer. The general held her hand to his lips for an endless moment, as if transfixed by her loveliness.
A strong hand grabbed Thea’s arm. Rif. There were storm clouds in his eyes. “Next time I shower, I’ll handcuff you to the sink.”
“I had errands to run. As you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”
“Men attacked us in Santorini, our plane crashed, and we’re about to start negotiations for a billion-dollar commodity in a war-torn country. You need to be extra careful.”
Genuine concern had replaced his anger. He was right. She’d been irresponsible, unfair. “I’m sorry. I’m so used to traveling alone, I rarely think about it.”
“I have no interest in being Big Brother . . .” He stared across the Livingstone Room as Nikos entered, decked out in a designer tux. “But now that I see yours is here, I’ll leave you to the family reunion.”
She strode toward her brother and hugged him.
He returned her hug, hard. “I heard about the plane crash from Peter. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Let’s talk about you. All the hotels in all the towns in all the world, you walk in here?”
He smiled. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”