Rif stood in one corner of the Livingstone Room, taking in the coffered ceilings, elegant sconces, and rich burgundy tapestries. Definitely a tonier venue than his usual, military-style accommodations. He’d ordered a tonic water from the bartender—no alcohol for him tonight, though he could use a stiff drink.
A few feet away, a circle made up of Thea, Nikos, and a striking Chinese couple—undoubtedly the opposition in the oil deal—had just broken up. Good thing, as he sensed from their body language that trouble was brewing. General Jemwa had his arms crossed and was leaning slightly backward, a position indicating opposition. Given the history between him and Nikos, Rif was not surprised.
In turn, Nikos maintained intense eye contact with the giant man, which in certain situations could mean positive interest. In this case, it probably indicated that Nikos had zero trust in the general and didn’t want to lower his defenses. Still, there was something unsettling about the interaction between the two men that Rif couldn’t put his finger on.
Chi, black hair slicked back with product, hadn’t blinked once during the entire conversation—a potential sign of deceit. Thea’s head and neck had been straighter than a steel rod, her shoulders rigid. People never tilted their heads if they were with someone they didn’t trust or were afraid of.
He’d been about to rescue her when she’d led Jemwa in the opposite direction and Chi had turned away, leaving Nikos alone with the Chinese beauty. The woman’s hungry gaze drifted from Nikos’s eyes down to his lips. Someone was hot for Nikos. And this clearly wasn’t their first meeting. They emanated a familiarity, standing way too close to each other to be strangers. He wondered if Thea knew anything about their history or had sensed it tonight.
A few suits drifted around the room. Rif recognized two of the corporate types as lawyers from Paris Industries—he’d met them briefly when he’d handled security at industry functions. Ahmed Khali was also there, pressing the flesh. With all the characters in place, these negotiations promised to be compelling. And somewhere in this complex web hid the answer to Christos’s kidnapping—he’d bet his life on it.
He combed the perimeter of the room, scanning for threats, keeping a close eye on Thea. He’d taken a quick shower earlier, and she’d disappeared. She was aware of the potential threat, so she had to be up to something important to take any risks at this point. He’d check with the bellman later, slip him a tip, and ask if she’d taken a taxi into town. Although he hated to invade her privacy, he couldn’t risk her safety. And forthcoming wasn’t exactly her middle name.
As he negotiated the crowd, he came face-to-face with the general. “Quite an impressive camp you had in the desert. You expecting a war?”
The man’s nostrils flared. “You expected child soldiers toting antiquated weapons? Sorry to disappoint. This region of Africa is a dangerous neighborhood; it’s best to be prepared.”
“I lived in Kanzi when I was a kid.”
Jemwa blinked. “With Christos Paris?”
“My father coordinates his security.”
“Well, then, perhaps it’s your father who’s antiquated. His methods didn’t prevent Mr. Paris from being kidnapped.”
Rif stood straighter. “Now that you mention it, your soldiers’ weapons did look brand new. Chinese manufacture, if I’m not mistaken. Did those come from Ares?”
“Who?”
Rif could feel Thea’s gaze on him but didn’t look in her direction. “Your arms dealer. I bet you know more than you’re saying about what happened to Christos. Weren’t you the one who kidnapped his son twenty years ago?”
The general smiled, a big, broad, crocodile grin. “You must be mistaken. I rescued Nikos from the warlord who had abducted him.”
“That’s not what I heard.” Rif stared deeply into the general’s eyes.
“Spreading rumors can be dangerous, especially when you’re in another man’s neighborhood. Perhaps you should enjoy the festivities and leave your suspicions for another day.”
Sudden movement across the room distracted him. Peter was stumbling in Thea’s direction, obviously inebriated. Where the hell was his professionalism? Maybe it was acceptable to be half-sloshed at some business functions, but wouldn’t it make more sense to keep your wits about you? And this was undoubtedly the most important negotiation of Peter’s career; he was stepping up in a crisis to help close this deal. Being intoxicated now seemed foolish, even for him.
Rif left the general, wanting to intercept the CFO before he embarrassed Thea.
Too late. Peter bumped into a waiter, vaulting a tray of champagne glasses across the room. Crystal shattered on the floor. People turned to stare. The pianist stopped playing. A hush fell over the Livingstone Room.