Vulture.
Hovering near the exit, Rif kept Thea in his peripheral vision. She was poring over a large binder with her brother, the two of them looking way too cozy for his liking. Nikos was Machiavellian, capable of manipulating anyone when he wanted something or someone.
Such as Katie, Thea’s friend from her final year in high school. Rif and Thea had been in their late teens, Nikos in his early twenties, when Thea met Katie, a pretty blonde. Nikos became infatuated, always urging his sister to bring her new friend to the house. Within a month, Katie had disappeared from her life. Thea had been disappointed to lose her friendship—she didn’t understand what she’d done wrong. Years later, Rif ran into Katie at a bar. They’d talked for hours, and after several tequila shots, the twenty-eight-year-old had opened up to him.
Katie had been a virgin, a late bloomer, shy around boys, and at first when Thea’s dashing brother paid her serious attention, she’d resisted, more than a little intimidated. But Nikos won her over with his charms, and he pushed hard for sex. Thinking she was in love, she gave him what he wanted.
She’d expected her first time to be loving, gentle, but Nikos was seriously rough. After he was done, he climbed out of bed, zipped up his pants, and told her she was the worst lay of his life, that he never wanted to see her again. Devastated, she avoided the entire Paris family. Katie had experienced Nikos’s dark side, and she had no interest in being near him again. And she couldn’t face Thea. Even years later, Rif could see that the experience still weighed heavily on the young woman.
He’d never told Thea. It wasn’t his secret to share, and he wasn’t sure Thea would’ve believed him. She never saw her brother for who he was. She’d let Nikos join her at the Paris Industries table for one simple reason: guilt. Nikos used it to jerk his sister around like a marlin on a lure. And Rif had never seen her brother so intent on insinuating himself into the family business.
Xi-Ping stared at Nikos with displeasure. His presence at the Paris table must be an unpleasant surprise to the Quans as well. What was he up to, exactly?
Time to find out.
With the proceedings meandering along, Rif headed for the hotel spa. He stripped off his clothes, stuffed them into a locker, and slipped on a plush white robe and a pair of ridiculous terrycloth slippers.
He hurried to the elevator and pressed the button for the second floor. As he’d suspected, the maid had already started cleaning the rooms. In fact, she was standing beside her cart two doors down from Nikos’s room. Rif made a show of searching his robe pockets for his key.
“I must have misplaced my key at the spa.” He shrugged and gave her a sheepish smile. “I’d ask at the front desk for a replacement, but it’s a mob scene down there with all the reporters. I’m not really dressed for the public.”
“It’s against the rules.” She frowned, her pert nose wrinkling, at war with herself—sure, it was against hotel policy to open doors for guests, but she also didn’t want to burn up possible tips.
“Please, look it up on your sheet. The name’s Paris, Nikos Paris.” Housekeepers kept logs of guest names and checkout dates so they knew when to do a major cleaning and bedding change.
She hesitated. “Can you tell me what’s in the room?”
Lucky him gets Betty Do-Right as the maid. Nikos often dressed in designer black suits with crisp white shirts, as if it was a uniform for Harvard MBAs. He was also a neat freak. “You’ll find the room spotless, the closet full of black suits and white shirts.”
She used her master key to enter the room. He followed her inside, and, sure enough, Mr. OCD still reigned. Every surface was free of clutter. Even the local tourist guidebooks the hotel normally left on a side table had been tucked away. She looked in the closet: black suits and white shirts. Bingo.
The maid smiled. “You made my job easy.”
He pulled out the American ten-dollar bill he’d stashed inside the robe’s pocket. Enough to make her happy, not enough to create suspicion. “I appreciate you saving me any embarrassment.”
“Thank you, Mr. Paris.” She walked toward the door, stashing the bill in her uniform.
He and Nikos were both tall Westerners with dark hair. Certainly not twins but close enough for an overall description. And if the maid ever realized she’d let the wrong man into the room, she wasn’t likely to admit it and lose her job.
Closing the door behind her, he snapped on the vinyl gloves he’d brought and started with the bedside tables, looking for anything that might offer clues as to why Nikos was there and whether he was involved in Christos’s kidnapping. He found nothing obvious. Not surprising—Thea’s brother was a careful guy.