I stared at Dimitriou’s open door as a lead weight settled in my stomach. “Should we call the police?”
It was what any regular, concerned citizen would do.
But Thor and I weren’t regular. And we weren’t Greek citizens.
“Or should we go inside?”
Thor rubbed his chin as he considered the ramifications of entering a potential crime scene. If the police arrived while we were in Dimitriou’s house, there would be questions. So many questions. We might even have to call Mr. Brown.
That gave me pause. Because Mr. Brown would not be pleased by that call. And, one hundred percent, he’d blame me. Calling the police might be the better choice.
Consuela made the decision for us. She gave an unexpected tug on her leash, and when the braided leather slipped through my fingers, she took off running.
Straight into Kostas Dimitriou’s elegant home.
“That dog.” Thor sounded more amused than angry.
Visions of the trailing leash wrapping around a plinth and knocking over a two-thousand-year-old statue played out in my head. “We have to follow her.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m well aware.”
Together, we ventured inside Dimitriou’s house.
Kostas Dimitriou was a collector. He’d filled his home with art and artifacts. I presumed each piece was priceless. And, despite the open door, they were untouched.
“Consuela?”
Yip. Come here. Quick.
We followed Consuela’s bark to the back of the house.
She sat next to a body with a took-you-long-enough expression on her face.
Another body? I sagged against the nearest wall and asked, “Is he dead?” And could this day get any worse? Not for the man sprawled across the floor.
Thor crouched and pressed his fingers against the man’s wrist.
Yip. Consuela loved fiercely. But for those outside the circle of her affections, she held no sympathy. He’s deader or than a doornail.
I winced. Surely the man deserved a moment of silence, a prayer, something more than Consuela’s dismissive yip. “It’s Dimitriou’s butler.” We’d met him once, when we came to pick up Yurgi’s cursed package. In my head, I’d called the man Jeeves. I couldn’t remember his real name.
Thor grimaced. “Dead. But he’s still warm.
“How did he die?”
Thor pulled back the dead man’s collar, revealing ugly marks around his neck. “Strangled. Murdered.”
My shoulder blades pressed painfully against the wall, and I flattened my hands against the plaster to prevent my body from sinking to the floor. “We just got up from the breakfast table.”
Both Consuela and Thor gaped at me as if I were babbling gibberish.
“And?” Thor prompted.
“We just finished breakfast. It’s not even lunchtime. And this is our sixth body.”
“There’s a limit?”
“For me? Yes. And we passed it, hours ago.” I scowled at poor Jeeves. “At the rate we’re going, we’ll have a baker’s dozen by dinnertime.”
Thor pressed his lips together as if he were fighting a smile. “As long as we’re not among them.” He stood. “We should find Dimitriou.”
“Do you think he’s dead, too?” If so, would Yurgi and his partners release their insurance policy?
“We should search the house.”
“Or we could go back to the yacht club, gather our belongings, and hop on a plane to Arkansas.”
“I think they’d follow us.”
“Who’s they?” I knew Thor didn’t have an answer, but it felt good to ask.
“If we knew that, we’d be on our way to Bentonville.”
“So we’re not safe until we know who wants us dead?”
“We’re not safe until we stop them.”
With that cheery thought in my head, I climbed the stairs to Dimitriou’s rooftop terrace and its million-dollar view of the Parthenon.
Thor followed me.
The terrace looked like a tornado had hit, but the view remained spectacular.
I purposefully ignored the upended furniture, the slashed cushions, and the bits of broken marble. Denial was my friend, and I held tight to its hand as I gazed at history cast in stone. “Do you think this was prime real estate in 400 BC?”
“I do.” Thor crouched and inspected a broken statue. “There’s blood on the marble.”
Not what I wanted to hear. “Realtors always say, ‘Location, location, location.’”
“Poppy. Blood.”
With a regretful shrug, denial let go of my hand and disappeared, leaving me to face six bodies, a ruined terrace, and the very real possibility that whoever had done this was after Yurgi’s package.
“Is the blood Dimitriou’s?” I didn’t expect an answer.
“It’s possible. Let’s search the rest of the house, then get out of here.”
On the floor that housed bedrooms, we found a man dressed in black. A bruise darkened his jaw, and his knuckles were split as if he’d landed hits of his own.
Again, Thor searched for a pulse. “Dead. Recently.”
“Who is he?”
Thor patted down the body. “No identification.”
“That’s seven.” We were inching ever closer to that baker’s dozen.
“Seven?”
“Bodies.” I squeezed my eyes closed. “Do you think there’s a panic room?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me.”
“So Dimitriou might be safe.” Or he might have gone out for coffee and missed the invasion of his home. He might be kidnapped. He might be dead. “Consuela, can you find him?”
She tilted her head, sniffed the air, then trotted down the stairs and into a room dominated by a massive desk. Dimitriou’s office. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure we were paying attention, then sat down next to a built-in bookcase.
“She can’t be that smart,” said Thor.
Consuela, who liked Thor, narrowed her eyes and growled.
“Don’t underestimate her. She’s brilliant and brave and beautiful.” She also held grudges. And it was important that Thor and Consuela got along. “Tell her how wonderful she is.”
“Consuela, you’re brilliant and brave and beautiful.”
Mollified. Consuela’s tail wagged, his praise a balm to her hurt feelings.
Thor grinned at me. “I could say the same thing about you.”
And I could say the same about Thor. But this was about keeping on Consuela’s good side.
“Even if she’s right, we won’t get into the panic room.”
Consuela’s eyes narrowed to slits. He dared to doubt her? Yip. Oh, it’s the panic room all right. But I’m not sure if he’s in there.
I bent, gathered Consuela into my arms, and kissed her head. “No one doubts you.”
I shot Thor a quelling glance, then stood and took a closer look at the bookcase.
Along with another matching case, it flanked a marble fireplace. Leather-bound tomes, small, undoubtedly priceless statues, and framed photographs filled its shelves. I leaned in to take a closer look at a picture of Dimitriou and Yurgi with three other men. Ahmet Köse, Dal Cho, and Maksim Volkov?
“Anything interesting?”
I picked up the photograph, studied the faces carefully, then gave the picture to Thor.
The ceiling creaked, as if someone was walking on the floor above us.
All the air whooshed out of my lungs, and my gaze flew from the photo in Thor’s hand to his face.
He frowned, then pressed a finger to his lips.
No problem there. I needed air to speak.
Long, silent seconds passed, and I managed to re-inflate my lungs. “There was no one upstairs,” I whispered. “We checked.”
“They were hiding.” He inched toward the door to the hallway.
Consuela growled, low in her throat.
A shiver of premonition traveled from my nape to the base of my spine. “Wait,” I told him.
Thor lifted his brows. What was he waiting for?
I didn’t have an answer, but I put Consuela down, ignored the gun in my handbag, and took the poker from Dimitriou’s fireplace set and judged its weight. It was heavy, as if the brass covered solid iron.
The poker would be useless in a gun fight, but if someone walked through the door to the study? I could incapacitate them quietly, without adding an eighth body to the count.
With my new weapon in hand, I positioned myself across from Thor at the room’s entrance.
Neither of us said a word, and Consuela’s low growl subsided. She stared at the door with button eyes as if she could determine the outcome of what was to come by sheer focus.
We waited.
The creak of a stair had the muscles in my upper back tightening. I lifted the poker to my shoulder as if it were a baseball hat.
Another creak. Louder this time.
My palms were damp around the poker’s handle.
I held my breath.
A gun’s muzzle entered the room. Then a hand. Then a wrist.
Using all my strength, I brought the poker down on the wrist.
Crack!
My breakfast churned in my stomach at the sound of a bone breaking.
The gun fell to the floor.
Faster than I could blink, Thor shifted from his spot against the wall, kicked the gun out of range, and filled the doorway. He grabbed the would-be assailant by the throat and dragged him inside.
The man, who clutched his broken wrist, wore black pants and a black shirt.
“Where’s Dimitriou?” Thor demanded.
Something like understanding flashed in the man’s eyes before a sneer settled on his face, and he mumbled something in a language I didn’t understand.
“What’s he speaking?” I asked.
“Turkish.”
I let that settle. “Turkish? You speak Turkish?”
“No.” Thor rubbed a hand across his chin. “But I recognize it.”
“English?” I asked the man who cradled his wrist.
He pretended I wasn’t there.
“Do you speak English? Français? Español?” I spoke a smattering of Spanish—enough to embarrass myself, certainly not enough to converse. If the man didn’t speak English or French, I couldn’t talk to him.
And that was assuming he’d talk. Frankly, the fury in his dark eyes didn’t give me much hope that he’d be sharing his secrets anytime soon.
“Milas Ellinika?”
“Greek? I asked.
Thor nodded.
The man remained silent.
“Vy govorite po Russki?” asked Thor. “I asked if he spoke Russian.”
The man didn’t respond. Not even a flicker.
“Hal tatahadath alearabia?” Thor tried another language.
“And that?” I asked.
“Arabic.”
Obviously, the man intended to keep silent. “He’s not going to answer us.”
The man had high cheekbones, a patrician nose, and full lips. If the bad guy thing didn’t work out for him, he could model.
He sneered as if he could read my thoughts.
Life would be so much easier if the villains looked villainous and the good guys looked like Thor. But it was impossible to tell what was in a person’s heart by looking at their face. Except for this guy. His face clearly said he’d kill me if given the chance. And that made him extremely villainous.
Thor glanced at his watch and frowned. “We’ve been here too long. We need to go.”
“But the bodies—”
“The bodies are the reason we need to leave. We do not want to spend our afternoon in a Greek jail.”
“What about him?” I jerked my chin at the man with the broken wrist.
Thor’s gaze scoured the room. “Get me the rope from the drapes.”
At the windows, white linen curtains with a blue geometric design embroidered on their edges were wrapped in silk cord.
I freed the ropes, and Thor tied the man’s arms to Dimitriou’s office chair. “It won’t hold him for long. Let’s go.”
I returned the poker to its set and followed Thor into the front hall.
He peeked outside, then led me and Consuela into the street.
We were half a block away when we heard the sirens.
“Keep walking,” said Thor.
I did as he asked, and seconds later, two police cars sped past us.
We reached the corner and Thor took a left.
Neither Consuela nor I questioned him.
We’d walked for ten minutes when I spotted a café. “I need coffee.” I needed wine but drinking this early in the day set a bad precedent.
“Good idea.”
A moment later we were seated at a table on the sidewalk and a waiter had disappeared to fetch coffees for Thor and me and water for Consuela.
“What now?” A million specific questions played bumper cars in my head. Was Dimitriou dead? If so, what did that mean for the contents of Yurgi’s package? Who were the men in Dimitriou’s house? Would we ever get to Arkansas?
“I honestly don’t know.”
I sighed, then managed a small smile of thanks for the waiter who delivered our coffee.
Yip. Relax. Breathe.
I tried. I drew air deep into my lungs. I closed my eyes and let the sun warm my skin. I listened to the women at the next table chatter. I took a tiny restorative sip of coffee. But I didn’t relax. I couldn’t. When I opened my eyes, Thor’s gaze was fixed on my face.
His cheeks flushed as if I’d caught him spying. “You okay?”
“Peachy.”
“Sarcasm.”
“What do we do now?”
“Where’s Yurgi?” he asked.
“On his honeymoon.”
“But where? Is he still in Bermuda?”
“I honestly don’t know. You want to give the package to him?”
“You’d prefer to give it to Mr. Brown?”
“I’d prefer we never picked it up.”
He took my hand in his. “That ship has sailed.” His gaze caught on something across the street, and his fingers tightened around mine.
Three men, all dressed in black, cut through traffic and approached us.
Consuela growled.
With my free hand, I reached into my handbag for the Glock. “Who are they?” My skin prickled as I imagined all the ways this could go wrong. They killed us. We killed them and ended up in a Greek jail. We all died. Which would bring the body count to an even dozen. “And how did they find us?”
“No idea. If this goes south, I’ll knock over the table. It may give you some cover. Run for the inside.”
And what about him? I wouldn’t leave him. Not when there were three men to his one. “Not likely.”
“Poppy.”
“Forget it. I’m not leaving you.”
The tallest of the men touched his ear, and his steps slowed. He stopped, said something to his cohorts, and turned on his heel. They followed him without question. They were leaving.
I exhaled.
Thor’s brow furrowed as he watched them go. “Someone contacted him. We need to speak to Yurgi. There’s too much we don’t know.”
My phone dinged, and I dug through my handbag. Why did phones always hide on the bottom? I pushed aside a small make-up bag, a bottle of eyedrops, my wallet, and everything else I’d tossed in.
“Now’s not the time for social media.” Thor’s shoulders were still tensed from our almost altercation.
“It’s not social media.” I pulled the phone from my bag.
“André or Mia texting?” He was all too familiar with my friends’ ability to text me at the worst possible time.
“Nope.” I frowned at my screen. “I put a tracker in the box.”
“Yurgi’s box?”
“Yep.”
“And?”
“It’s moving.”
“Moving?” Thor pinched the bridge of his nose. “You left the box at the yacht club?”
“Yes and no.”
His brow furrowed. “Which is it?”
“I left the box. I brought most of the contents.” They were half the reason I’d had difficulty finding me phone.
“What did you leave behind?”
“The gun.” Two guns in my handbag had made it too heavy. Not for me, but for the bag’s straps.
“And the box is moving?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
I studied the screen. “It’s on the water.”
“Headed?”
“East.”
Thor stood, tossed a handful of euros onto the table, then pulled me to my feet. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“We’re following that box.”