“She’s gone,” Nikos said without preamble. “Left about twenty minutes ago in a skiff with an old man named Yiorgos. Fisherman. Local.” He nodded toward the open sea. “Heading that way.”
A curse hissed through Alexandros’s teeth as he glared at the sunlit water stretching endlessly before him. “Damn it.”
He turned back toward the SUV, his jaw tight with frustration. Then he saw her.
A lone woman stood outside the open bay Dani had been working in, her black hair pulled back, a paper bag dangling from her hand. Recognition struck immediately. Maria Sanchez. The security agent from Stuart’s dossier. The one assigned to Dani without Alexandros’s knowledge.
He stormed toward her, gravel crunching under his expensive leather shoes.
“What did she say?” he demanded.
Maria didn’t flinch. Her expression was calm, but her eyes were searching his, as if weighing her loyalty to protect Dani or Dani’s wishes to convey her message.
“She told me to tell you,” Maria said gently, “that she’ll meet you where it all began.”
Alexandros stilled.
Then, slowly, his gaze turned back toward the water. A realization flickered in his stormy eyes.
A smile—not soft, not amused, but sharp and knowing—curved his lips.
He pivoted sharply. “Demetrius.” His tone cracked like a whip.
The other man appeared instantly at his side.
“Ten thousand euros to anyone who can get me to my yacht—now,” Alexandros said, his voice like steel.
Demetrius blinked. “Yes, sir.”
Word traveled fast.
Within seconds, a dozen offers were shouted across the pier. Alexandros scanned the hopeful faces and picked the sturdiest-looking vessel among them— a weathered old taxi boat with cracked paint and a captain who didn’t blink at a bribe.
He climbed aboard with Demetrius close behind, gripping the rails as the boat shuddered to life and surged away from the marina.
The ride was rougher than he liked. The sea was choppy, the wind rising with the late afternoon sun, but none of it mattered.
All he saw was the gleaming silhouette of theKallistratos Challenge—his yacht, his fortress, his sanctuary—anchored in the distance.
A member of his security greeted them at the stern. Alexandros vaulted onto the platform with practiced ease. The moment his feet hit the teakwood deck, one of his crew approached, tipping his cap nervously.
“Ms. Bouras arrived ten, fifteen minutes ago. She asked for the stateroom… downstairs. She said you would be expecting her,” the man said.
Alexandros didn’t answer.
His feet were already moving.
He took the stairs two at a time, his suit jacket flaring behind him. A steward rounding the corner yelped and flattened himself against the wall. Alexandros didn’t stop.
His pulse thundered as he neared the stateroom.
That stateroom.
Memories flashed through his mind as he remembered the firsttime he laid eyes on her. She was his fiery mermaid, dressed in an ill-fitting sequined red evening gown. She had the mouth of a sailor and the lightning fist of a prizefighter, but it was her mischievous eyes that beckoned to him—snared his heart.
He reached for the handle and pushed the door open with one steady breath.
The elegant room looked vacant at first. The accent lights cast a soft golden light across the pristinely made bed. The hum of the environmental system, keeping the ambient temperature perfect for visitors.
