“Not to hurt her?” I guess. He nods. “I won’t. Not anymore.”
“Then we have to do whatever it takes to find her.”
By fate’s irony—or maybe as a reward for the moment of honesty—I receive a new message and open it. The investigator says Oliver Sarris bought a one-way ticket to Greece, unaccompanied, and is landing any minute.
The breath I draw is pure force, fueling me with more energy than oxygen ever could.
“This is going to end,” I say aloud without explaining. They stare at me, confused. “I have a lead—and it just landed.”
“I’ll drive,” Drako offers, lifting his car keys.
CHAPTER 52
NERO ZANTHOS
Hidden in a car, this is the third day we’ve been tailing Oliver Sarris, and not once until now has he been alone long enough for us to approach him. This looks like our first real chance.
“He’s leaving the house,” Drako announces over the car’s speakerphone.
The idiot decided he’d follow Oliver separately—on a motorcycle.
“We can see that, Drako,” I snap, impatient. “We’re parked right in front of the place. And don’t you think you look suspicious as hell staking out a house like that?”
“How so?” He sounds offended, checking himself in the rearview mirror across the street.
“I don’t know—maybe the red helmet? Or the leather jacket?” I offer, dry.
“I can pass for a delivery guy at any moment!” he protests, outraged.
“On a Ducati? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Uber Eats Black Super Premium?”
Atlas bangs his head against the dashboard, not amused in the slightest.
“Why did we have to bring him again?” Apollo finally says from the back seat, fed up with sitting still.
“Because leaving him alone with nothing to do would’ve meant even more problems to fix when we got back,” Atlas replies. His strained tone suggests he’s already played out every possible scenario—and in all of them, Drako screwed something up beyond repair.
“He’s going down the stairs,” Drako announces, unnecessarily.
“Shut up, Drako.”
I watch Oliver cross the street toward his parked car. He looks calm. Confident. I grip the steering wheel hard, trying to keep my anxiety in check. Oliver starts the car, and we follow at a discreet distance.
“Stay out of his line of sight, Drako,” I warn, my nostrils flaring as I force myself to steady my heartbeat.
“And do I look like an idiot?”
“Yes,” the three of us answer in unison.
We keep a safe distance until Oliver turns onto a busy street. A driver brakes too late at a light and causes a minor fender-bender—not serious, but it traps us in traffic.
Drako slips past and takes off after him on the bike.
“I’ll keep you posted, idiots!” he boasts, vanishing from view.
…
