Page 105 of Dagger in the Sea

“Many dynasties.” She let out a breath, her teeth scraping over her lip. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I must be boring you.”

“I like your tales of history and adventure.”

One would have assumed she only told tales of fashion shows in Paris and night clubs in Cape d’Antibes and Mykonos. Not this heiress. Not Adriana Lavrentiou.

A small smile curved her lips. “Some children get read fairy tales about princesses and knights, but I got told naval legends of sailors and captains and cannon fire and sword fights.” Her eyes were bright, alive, consuming, her voice soft, low as if she were sharing a deep secret. “My grandfather would tell me all sorts of stories about the glory days of sailors in our family and all their brutal sacrifices along the way.”

“I’d like to hear those stories.”

Her gaze returned to the model ship. “It was my great-great-grandfather Stefanos and his brothers who realized that the future of shipping was in steam. They were one of the first to build large steam passenger and commercial cargo ships when sailing came to an end by the turn of the century. They did very well. And so did Andros.”

“They had vision and stuck to it, and created a huge economic boom for one small island.”

“Yes, for generations. Charities were created, hospitals, a nursing home, and schools. Of course there were major losses too, but the shipowners kept on and became what they are today. My grandfather was the first to have carriers and tankers built in Japan.”

“Ah yes, oil.” The easy distribution of oil was the backbone of modern shipping and a huge global business.

“Always oil,” she said, letting out a breath, her face tightening.

I didn’t like that coldness and anxiety seeping into her beautiful eyes, stiffening her voice. I took her hand. “Let’s go for that swim. Show me the castle.”

The niggling question of why Adri would be the target of a gangsta style assassination in public burrowed deeper in my brain. Had her father and his company pissed off a criminal organization or a corporate rival? Such a vulgar and cruel act, yet maybe not beneath someone who wanted to make a very clear and very public point.

Alessio’s remark came back to me. That Adri had been through a violent attack with her boyfriend. Maybe this shooting was connected to him? Maybe this boyfriend was the one she was hung up on?

One thing I was sure of, I wanted to know who the hell this guy was.

29

Turo

Two minutesdown the cobblestone road, we were at the end of the peninsula that was Chóra. Her mother’s family name was everywhere—in the tiny church a few steps from the house where she’d lit several thin tapers and kissed an icon, doing the sign of the cross, and in the small Naval Museum, another neoclassical mansion that was the very last building in town right on the water.

We wandered around the small, crowded galleries of the museum. Models of the family’s first carriers and tankers, sailors’ diaries, old compasses and knotted ropes, certificates and maps all documenting the rise of shipping in Andros. The views of the blue sea through each of the paneled windows on the second floor of the museum were nothing short of magnificent. A huge stone terrace spread out below with a large bronze statue at its center, a memorial honoring lost sailors.

“Our original house used to be just behind this one, but both were ruined by the Nazi bombings. This one was rebuilt and donated for the museum by another shipping family.”

“And that’s what’s left of the Venetian castle?” I pointed towards the stone ruins set on a high rock which jutted out into the churning sea. The only way to reach it was over a single high and very round-arched stone bridge that remained.

“Yes, that’s all that’s left of it. We’ll swim just below.”

We left the museum, passed the grand terrace with the huge statue of the lost sailor, and trekked down steps chiseled from the rock to the small lagoon where waves splashed on slabs of that unusual mica stone glittering in the sunlight. An elderly man and a young boy swam there under the shadow of the arched medieval stone bridge which led to a high promontory of red rock—an islet actually—where the castle ruins towered above us.

Adri greeted the old man and his grandson, I presumed, as they got out of the water, and he smiled and chatted with her. He was pleased to see her. The man dried off the little boy and himself with a towel, put on their flip-flops, and holding the boy’s hand, they climbed the stone steps, leaving us all alone in this lagoon of shimmering rock and choppy blue green sea.

Adri dropped her colorful canvas tote bag with our towels and water bottles, stripped off her short, burnt orange tunic as her long hair was swept up by the wind. A strapless, one piece, lime colored swimsuit with big gold hoops at each hip was tightly fastened over her long, curvy body.

I wanted my hands and mouth fastened on her just as tightly as that lucky lycra over her flesh. Images of the bound women from the Russian ship flashed in front of my eyes. Adri’s body bound and waiting for me. Anticipating my touch. Needing my—

Dionysus, you’re fucking killing me.

Don’t let up, you bastard.

Adri’s phone rang and she picked it up and read her screen. She texted back quickly and tucked the phone in the tote bag.She picked her way over the flat, slippery stones and slid into the swirling blue waters. I followed her, and the ice-cold water shorted my brain, my lungs crushed together. Sucking in air, I plowed through the surface. My skin prickled in the cool wind blowing over us. It was bracing and refreshing, better than a cup of Jamaican Blue coffee on a cold Chicago morning. I could see clear down to the bottom, to layers of rock and sand, schools of tiny fish darting past us. We plunged down below the surface. We swam in liquid sapphire.

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