Three Alpha Romeo

He shook his head. “Not the only airport.”

I’d arrived on Rhodes with the rest of the staff, three days prior. It had taken my company that long to prepare for the party, to set the stage for a single night. Whoever was paying for it had spared absolutely no expense.

But I knew damned well who was paying for it.

“Right there,” said Randall, extending an arm. “Cut the engine and let me out here.”

We ditched the boat on a rocky shore, and Holden helped me down. His hands felt strong, cinched tightly around my waist. His grip felt good. Confident.

“Thank you.”

In the end we were left staring out into the darkness, at a long stretch of nothing.

“Kalathos airfield,” said Holden, before I could ask. “It’s an old, practically abandoned strip. World War II era.”

I didn’t question how they knew this, or what they’d planned for. It didn’t even surprise me when a twin-engine aircraft fired itself up, emerging from out of the shadows to taxi in our direction.

I was a little shocked however, to see Randall in the pilot’s seat.

“Get in, Blondie,” he called down, while tossing me a headset. “We’ve got a little bit of a ride.”

We took off, climbing into the night sky. From up here the island was gorgeous, the buildings lit up warmly from within. It all disappeared quickly as Randall took us out over the water, chatting back and forth with Holden while I settled across the bench seat behind them.

Fifteen silent minutes went by, then half an hour. With each passing mile, I relaxed a little more. I’d made it. I was out. Finally, I could feel the tension going of my shoulders.

That’s probably it for Greece, then, I sighed.

I had to admit, I was a little sad about that part. The countryside had been breathtaking, and one of the most beautiful places I’d ever stayed. It was mostly blues and greens, with tall, strange trees and ruins so old it hurt my head to think about it. And the weather…

By now I’d been all over Europe, and throughout some of Asia, too. Places like Portugal and Bucharest and Spain. I’d stayed in Lisbon and Barcelona. I’d seen the Carnival of Venice, and walked the Zurich street parade.

I’d followed Xander Kyrkos all over the world, really. Missing him by weeks, or days, or even hours.

And now, in this case, mere minutes.

But I didn’t care. I wouldn’t tire. I’d follow him to the ends of the Earth if I had to, no matter where he went, no matter what he did.

All for a chance to nail the man who killed my father.

“Andrea, what was your extraction plan?”

The voice blared abruptly over the headset. I couldn’t tell if it was Holden’s or Randall’s.

“What?”

“What was your exit strategy?” the voice said again. “When you came here to get Kyrkos, didn’t you have a plan for getting out?”

I honestly hadn’t thought about it. Kyrkos had been my life for so long, I didn’t know anything else. Didn’t care about anything else.

At times, not even myself.

“I guess I was going to stab him and hide under the bed,” I called into the little mic by my mouth. “Nobody ever looks under the bed.”

Randall cackled. “Everyone looks under the bed!”

Holden nodded his agreement from the co-pilot seat. “It’s the first place they look.”

“Whatever.”