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The tattoo on her ankle throbbed.
The larger one on her shoulder burned with the fierce reminder.
She’d spent two years in jail for her serious error in judgement after funnelling her need to be loved towards the wrong guy.
Making the same mistake again was not an option.
CHAPTER THREE
SAKIS WATCHED BRIANNA walk away; her back was held so rigid her upper half barely moved. His frown deepened. Something was wrong. Granted, this was the first crisis they’d been thrown into together, but her conduct up till now had been beyond exemplary.
Right up until she’d reacted strongly to the journalist’s question. A question he himself had not anticipated. He should’ve known that somehow his father would be dredged up like this. Should’ve known that, even from beyond the grave, the parent who’d held his family in such low, deplorable regard would not remain buried. He stomped on the pain riding just beneath his chest, the way he always did when he thought of his father. He refused to let the past haunt him. It no longer had any power over him.
After what his father had done to his family, to his mother especially, he deserved to be forgotten totally and utterly.
Unfortunately, at times like these, when the media thought they could get a whiff of scandal, they pounced. And this time, there was no escaping their rabid focus...
The deafening sound of the industrial-size vacuum starting up drew his attention from Brianna, reminding him that he had more important things to deal with than his hitherto unruffled personal assistant’s off behaviour, and the unwanted memories of a ghost.
He zipped his jumpsuit back up and strode over to the black, slick shoreline. Half a mile away, giant oil-absorbing booms floated around the perimeter of the contaminated water to catch the spreading spill. Closer to shore, right in the middle of where the oil poured out, ecologically safe chemicals pumped from huge sprays to dissolve as much of the slick as possible.
It’s not enough. It would never be enough because this shouldn’t have happened in the first place.
His phone rang and he recognised Theo’s number on his screen.
‘What’s happening, brother? Talk to me,’ Theo said.
Sakis summarised the situation as quickly as he could, leaving out nothing, even though he was very aware that the mention of kidnap would raise painful, unwanted memories for Theo.
‘Anything I can do from here?’ his brother asked. The only hint of his disturbance at being reminded of his own kidnap when he was eighteen was the slight ring of steel in his voice when he asked the question. ‘I can put you in touch with the right people if you want. I made it my business to find out who the right contacts are in a situation like this.’ His analytical brain wouldn’t have made him cope with his ordeal otherwise.
That was Theo through and through. He went after a problem until he had every imaginable scenario broken down, then he went after the solution with single-minded determination—which was why he fulfilled his role as trouble-shooter for Pantelides Inc so perfectly.
‘We’ve got it in hand. But perhaps you could cause an outrageous scandal where you are, distract these damned paparazzi from messing with my salvage operation.’
‘Hmm, I suppose I could skydive naked from the top of Cristo Redentor,’ Theo offered.
For the first time in what felt like days, Sakis’s lips cracked in a smile. ‘You love Rio too much to get yourself barred from the city for ever for blasphemy.’ His gaze flicked to where Brianna stood alone, having dispersed the last of the journalists. She was back on her tablet, her fingers busy on the glass keyboard.
Satisfaction oozed through him. Whatever had fractured his PA’s normal efficiency, she had it back again.
‘Everything’s in hand,’ he repeated, probably more to reassure himself that he had his emotions under control.
‘Great to hear. Keep me in the loop, ne?’
Sakis signed off and jumped into the nearest boat carrying a crew of six and the vacuum, and signalled to the pilot to head out.
For the next three hours, while sunlight prevailed, he worked with the crew to pump as much sludge of out the water as possible. From another boat nearby, the journalists to whom he’d granted access filmed the process. Some even asked intelligent questions that didn’t make his teeth grind.
Floodlights arrived, mounted on tripods on more boats, and he carried on working.
It was nearing midnight when, alerted to the
arrival of the refresh crew, he straightened from where he’d been managing the pump. And froze.
‘What the hell?’
The salvage-crew captain glanced up sharply. ‘Excuse me, sir?’
