just another pretty face attached to a sinful body. She was smart, too, the director of one of the top archaeometry laboratories in the world, the backbone of the Art Institute of Athens.
Her eyes slid in his direction, and she smiled that come-get-me grin he knew meant she was ready to go back to his hotel and screw his brains out. A tiny part of him recoiled at the thought.
Before he knew it, he was scanning the crowd again, looking for that waitress he’d seen earlier. The one who’d had those wide, almond-shaped eyes, that strong, straight nose, the high cheekbones and stubborn chin.
Damn. He was doing it again. He’d stopped seeing her face in crowds years ago. So why the hell was it happening now?
More than ready to leave this party behind, he set his empty flute on a nearby table, tucked one hand into the pocket of his slacks and headed in Maria’s direction.
Voices tinged with Middle Eastern accents drifted his way as he drew close. Maria’s back was to him as he approached the trio, but over her shoulder he got a look at the two dark-skinned gentlemen she was speaking with, and he stiffened. Something in his gut said this was no coincidence.
Definitely time to bail.
He slipped his arm around Maria’s waist and leaned close to her ear, hoping to pull her away without a scene. “I’m ready to go.”
She pressed a hand against his chest and smiled. “Peter. There you are. I’d like you to meet Aten Minyawi and Hanif Busir. They’re in the market for some prime Egyptian pieces.”
Yeah, he just bet they were.
He barely spared them a glance and knew without even looking that not an ounce of recognition would show on Busir’s face. “I don’t deal in Egyptian art anymore. Sorry.”
Pete started to tug Maria away, but she halted his movement with a hand on his arm. “Mr. Busir’s from Cairo. He runs a museum in the city, and he’s always on the lookout for historic pieces that might have been removed from his country without government knowledge or approval. Several of your artifacts tonight intrigued him. In fact, he purchased quite a few and is in the market for more.”
God, she was buying their bull hook, line and sinker. But then, Busir was a pro at weaving crap on a stick. As good as Pete had once been.
“Good for him,” Pete said. “Everything I have has already been auctioned off. That was the point of tonight, remember? The car’s waiting, Maria.”
“Peter.” She stopped him with a look that read, what the hell’s wrong with you? “Mr. Minyawi and Mr. Busir are also interested in contracting the Institute for authentication on some of their pieces. I’m sure you can wait a few moments, can’t you?”
Nope. Not for anyone from Egypt. Not ever again.
She tugged her elbow from his hand, turned away before he could answer and made some lame-ass excuse about his rude behavior.
Yeah. Whatever.
He squared his shoulders and glanced back at the two men while he waited. Minyawi was over six feet, had long dark hair and a full beard. A thin scar ran down one side of his face. He never made eye contact, but something about the way he held himself was familiar to Pete. And that familiarity only flared as Pete watched the man’s gaze sweep the crowd as if he were searching for someone. Or waiting for something to happen.
Not good.
Pete’s gaze drifted to Busir, a good two inches shorter than Minyawi, but wider and more muscular. His dark hair was cropped closer than Pete remembered, but those thick brows anchoring his forehead to his face were just the same. As were his piercing black eyes, which never wavered from Maria. The man was all about attention to detail and stone-cold deadly patience. Just like always.
Pete knew Busir wouldn’t make a scene—he was too cunning for that—but it didn’t lessen Pete’s desire to get the hell out of the auction house and away from these two thugs as soon as possible. Whatever they were doing here couldn’t be good, and his days of wheeling and dealing with the likes of them were long gone.
With growing impatience, he waited until Maria pulled a business card from her small white handbag and handed it to Busir. Before she could delve into a description of the Institute’s latest technological advancements, he grasped her arm and this time didn’t let go. “The car’s waiting.”