The Negotiator (Professionals 7)

“If it comes to that, I will handle it. I don’t need your team for that. I need you to make sure it doesn’t come to that.”

“I don’t come with any assurances, Mr. Adamos,” she told me, shaking her head a bit.

“I don’t need assurances. I need you to do your job.”

“I would feel more comfortable if you brought in, at least, Smith from my team.”

Smith, I knew from Fenway and Bellamy’s stories. He was the team’s General. He handled things like extractions.

“I have my own men.”

“Not as good as Quin’s men.”

“Maybe not as experienced, but a lot less moral,” I told her, watching as understanding crossed her face.

I would burn down all of fucking Bulgaria if it meant getting my brother back. I didn’t give a fuck about what that said about me as a man.

“How long do you have before action is expected from you?”

“Chernev expects to hear back from me tomorrow evening.”

“Not a lot of time to prepare.”

“But it can be done.” It wasn’t a question. But she answered anyway.

“It can be done,” she agreed. “Fenway is right. I’m going to need that coffee.”

“We will be docked in less than five minutes,” I told her, moving toward the door.

“Mr. Adamos,” she called, making me turn back.

“Yes?”

“Eight,” she reminded me.

“I am a man of my word, Miller. You get me my brother back, you will get your money.”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, Mr. Adamos. Whether or not I am successful, I get paid. Nobody works for free.”

That was fair enough.

“If you aren’t successful, you will get the rate your employer pays you. Not a cent more.”

She didn’t like that, judging by the tightness in her jaw, the way her eyes went small. But she didn’t object either.

“Mr. Adamos,” she called again when I had just moved out into the hall.

“Yes?”

“Your brother…”

“What about him?”

“What’s his name?”

“Alexander,” I told her, feeling pain slice through my stomach.

“I will do everything I can to get Alexander safe,” she told me as I closed the door.

I didn’t know her well enough to say with certainty, but I had a feeling it was more than the money. Maybe because Alexander was so young, because children should never be involved in wars between grown men.

A tender heart was bad for business.

But in this case, it would work in my favor.

“She explicitly told you not to get her a pig,” Bellamy was telling Fenway as I moved back onto the deck, seeing Fenway scrolling through something on his phone.

“She didn’t mean it, though,” Fenway insisted.

“She can’t have a pig right now,” I said, helping Bellamy—and likely Miller—out. “She is going to be in Greece for a while,” I added.

“Right. Well, taking a note for her birthday then,” Fenway said, tucking the phone away.

I doubted he even knew her birthday, let alone would remember it. That was not something you could expect of Fenway, the kind of man whose life was full of women and parties, avoiding anything serious, never making deep connections.

That was just how he was.

The only thing that made him come to a stop was when some big—or small—man was threatening his life because Fenway took up with his wife, sister, daughter, or mother. All of the above. And he only paused then because the crew that Miller and Bellamy worked for forced him to.

I actually met Fenway when one of my men saved him from a back-alley ass-kicking over a woman he’d hit on right in front of her man.

He’d proved a distant yet entertaining friend, someone easy to go out with, someone who was always hosting a great party on the rare occasion occur that I was in the mood for one.

Five minutes after we debarked, he would run off, chasing some beautiful woman in a flowing skirt. I likely would not see him again for months. Or years.

Bellamy, I figured would hang around long enough to make sure Miller was comfortably on the job. Then he would take off to who knew where.

I imagined Miller had figured this out as well, which likely explained a lot of her initial hesitance.

“You told her about the kid,” Bellamy said, jerking his chin behind me.

I turned to see all five-and-a-half feet of Miller making her way toward us, her gait quick and determined. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

Ten minutes later, Fenway supposedly went off to ask around about some wine he wanted to stock back up on for his yacht.

We were just at the front of the coffee shop when Bellamy’s phone rang.

He reached for it, a brow raising, something that immediately made Miller lunge at him. “That’s Quin isn’t it?” she asked as he danced back a step. “Give that to me. Bells!” she shouted when he moved further back still. “Bellamy,” she growled as he jogged up the steps.

She tried to run after him, making my arm shoot out, fingers curling around her upper arm, to yank her backward.