The Negotiator (Professionals 7)

He did move away from the video for a moment, going out of sight. Again there was a shuffle, a snapping noise, and then he was back, brandishing the pointed, broken-off leg of his chair as a weapon.

“Alexander, these men have guns.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But now I am not helpless. They’re fucking cowards,” he added, spitting out the words. “Attacked me from behind, drugged me.”

“Yes, well, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have gone with them if they had asked you politely,” I told him, lips curving up.

“You excuse them?”

“No. I’m not excusing them. I’m saying kidnapping is inherently cowardly. So, of course, they wouldn’t have given you a chance for a fair fight.”

“Where am I?” he asked, looking around the room.

“Mykonos.”

“Why? Why here? Not Bulgaria?”

“I don’t know. My best guess is it was easier to get there. Maybe by a private boat. Or someone let them use theirs for a price.”

“It will be their last foolish act,” he said, shaking his head. “My brother will make them pay for their disloyalty.”

Oh, to be so young and so certain about life. To not understand that there were gray areas, that very little existed in shades of black and white.

“Do you hear anything?” I asked instead of engaging him about the topic of loyalty.

“Footsteps.”

“Seriously. Could you just like… get up against a wall or something? It’s good to be brave. But don’t be foolish.”

There was a bang, loud enough for me to jump.

“Who are you to call me foolish?” he asked, eyes raging.

A crash had Alexander jerking back a foot, his head whipping over toward, I assumed, the door.

“That’s the woman who saved your ass,” Christopher’s voice said, making a wave of relief wash over me, letting me take my first deep breath since he’d left. “You’ll show some respect,” he added, moving into the frame, grabbing his brother’s face a bit roughly, turning it side to side, checking for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

“Aside from his pride, he seems fine,” I said, watching as both those heads turned to me, finding rage in Alexander’s eyes and humor in Christopher’s.

“Yes, he does have a lot of pride,” Christopher agreed.

“Gee, I wonder where he got that from?” I asked, watching as his lips did the twitchy thing I was really starting to like. “Did you get Chernev?” I asked. “Or did he make it out just in time?”

“We got one of his men. We will get answers. One way or another.”

“Are you bringing Alexander home tonight?” I asked, feeling a weird thrill at using the word “home”. Which was ridiculous.

“Yes. It will be safer for him there.”

“I don’t need protection,” Alexander insisted, making me roll my eyes, making his brother snort.

“Yes, clearly,” Christopher said, voice dry. “Tell Laird that more men will be arriving ahead of us to secure the area. We will be back around sunrise. You should rest,” he added, voice a bit softer, less bossy.

“I mean, the job is over. I could have Laird bring me to town. Get out of your hair. You can wire me the money for the job.”

“No,” he objected, the word rushing out of him. “No,” he went on, tone calmer. “You will stay there for now. We will talk in the morning.”

With that, he ended the call.

My gaze went over to Laird, finding him watching me with unreadable eyes.

“I suppose there is no chance of talking you into bringing me to town.”

“I have orders,” he told me, not sounding apologetic in the least.

“See if I ever bring you extra food,” I grumbled at him, leaving the office, and making a short stop in the kitchen to grab more of those donut ball things off the counter, then taking the plate to my room.

I should have been pissed.

To be kept prisoner.

To be ordered around.

I couldn’t seem to muster those feelings though.

I decided to blame the events of the night, the worry, the excitement.

And not to analyze it any further than that. I heard Christopher’s men shuffling in about an hour later, then another group two hours from then, including Niko, who gave me a small smile as I made my way to the kitchen for a slice of that baklava that was left over. I mean, it would have been a shame for it to go to waste.

Eventually, sleep crept in.

I woke up to loud male voices, dragging me out of a perfectly nice dream that involved those donut ball things, my bed, and a warm male body beside me.

We were just going to pretend we didn’t all know what warm male body that belonged to. And all the dirty things I did with it before consciousness ruined it all.

With a grumble, I climbed out of bed, picked an outfit—or, rather, a dress because that was all Christopher had picked out for me—showered, then made my way out into the main space of the house.