The Negotiator (Professionals 7)

“Antony, I told you that you didn’t need to come all the way up here,” Christopher said. “This was very out of your way,” he added.

“Oh, no. No problem. I bring my daughter. She is getting the house ready for guests.”

“That wasn’t necessary,” Christopher told him. “But I appreciate it.”

“We had to make it nice,” Antony insisted. “Oh, is this little Alexander?” he gushed, rushing over toward him, making Alexander’s eyes go huge as the man hugged and kissed him like old friends.

“The last time we were here, Alexander was only about nine,” Christopher explained.

“You have a house like this, and you haven’t come here in six years?”

“I’ve been busy,” he said, shrugging. “And it is best to keep this as secret as possible. You can’t do that if you holiday here every summer.”

That was fair. Even if it was a shame.

“He must come here often,” I said, moving away from Christopher, checking out the plants on the deck. Among the spices, there were hardy tomato plants with big red fruit, zucchini, various greens, eggplant, and beans.

“He’s fond of the place. He likely stays here on occasion. But he has kept on a small staff of grounds keepers to keep the place from becoming too overgrown.”

“I understand his fondness. This is a little oasis,” I admitted. That was a bit flowery for me to say, but it was true nonetheless. I could absolutely see this place functioning as a wellness retreat. Guests who stood on this porch and looked at the view I was looking at must have been able to take their first full, deep breath in a long time, breathing in nothing but clean air and the earthy smell of trees and plants.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, moving in beside me. “We might be here a while,” he added.

“You’re worried about the rest of your men,” I concluded.

“If I had been able to overlook Niko’s treachery, I don’t feel confident that I have, what is the word…”

“Vetted,” I suggested.

“Yes, vetted, all my men properly.”

“How are you going to do that from here?” I asked, brows furrowing.

“I have outsourced that particular problem,” he told me.

“Who did you hire?” I asked. “I probably know him. All us problem-solvers tend to run in the same circles.”

“His name is Holden. He came highly recommended.”

He would.

He was the best at what he did.

And the only reason he didn’t work at Quinton Baird & Associates was because Quin wasn’t the biggest fan of his methods. Which often included various forms of counter-interrogation that could sometimes turn violent. Viciously so, if he thought someone was hiding something from him. And Quin liked knowing his people had a little more restraint than that. I, personally, thought The Inquisitor had a really good ring to it.

“So, you’ll definitely have the answers you need.”

To that, he nodded. “We just need to give it a little time.”

“Well, if we have to be trapped away somewhere, this is the place to be,” I told him, finding his gaze on mine, eyes intense, lips about to say something.

But then Alexander moved in between us. “Way to abandon me,” he grumbled. “He kissed me like six times.”

“He’s sweet,” I concluded.

“His daughter pinched my cheeks,” he added, cringing.

“It must suck to be so adored,” I teased, getting small eyes from him.

“I’m going for a hike. Or am I in lockdown, Warden?” he asked.

“Get lost,” Christopher said, dismissing him. “Would you like a tour of the house?” he asked me.

“Absolutely,” I agreed.

This house was in complete contrast to the cave house. For many reasons. One of them being that most of the cave house was rounded in the rooms. This house was a typical architecture with clean lines. The cave house had been almost startlingly white, but this one was all earth tones—browns, creams, greens, a hint of burnt orange and yellow in the pillows on the sectional couch that faced a giant stone hearth.

The front room—which I guess we would call a living room, though with the sheer size of this place, I ventured to guess there would be at least three or four similarly functioning rooms—was surrounded by large windows. Large houseplants in massive pots were scattered around, letting the leaves soak up the sun.

Like the cave house, it immediately felt homey, but in a different, more rustic way.

There were a few knick knacks on the mantle, which reminded me of home, of my collection of things.

“Through here is the dining room,” Christopher said, putting a hand at my lower back, making me think he had tried to get my attention with little success as I looked at the living room.

Much like the living room, this was a window-lined, oversized space, dominated by a solid wood plank table in a mahogany finish, lined with off-white tufted chairs. Across from where we were standing against the far wall was a long sideboard with a wood-framed mirror.