The Negotiator

by Gadziala, Jessica

  "Melody," he repeated, and the way it rolled off his tongue was even better than I had imagined. "Beautiful," he added.

  "It doesn't really suit me, but it is what it is."

  "It suits you," he corrected, shaking his head, letting me pull away slightly, thinking this was the perfect time for a little physical distance since things felt emotionally rather close.

  "You shouldn't have done that," I told him, clearing my throat a little awkwardly, not wanting my voice to keep sounding so, well, husky.

  "Done what? Comforted you?" he asked.

  "No, well, yes, but no. You shouldn't have killed him," I clarified, moving to sit up, crossing my legs, feeling my hair fall to curtain around my face. "You should have held him for questioning. By whatever means necessary. You know that," I added.

  "He touched you. He had to die."

  "That's ridiculous."

  "It's not ridiculous," he shot back, sitting up against the headboard.

  In case you are wondering, yes, yes, I did watch the way his abdominal muscles contracted with the motion. Because things weren't problematic enough between the two of us, I had to go and reignite my body's natural response to his very well-toned body.

  "Yes, it is. So he was likely here to kill me, got a little grab-assy; you still would have gotten a little useful information out of him if you kept him alive."

  "He did what?" he asked, making me realize the little tidbit he hadn't been privy to slipped out of my lips, turning his eyes into small fires.

  "Nothing. It was nothing. He was probably aiming for my arm or something."

  "And he got your ass?" he asked, looking thoroughly confused.

  "He grabbed my boob. Really, it's nothing. Relax," I demanded when his body got tight again. "It's not like you can bring him back to life to kill him again, more slowly," I told him, shaking my head. "I mean, I get it. He was one of your men. He betrayed you. That sucks. But he would have been a valuable asset to question, you know? We don't even know how long he was working for Chernev."

  To that, I got a sigh. Of the long-suffering sort.

  "What?" I asked when he climbed out of the bed, irritated, but I couldn't figure out why.

  "Nothing. Stay in here. I have to handle some things. Alexander will be outside your door with Laird if you need anything," he added, going into his closet, grabbing a white button-up, throwing it on, but leaving it unbuttoned for the time being as he made his way to the door.

  "Christopher," I called, bringing him to a stop, turning to look back at me.

  "Yes?"

  "Thank you," I told him.

  He gave me a tight nod before disappearing into the hall.

  It was a few minutes later when there was a tentative tapping, making me jump. "Yeah?"

  "Want something to eat?" Alexander asked, looking exhausted.

  "No, I'm fine."

  "Coffee then? It's going to be a long day from the sound of things."

  "If someone makes some, bring me a cup. But don't have anyone make me any."

  "Okay."

  "I mean it, Alexander," I told him, trying for a stern voice, getting a little smirk from him.

  "I heard you," he told me, shutting the door.

  Alone again, I made my way to the bathroom, finding warm, sandy tones, a walk-in big enough for ten with three separate shower heads, and a soaking tub that looked like a menage could happen in it comfortably.

  I had a sudden urge to climb in it, but chose against it. In case someone needed me out in the main area or something.

  Instead, I washed my face and neck, wiping away the feel of Niko's clammy palms.

  I didn't realize I had been standing there staring at my reflection, zoned out, until I heard a clink in front of me, making me jolt, gaze finding Christopher's in the mirror.

  "What's the matter?" I asked, watching him look at my reflection.

  "I brought you a frappe. With chocolate," he added.

  "I told Alexander only to get me coffee if someone had already made it."

  "Alexander didn't get it. I did," he told me, shrugging.

  "Thank you," I said, grabbing it, turning, finding him a lot closer than I anticipated. "What is going on out there?"

  "We're making plans."

  "What kind of plans?"

  "The kind to keep you—and Alexander—safe," he told me, turning, walking away, leaving me before I could ask any other questions.

  What went on for the next several hours was anyone's guess. I could hear the low timbre of voices, some shuffling, cell phones ringing. But none of it was close enough to make anything out.

  Eventually, I found myself back in the bed, curling into the sheets that smelled so much like Christopher, finding myself fantasizing not of him sexing me up in these ridiculously soft sheets, but simply curling me up, holding me close.

  It had me asleep in minutes.

  The next time I was conscious of anything, there was a tickling sensation down the side of my cheek, making me pull up my shoulder to brush it away, but trapping a finger there instead.

  Eyes shooting open, I found Christopher sitting off the edge of the bed, fully dressed in a deep gray suit. Meaning he'd been moving around in the room getting dressed while I had been passed out.

  "What time is it?" I asked, voice groggy.

  "After ten," he told me.

  "What's going on? Is my room ready for me to go back to?"

  "Yes, it's ready. But, no, you're not going back to it."

  "Why not?"

  "Come on. Let's get you breakfast," he offered instead of answering, the bed bouncing a bit as he got to his feet, reaching over to flick off my covers.

  With a grumble, I folded upward, sliding off the bed. "Alright. Just let me go get dressed."

  "You're fine," he insisted, leading me into the hall. "Let's go."

  He left little room for debate. And I was honestly hungry enough not to care about near nudity around his men.

  The house, though, was surprisingly quiet compared to the hubbub of the night before.

  "Ah, there she is!" Cora greeted, rushing toward me, arms outstretched, pulling me in for a hug so tight I found it hard to breathe. "How are you? Are you alright? You poor girl!"

  "I'm fine, Cora," I insisted, offering her a convincing smile. "Really," I added when she kept giving me small eyes.

  "And to think," she said, turning away, going about making me a plate, "you gave that man extra food."

  The smile was immediate and big. Turning to Christopher, I saw a similar light in his eyes.

  "He had us all fooled, Cora," Christopher said, tone apologetic. "Most of all me."

  "Good riddance to him," Cora snapped, turning, putting a bowl of fresh fruit and yogurt in front of me. "Eat up, dear, you have a long day ahead of you."

  "I do?" I asked, turning my attention to Christopher, waiting for an explanation.

  He moved around the other side of the counter, accepting the coffees from Cora who excused herself into the garden, leaving us alone.

  Christopher passed a coffee to me, taking his, and leaning back against the sink. "We are leaving," he told me. "In one hour."

  "Leaving to go where? Are you sending me home?" Was that disappointment in my tone? When there should have been relief?

  "I'm not," he told me, and there was no accounting for the wave of relief I felt.

  "Then where are we leaving to?"

  "Somewhere safer for the time being," he informed me.

  "Am I going to be told where?"

  "The fewer people who know right now, the better."

  "Do your men know?"

  "They know we are leaving. Only three know where. Only three will be taking the trip with us."

  "What about Cora?"

  "Cora will stay with her husband. She'll be safe."

  "You're sure?"

  "I wouldn't leave her in danger."

  "How are we going to eat?" I asked, making a strange laugh/snort escape him.

  "You've been
learning."

  "I have no recipes."

  "We'll figure something out."

  "Where is Alexander?"

  "Laird took him to town a few moments ago. Until we are certain of things, not all moving at once is safest. You'll eat. We will pack your things, and then we will go."

  "I have no say in this, huh?"

  "I have to keep you safe, Melody."

  I had almost forgotten I told him my name. And the shock of it made a shiver move through my system. Thankfully, only on the inside.

  "I get that," I agreed.

  "You're not going to argue with me?"

  "Not this time, no," I told him, finishing up my breakfast, bringing it over to the sink, feeling a momentary pang of regret that I wouldn't be able to cook with Cora anymore for the foreseeable future. "I'll go get dressed. Do you have some extra luggage? Or, I don't know, a box or something? I can just pack a few things."

  "Pack it all. I put luggage in your room."

  "Oh, okay. Great. Um... I just need like twenty minutes," I told him, going toward my room.

  I stopped inside the door, gaze immediately going toward the spot where Christopher had bashed Niko's head into the wall.

  The window had been patched.

  The blood was completely gone.

  There were nicks out of the wood, though, evidence of the events of the night before.

  Taking a deep breath, I smelled bleach.

  Forcing my focus away from the whole ordeal, I grabbed the oversized luggage Christopher had left me, filling them up with all the things he had acquired for me, picking out a long white skirt and a black tank top for the day, and getting myself ready.

  "I can grab one," I insisted when Christopher took the bags.

  He said nothing, just turned and walked out of the room, expecting me to follow.

  And without anything else to do, I did just that.

  Once outside, he handed off the bags to two of his men, the two I imagined were coming with us, along with Laird.

  "We're doing this quickly," Christopher informed me, letting one of the men go in front of us, and I could feel the other move in behind.

  Christopher's hand reached out, grabbing mine, squeezing tight.

  Before I could even fully process that, though, we were off.

  And by off, I mean running.

  We were all running.

  Down the winding, narrow stairs at a breakneck pace.

  Instinctively, not knowing the steps like Christopher who ran them so often, my hand tightened on his, knowing he could keep me from face-planting or tumbling if I stumbled. Oddly enough, as we went down, men from all the other cave houses were standing in their gardens, glancing around. Almost like, I don't know, makeshift lookouts.

  It seemed ludicrous. But then again, a man with the sort of power Christopher clearly had could've absolutely made that happen. And in doing so, gained a small army to help him plan his escape.

  My free hand lifted, swiping sweat off my forehead as the men continued their relentless pace, making my breath start hissing out, my chest getting tight.

  Just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, we made it off the last step, and Christopher pulled me forward, shoving me into a waiting car, making me damn near fall into Alexander's lap.

  Christopher slid in behind me, leaving me sardined between the two men as one of the guards went into the front beside Laird and the other tossed my bags into the back of the SUV and climbed in with them.

  "You gonna make it?" Alexander asked, grinning at me gulping for air.

  "Don't tease her," Christopher demanded, reaching for a water bottle handed back to him from Laird, twisting off the top, and passing it to me. "She hasn't been able to leave the house. Her body isn't used to activity."

  If Alexander thought his brother's comment was unusual, he said nothing. Both brothers turned their attention away from me as I chugged the water.

  The car ride was short, pulling us up to an empty airstrip, save for the private jet parked there, waiting for us.

  "I'll be back," the guard in the passenger seat told us, reaching into his breast pocket for a gun, the sun reflecting off of it, blinding with the mid-day sun.

  He greeted the pilot, then moved inside to, I assumed, inspect the plane to make sure no one was on board who shouldn't have been.

  He came back out, giving Laird a nod. We drove closer. Christopher's hand grabbed mine again, pulling me out of the car as Laird led Alexander inside the plane.

  Christopher said something in Greek to the pilot as we moved past, one of his men moving in behind us like a human shield until we were out of sight.

  I'd been in a few private jets in my life. It was about what I'd expected. There were about a dozen places to sit between the bench, the table and chairs, and the lounging chairs. The colors were white and birch, light and airy which made it feel less claustrophobic.

  Christopher moved me into one of the lounging seats closest to the window, so I could watch the view.

  Once we were all seated and buckled in, the pilot spoke over the speaker in Greek, most of it going over my head. I knew a couple phrases in the language, but not nearly enough to keep up with his rapid speech.

  "That was pretty impressive," I told Christopher, his gaze moving over to me, lips twitching a bit.

  "Yeah?"

  "Yep."

  "Wait till you see the next part."

  NINE

  Miller

  Admittedly, I probably should have paid attention when we'd learned about geography in high school. Because it never ceased to surprise me how many times I went to a country and realized there was a hell of a lot more to it than I originally thought.

  See, when I thought of Greece, I thought of two areas only. Athens with its rich history chock-full of tourist attractions, and Santorini with its white cave houses, and brilliant blue sky and water.

  It wasn't until we were flying over lush green spaces peppered with brown and gray mountains that I realized just how big Greece is.

  "Where are we?" I asked, awe clear in my voice.

  "Zagori," Alexander supplied.

  "Alexander," Christopher snapped, since I wasn't supposed to know where we were.

  "What does it matter? She has no way to contact and tell anyone," Alexander reasoned.

  "It's beautiful," I concluded.

  Arched stone bridges chipped from the mountains themselves stood proud over blue-green waters. "It's so rural," I observed, feeling like this would be the perfect spot for a vacation. Sure, beaches were beautiful and all, but this was a completely under-appreciated area.

  Even as the words were out of my mouth, we flew over a small village of stone houses with stone roofs, making them almost appear as the mountains themselves instead of houses.

  We didn't fly for much longer, just finding our airstrip and descending, leaving me a little anxious to be able to see what other places Christopher called home.

  "It's like being in a different country," I concluded, shaking my head as we stepped out of the plane.

  "I thought the same some of the times I visited the States," Christopher told me, eyes scanning the landscape. A little paranoid, I decided, but I really couldn't blame him. If someone on my team tried to kill me, I wasn't sure I could ever feel like I could trust someone again. "New York and Montana might as well be different countries as well."

  "That's fair. It's a big country."

  "Did you grow up in... Nave-uh..."

  "Nav-uh-sink," I corrected. "Navesink Bank? No. I grew up in New York City."

  "Why did you leave?" he asked, and it was maybe the most he had tried to engage me in conversation since we'd met.

  "Bad memories," I offered because it was true, and I found I wanted to share that with him.

  "Spots one-through-five?" he asked.

  "The first and fourth spots, at least," I agreed, shrugging as we climbed inside another SUV, the closeness of the others making private conversation impossible, so we both
fell silent.

  The drive was about forty-five minutes, the road rough, making our bodies jostle around, making me need to grit my teeth to keep them from knocking together.

  We drove past the final town, and up higher on a mountain, a long slate-roofed home coming into view.

  Home was a bit tame of a word for what it was.

  Really, it probably was originally built as a sort of resort.

  Like all the other homes in the area, the walls and roofs were made of stone as well. A long, walled porch wrapped around the entire building, likely offering breathtaking views of the world below. Giant flower pots lined the porch, a miniature potted garden of various greenery and flowers, some of which I was beginning to recognize from Cora showing them to me at the cave house. Oregano. Basil. Rosemary. If I was going to be in charge of cooking, I would need all the spice help I could get.

  "Do we have to run and hide inside here too?" I asked, feeling dread seep in at the idea of only having seeing this view through a window.

  "No," Christopher told me, climbing out of the car, reaching in for my hand to help me out. "This house is still in the owner's name, though I paid him for it. It used to be a wellness retreat. He got too old to keep it up. And I needed somewhere safe in case Santorini became dangerous."

  "Smart," I told him, realizing he had yet to drop my hand even as we started walking up the long drive toward the house. Even noticing it myself, I chose to keep my hand in his even though every part of me knew things were only going to get more and more complicated if I didn't keep firm boundary lines in place.

  Just as we were stepping onto the deck, the front door burst open, bringing out a trio of yipping dogs, and a short, stout man with a charmingly balding head and hangover waistline.

  "There you are!" he said, arms raised, making a beeline for Christopher. And, I kid you not, reaching for his cheeks, pulling him down, and air kissing both his cheeks.

  There was no stopping the smile that spread across my face, even as the slight flush crept across Christopher's. Because, really, who in their right mind grabbed the face of a crime lord and kissed their cheeks? It was amazing. And the fact that Christopher was so clearly thrown off and embarrassed by it made it all the better. "This," the man said, looking at me, "this is a good man, yes?"