The Negotiator

by Chris Taylor

Cally stared at him from across the table and concern clouded her eyes. Unable to stay still, he walked across the room and propped himself up against the counter, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. A thick wedge of jealousy lay heavily in his gut.

  He had no right to think of Cally and Jack as his, but he couldn’t help it. He already did. The woman who sat across from him had been his from the moment he set eyes on her and with her came her son, a boy he’d begun to think wistfully as the son he wished he had.

  “Andy? Are you all right?” She pushed away from the table and reached out to touch his arm. “You look so…stern.”

  He sighed and took her hand in his. Threading his fingers through hers, he squeezed tightly. His gaze burned into hers. “I don’t want to lose you, Cally,” he said simply.

  She smiled back at him and her eyes brimmed with emotion. “You’re not going to lose me, Andy. Stewart…” She broke off, obviously struggling to find the words to explain. “He was a long time ago. I was only a girl. A child, really, with stars in my eyes. I was taken in by a smooth-talking charmer.”

  She looked down at her feet. Andy held his breath and waited for her to continue.

  “It was one of the reasons I was so wary of you at first,” she admitted. “All I could think about was your movie-star looks and your million-dollar smile and I knew I had to be careful I didn’t make the same mistake again. You were so charming and funny and sweet and I was terrified I would leave myself open to the same heartache all over again.”

  She offered a tentative smile. “But you make it so hard to resist—and the more time I spend with you, the more I know you are different—you aren’t like Stewart at all.”

  Her eyes found his, dark and tumultuous. “He was a taker. I know that now. In fact, when I think back to those few short weeks we were together, I can see how everything we did was for him. He wanted to go to the movies so we could make out in the back row, and so we did. He wanted to go to the river so we could make out on a picnic rug on the riverbank, and so we did. He wanted to go to a motel so we could have sex, and so we did.”

  Silence descended. With her free hand, she played with a tassel on the end of her shirt. It seemed a long while later when she added quietly, “I can’t remember a single time when he asked what I wanted to do. He didn’t care about me at all, even when he hurt me. It was all about him. Every single time.”

  Andy swallowed and cleared his throat. “You’re a stronger person for the experience, though. You’re the strongest, bravest woman I know.” His eyes held hers, hoping she saw the depth of his love. “And you have Jack.”

  She smiled softly. “Yes, I have Jack. My beautiful, sensitive boy. When I look into the eyes of my son, the pain of abandonment by everyone I loved is almost forgotten.”

  Hating himself, but knowing he had to say it, he tightened his hold on her hand and looked at her intently. “You have to get to the bottom of this. You have to find out if Brady is involved and if so, what he wants.” His gaze burned with intensity. “Stewart Brady doesn’t deserve to know his son, but your son deserves to know his father. Jack’s the innocent party in all of this. It’s only right he gets to choose what happens from here.”

  She stared back at him. “You’re right. Jack deserves to know.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Whereabouts in Balmain?”

  Cally consulted the piece of paper she’d been given by Detective Black and gave Andy the address. She watched while he punched it into the satellite navigation system mounted on the dash of his Audi. It was Saturday and the first opportunity she’d had to pay a visit to the offices of Harvey Donaldson.

  A lot of businesses closed for the weekend, and at Andy’s earlier suggestion, she’d telephoned ahead to check if the investigator’s office was open. She’d listened to a recorded message that advised the office hours were nine to five Monday to Friday and nine to two on Saturdays. Cally quickly arranged for Jack to stay with Jimmy and they had headed out as soon as they dropped him off.

  According to the map which flashed up on the screen of the GPS, the private investigator’s office was situated in the heart of Balmain’s business district. Glancing at the clock mounted on the dashboard, she noticed they had a little under an hour to get there before the office closed.

  Andy accelerated through the traffic, switching lanes with practiced ease. The closer they got to the Balmain exit, the more nervous she felt. She stared out the car window at the gloomy industrial buildings they passed, interspersed with an occasional tired and neglected park, empty of children and playground equipment. The February heat shimmered in waves off the asphalt and she was inordinately grateful they were traveling in his car with its climate-controlled, air conditioned comfort.

  “How far do we have to go?” Nerves fluttered around inside her stomach.

  “Just under twenty minutes, according to the GPS.” Andy turned and gave her an encouraging smile.

  She clenched her hands together in her lap and tried not to think about what she might discover at the office of Harvey Donaldson. Was Stewart in town or directing the investigator’s movements from a distance? Did he really want to get to know Jack, or was there something more sinister behind hiring the PI? Why hadn’t he simply called her and asked if they could meet?

  She sighed, knowing she didn’t have any answers. Those were exactly what she hoped to get out of Harvey Donaldson.

  Andy turned into the main street of Balmain and the butterflies doubled in her stomach. She swallowed and licked her parched lips. Andy slowed and began to look for a parking spot. According to the GPS, the investigator’s office was at the next intersection.

  “There it is.” Andy nodded and she looked up and saw the number three hundred and ninety-eight painted in black above a shopfront a few feet from the traffic lights.

  Turning down a side street, Andy parked the car and switched off the ignition. Facing her, he held her gaze steadily. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? There’s no turning back, you know.”

  She took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. “No, I’m not sure, but it’s something I have to do. Whether I like it or not, I’ve always known there would come a time when I’d have to confront Stewart again.” She let out a sigh of resignation. “I guess it was that article in the newspaper.”

  Andy looked at her quizzically.

  Cally went on to explain. “I’ve been wondering how on earth Stewart could have found out about Jack. Then I remembered. The media came around after the home invasion. We were the fifth house to be burgled in that area in less than a week. Police suspected the robberies were linked. One of the papers took a photo of Jack and me. Stewart must have seen it.”

  Andy frowned. “He’ll be angry you lied. I would be.”

  Cally’s temper ignited, but she tamped it down—it wasn’t Andy’s fault she was in this predicament. She could never imagine Andy suggesting any pregnant girlfriend have an abortion, no matter what the circumstances.

  Her eyes welled with tears. Leaning across the console, she gave him a soft kiss on the mouth. “Thank you.”

  His eyes held confusion. “What for?”

  “For being you. For being here, with me. I don’t think I could have come here without you.”

  “That’s bullshit, Cally. You face adversity head on and damn the consequences. I wish even half the blokes I work with had your courage.”

  Her heart swelled with love. The tears she’d done her best to hold back spilled over. She didn’t know what she’d done to deserve someone so wonderful, but she was thanking her lucky stars for whatever it was. “I love you so much.”

  His face softened. “I love you, too.”

  * * *

  “Can I help you?”

  The woman with the short, steel-gray hair who sat behind the cheap laminated desk frowned up at them. She held a wrinkled, be-ringed hand over the mouthpiece of the phone she had pressed against her ear.

  Cally stepped forward. “I’m Cally Savage and t
his is Andy Warwick. We’re here to see Harvey Donaldson.”

  “You got an appointment? He don’t see no one without an appointment.”

  “Er, no.” She thought fast. “But I did call ahead and um… He told me to meet him here.” The lie fell off her lips with a little difficulty, but the woman didn’t seem to notice as she began to speak to someone on the other end of the phone.

  “Yeah, three-fifty an hour, plus expenses.”

  Cally watched as the woman listened to the person on the other end of the phone again before responding once more. “Yeah, that’s right. Five thousand up front. That’s the standard fee. Take it or leave it.”

  She noticed Andy looking around at the battered and mismatched chairs which sat in the waiting room. A thin coating of dust lay over most of the furniture and the room had a stale, musty smell that seemed to indicate the large windows overlooking the street were rarely opened.

  Harvey Donaldson’s office was on the floor above a news agent. “HARVEY DONALDSON, PI” was handwritten in small, black letters with an arrow drawn beneath it, pointing toward the stairs. It had taken them a few moments to find the sign tacked near a dingy staircase between the news agent and an empty shop.

  The dark, grubby staircase had been the first harbinger of what was to come. Cally was surprised Stewart would hire a man who worked in such filthy surroundings. The Stewart Brady she’d known had always been fastidious about his appearance, sometimes changing his clothes two or three times a day. He’d often meet her after school with a new outfit he’d bought for her and ask her to change into it. At first, pleased he was buying her gifts, she hadn’t given any thought to the strangeness of it. It was only as she’d gotten to know him better that she realized how serious he took the whole issue of cleanliness and appearances.

  She couldn’t imagine him ever setting foot inside these offices and could only surmise he’d never been there. In this day and age of email, cell phones and other various forms of communications, Stewart wouldn’t have to have face-to-face contact to get this job done.

  She took comfort from the arm Andy put around her shoulders. A few minutes later, the woman behind the desk hung up the phone.

  “Mr Donaldson ain’t here yet. You’ll have to take a seat.” She indicated with a nod toward the dusty chairs that lined the wall.

  Andy drew Cally in close against his side and eyed the woman disdainfully. “That’s okay, we’ll stand,” he replied. “How long’s he going to be?”

  She glanced at the watch on her wrist. “Shouldn’t be too far away. He’s usually here by two. Comes and collects his messages before I leave.”

  With that, she returned to the untidy pile of paperwork on her desk and started sorting through it, ignoring them.

  Shrugging out of Andy’s embrace, Cally wandered over to peer through the grubby windows to the street below. Cars ambled past, not in a big hurry like they would be on a week day. She caught a glimpse of the ocean in the distance. Not all of Balmain was as shabby and depressing as the room they were in. The inviting blue water was a world away from the dirty office. She couldn’t even imagine what kind of man could work in such squalor.

  The door to the room suddenly opened and a man stood in the doorway. With a shock, she recognized him as the driver of the Camry. Before he could demand an explanation for her presence, she stepped forward and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Cally Savage.”

  His eyes widened in recognition and his face paled slightly under the bronze of his tan. Harvey Donaldson, in his blindingly white business shirt and charcoal-gray tailored suit pants looked incongruous in the grubby filth of his outer office. His black, lace-up leather shoes were so highly polished she was sure she could see her reflection in them and his dark hair was combed neatly in place. In fact, for a hot Saturday afternoon, he looked obscenely fresh.

  He was tall, as she’d suspected and she had to look a long way up to meet his gaze. When she did, he grimaced. “It’s nice to meet you. I guess we should go inside.”

  * * *

  “So, Ms Savage, what can I do for you?”

  After showing them to a matching pair of clean, dark leather wing-backed chairs, Donaldson took a seat behind his desk. He seemed to have recovered from his initial surprise and now smiled at her with practiced ease.

  Cally frowned and Andy sat forward in his chair. The investigator’s office couldn’t have been further removed from the squalor which made up the reception room. The contrast was so great, it was almost disorientating and Cally wondered if that was all part of whatever game he was playing.

  The enormous dark walnut desk took up most of the room. Papers and files were stacked in neat piles on top of it. A wide, flat screen computer sat in one corner of the desk and she caught a glimpse of black-and-white photographic images of people on the screen before the investigator switched it off.

  A floor-to-ceiling bookshelf lined with books took up an entire wall. A quick scan of their titles revealed they were positioned in alphabetical order. Various original paintings from artists she recognized filled another wall, their positions perfectly aligned. It appeared the PI work paid well.

  Andy’s face was set in hard lines. “Let’s not beat around the bush, Donaldson. You’ve been following Ms Savage for weeks. Now you’ve approached her son. You’ve stepped over the line. We’re here for answers.”

  Ignoring him, the investigator turned his attention back to Cally. His piercing gaze pinned her to the seat. “There’s someone who misses you a great deal. He hired me to find you and to report back on how you’re doing. He’s also very interested in your son. He’d like very much to see you both.”

  Her heart leaped in her throat and her hands were suddenly damp. Images of Stewart flashed through her mind as he’d been over ten years ago. Laughing, smiling, charming—selfish, egotistical, cowardly.

  There was a time, not that long ago, when the news Stewart had come looking for her would have set her heart racing with excitement and anticipation. She couldn’t count how many nights she’d dreamed of him finding her and begging her to take him back.

  But that was before Andy. Before she knew what real love was. Before she knew that loving someone was as much about giving as it was about receiving. She was no longer the innocent young girl whose head was turned by a good-looking charmer. She’d learned the hard way that life didn’t always end up happily ever after. Though it was so much better now…

  Her son was the most precious thing to her in the world and a tiny part of her would always be grateful for the contribution Stewart had made to his existence, but she was through with Stewart once and for all. He didn’t deserve her. He didn’t deserve them. He never had.

  Glancing across at Andy, she saw the tension in his face. He seemed to have come to the same conclusion—the man who’d hired Donaldson was Stewart Brady. Her heart ached when she saw how his eyes were shadowed with doubt and vulnerability and his hands were fisted in his lap.

  Wanting to reassure him, she reached over and took hold of his hand, gently easing his fingers out of their clenched position and entwining her fingers with his. Giving his hand a squeeze, she smiled at him, hoping he could feel her love.

  * * *

  Despite Cally’s encouraging smile and the reassuring pressure of her soft hand in his, Andy’s gut tightened at the investigator’s words. It had to be Brady. He was coming after Cally—probably with a view to picking up where he’d left off. Only this time, he had a son. He was going to waltz in and begin playing happy family for however long it suited him this time around.

  Andy had no doubt it wouldn’t be forever. The Stewart Brady’s of the world were always looking for something else. The degree of selfishness required to turn your back on your pregnant, sixteen-year-old girlfriend didn’t generally lessen. In fact, that type of inherent self-absorption usually only got worse.

  He only hoped Cally would see it for what it was. Brady was a leech. He’d suck her dry of everything good she had to offer and when it
suited him to leave her again, he would. Andy understood better than most the Stewarts of the world. His father had been one of them.

  Bob Warwick had effectively abandoned his family many years before his death. His drinking and violent outbursts—and later, his addiction to illicit drugs—were all acts of a selfish, self-centered man with no thought or concern for how anyone else was faring.

  His father’s childhood might have been a train wreck, but that didn’t excuse Bob Warwick for perpetuating the same cycle of violence and abuse on his family. After all, despite all the statistics, Andy had managed to pull himself out of the mire of pain and humiliation of his youth and had made something of his life. He simply couldn’t imagine ever taking his fists to Cally, or to any woman or child.

  As if sensing his thoughts, her fingers tightened in his. His heart tripped over and he returned the pressure, taking comfort from her gesture.

  “It’s Brady, isn’t it?” His eyes were hard on Donaldson’s face.

  “I’m afraid I can’t answer that. I’m sure you appreciate client confidentiality.”

  The fakeness of Donaldson’s perfect smile set Andy’s teeth on edge. Anger flared to life. His voice became low and threatening. “Did I forget to mention I’m with the police? Be warned. You go near Cally or her son again and I’ll have your license revoked so fast you won’t even have time to clear out your office.”

  Donaldson’s smile lost some of its brilliance, but remained firmly in place. “You can’t do that. You’re bluffing.”

  He reached into his jacket pocket.

  Donaldson tensed.

  Andy flashed his badge. “Just watch me.”

  Andy pushed back his chair and stood. Despite the investigator’s impressive height, Andy towered over him, his strength and sheer physical presence dominating the room. The men eyed each other across the desk. Turning abruptly, Andy helped Cally from her chair and then strode to the door.

  “We’ll see ourselves out.”

  * * *

  “It has to be Stewart.” Cally stared out the window as Andy drove silently back the way they’d come.