The Negotiator: A Games People Play Christmas Novella

by HelenKay Dimon

  A dragging mix of frustration and sadness swamped her at the lack of response. He always texted back immediately and she’d had no idea how much she counted on that until right now.

  The temptation to go home and curl up on her couch hit her, but she fought it off. She needed something happy and she refused to go through the holiday without a tree. It was a matter of principle. It was her house. Her holiday. She would make it happen then turn a corner in her life. Finally move forward . . . somehow.

  She stopped in front of a four-foot tree. It managed to be both too short and too tall. Flurries whirled around her head. None of it stuck to the ground but a few specks melted in her hair.

  “You should wear a hat.”

  He was there. At the sound of Garrett’s voice, she spun around so fast she slipped on a slick spot in the grass. Her heart thudded loud enough to drown out everything else. She tried to think of the right thing to say but nothing came to her.

  Her gaze wandered over him. She took in the tired eyes and thin line of his mouth. She could see black pants and a jacket and little else because he’d bundled up tight in his jacket and scarf.

  “You’re here.” It was the first thing that popped into her brain.

  He glanced around, his gaze lingering on the trees. That’s all it took for her sympathy to rise. With everything that had passed between them, she knew it had to be hard for him here.

  He kept coming back and one of these times he wouldn’t. The thought made her want to heave.

  When his gaze shot back to her some of the cloudiness had cleared. “I’m here for you. Because I can’t stay away.”

  It would be so unfair to give her hope then snatch it away. That wasn’t who he was or had ever been with her, but trust came hard for her. She’d been tested and bruised, but when it came to him her armor fell.

  “You were so angry,” she said, trying to block out his face when he walked out the door.

  “Because it felt like you gave up on us. That you wanted to push us back into what we were.” He shook his head. “I’ll negotiate and fight, but I can’t just be your friend, Lauren.”

  “I don’t want that.” She abandoned thoughts about trees and the holidays and concentrated on him. Said the words that made her ache. “I missed you.”

  He closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again some of the exhaustion had cleared. “Two damn days and I missed you so much I couldn’t see straight.”

  The breath rushed out of her so quickly her chest burned. “I’ve been so careful for so long.”

  “Me, too.” He slipped off his gloves and stuffed them in his pockets. “But I don’t want to be. Not anymore.”

  The words chipped away at the wall she’d built to hold him back. They sounded so familiar because that’s how she lived, too. “What changed?”

  “I met this hot woman with a boat and she turned my life upside down.” He put his hands on her hips. “I screwed up and yelled. I walked out when I should have stayed and fought.”

  “I pushed you.”

  His smile didn’t reach his eyes but his hands were soothing. They skimmed up and down her arms, pulling her closer. “I negotiate for a living. I convince people to do things, but I couldn’t think of a way to make you understand that for the first time ever, I don’t want to be alone in December.”

  He said the right things. Snagged her with this intense look that held her in that spot. “I’ve spent my whole life pushing people away but I can’t watch you leave me again.”

  That’s not what she meant to say. But then he was in front of her, holding her. She wanted to wipe the pain off his face and take him home with her. Forget her past and her relationship failures. Put Carl and the pain of being lied to aside and focus on the man who had been nothing but decent and devoted for months. The one she took for granted.

  “I was hoping you’d let me help you with the tree.” His voice actually cracked as he spoke.

  A rush of love swamped her. “That sounds like something people who are dating and committed might do.”

  “I want both of those things with you.” He dropped a soft kiss on her nose. “I at least want us to try. Tell me what you want and I’ll try to give it to you.”

  “You’re negotiating.” And she loved it because he didn’t just expect her to change and give in. For him it was a back and forth.

  His hand cupped her cheek. “This is the most important negotiation of my life.”

  Everything she never knew she wanted loomed in front of her. All she had to do was reach out and grab it. Take the risk.

  She slipped her hand over his. “I’m not easy.”

  He snorted. “I’ve got you beat. I’ve spent years running away from ornaments and Christmas carols. I’ve blocked the whole holiday.”

  Laughter bubbled up inside her. “You understand that I’m halfway down the road to loving you. I think it started months ago, but it happened.”

  She stood there and waited. Weeks ago she would have accepted less. She’d had no expectation of caring about anyone. But now she knew him and believed, truly believed, that they could build something. They had baggage and walls to break down, but she was betting that he was worth it. That he wouldn’t care about the stupid stuff or comment on the size of her thighs. He would never steal from her.

  But it would be better if he moved or spoke or did anything. “Garrett?”

  “I never wanted holidays and a future before you. You give me everything.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “I couldn’t go two days without you. Give me a chance to prove it to you.”

  He whispered the words against her mouth before he kissed her. His mouth slid over hers in a kiss that started out frantic then morphed into something sexy and inviting. A promise of what they could have if they worked at it.

  After a minute, he lifted his head and looked down at her. “When you get the rest of the way down that road to loving me, I’ll be waiting there for you.” He finally smiled. “You’re stuck with me, Lauren. I’m pretty sure I’ve proven that.”

  She’d never heard anything better. Not a full declaration, not for either of them. But a place to start. Something to build. She didn’t fight it. “We need a tree.”

  His eyes didn’t fill with fear this time when he looked around the lot. “You pick. I already have what I need to get through the holiday.”

  “Sweet-talker.”

  He winked at her. “Wait till you see my expertise with a string of lights.”

  The joking, his smiles. She didn’t really need anything else. “Actually, I’m in charge of decorating. Like, forever.”

  “We’ll negotiate the details.” His mouth brushed over hers.

  She loved the thought of that, of arguing and joking with him over silly things. “You are a great negotiator.”

  He laughed. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

  “Then let’s get that tree and go home and do some negotiating.”

  “Yeah, you’re definitely perfect for me.” He dropped another kiss on her mouth. Quick and sweet. “No doubt about it.”

  An Excerpt from The Pretender

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at the third book in HelenKay Dimon’s Games People Play series,

  THE PRETENDER

  They say it takes a thief to catch a thief, and Harrison Tate is proof. Once a professional burglar, he now makes a lawful living tracking down stolen art. No one needs to know about his secret sideline, “liberating” artifacts acquired through underhanded methods. At least until one of those jobs sees him walking in on a murder.

  Gabrielle Wright has long been estranged from her wealthy family, but she didn’t kill her sister. Trouble is, the only person who can prove it is the sexy, elusive criminal who shouldn’t have been at the island estate on that terrible night. She’s not expecting honor among thieves—or for their mutual attraction to spark into an intense inferno of desire.

  Under the guise of evaluating her family’s art, Harris comes back
to the estate hoping to clear Gabby’s name. But returning to the scene of the crime has never been riskier, with their hearts and lives on the line.

  Chapter One

  Harrison Tate didn’t believe in luck. He believed in planning. Right now, he needed the luck.

  He blinked a few times, hoping the scene in front of him would change. No body, no blood . . . nope, it was all still there.

  A woman—the woman—the one who stuck to a schedule and rarely ventured outside a three-mile area. She should have been reading at the dock, as she did every nonrainy day at this time for the last three weeks. Sitting there, watching the waves lap up on the stone retaining wall that separated the Chesapeake Bay from Tabitha Island. Her private island.

  He’d staked out the isolated land, this house and this woman for more than a month. Watched from a boat at one point and from the small uninhabited island a short distance away at another. He’d been able to hack into the camera on her laptop. He knew when she was working on it, which was almost always.

  He’d tracked her movements, knew her schedule. But on the ride over here he’d missed seeing someone else go into her house. Someone who wanted more from her than a painting.

  The longer he stood there, looming over her still body, the more he became locked in a confining shell he could not break. Less than thirty seconds had passed since he walked into the old-school library with its dark floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and massive desk positioned in front of the French doors to the small patio outside. He’d found her there, sprawled on the floor with her eyes closed and her chest not moving. Blood pooled around her and seeped into the muted gray carpet beneath her.

  Just as his brain signaled to his hand to grab his cell and call for help, her eyes popped open. Stunning green. That fact registered in his mind. Next came her fear. It bounced off the walls and pummeled him. Her body shook with it.

  She reached out and her fingertips brushed his pants right near his calf. She likely thought she grabbed him and pulled hard, but he barely felt the touch. Whatever energy she possessed had been spent during the furious battle that waged in the room before he got there. Glass shattered on the floor, an overturned table. Books and papers scattered everywhere.

  He dropped down, balancing on the balls of his feet, and reached for her hand. He still wore his gloves but she didn’t seem to notice. She kept mouthing something. A soundless word he couldn’t make out. He leaned in with his ear right over her mouth, trying to pick up a thread or any noise but that didn’t work either.

  He pulled back and looked into her eyes. They were clouded now and unfocused. “Tabitha?”

  He knew her name because he made it his business to know the people from whom he planned to liberate any number of items. In her case, a specific painting that usually hung over the fireplace in this room. It balanced there now, ripped from the wall with one edge hanging over the mantel. Teetering, ready to fall. All eleven million dollars of it.

  “Help me.” The words came out of her on a strangled cry. Her chest heaved as she fought for breath.

  He could see her wince as she inhaled. Her hand slipped out of his as all the tension drained out of her. Her eyes rolled back then closed.

  “No, no, no.” This time he started mouth-to-mouth. He blew and counted, trying to remember the precise sequence from every television show where he’d seen it performed and from a class he’d taken more than a decade ago.

  Nothing worked.

  He moved, thinking to press down on her chest, but the wound was right there. A slashing cut that left a gaping seam close to her sternum. Another slice into her abdomen. There was no question her attacker had unleashed a wild frenzy on her. Someone wanted her dead. He didn’t, but he had no idea where to push to save her or how to get her heart beating again either.

  A crackling energy raced through him right behind an uncharacteristic panic. He prided himself on his ability to stay calm and handle nearly anything. He’d been trained to maneuver through any situation. Use charm, strength or pure nerve to battle his way out. Right now, every cell was alive and on fire and desperate to do something.

  He clamped down on his fight-or-flight instincts and reached for the burner cell tucked in his back pocket. He had no idea how long it would take for reinforcements to arrive, but he’d stay as long as possible. Try to keep her breathing but leave enough lead time to escape.

  One thing was true. He could not be caught here . . . or anywhere.

  He’d just hit the first button to make the call as he heard the sound. A gurgling in her throat, as if she was drowning in her own body. An openmouthed labored breath . . . then a shocking stillness. Saliva dribbled out of the corner of her mouth as her head dropped to one side.

  The death rattle. Had to be. He’d never heard it before and never wanted to hear it again.

  He slid off his gloves and checked for a pulse. Nothing. She was gone.

  With his brain in freefall, he lost his balance and tipped forward. Landed hard on his knees as every part of him shut down. For a few seconds he couldn’t think. Couldn’t get a single muscle to move. He stared at her, willing her to jump up or reach for him again. Anything.

  The stillness in the room mirrored her unmoving body. He now knew silence could thump and beat just like a sound. The second later reality pounded him. Smells came rushing back to him. An unexpected scent he couldn’t place.

  A door thudded. He pegged it as a screen, which likely meant the front door.

  “Tabitha?” A woman’s voice floated through the oversized rooms. “I thought we were going to meet at the dock twenty minutes ago.”

  The sister.

  She’d been a surprise. Intriguing . . . a mystery. People whispered about her. They jumped to conclusions based on rumors. He had and now regretted it. Under different circumstances he’d take the time to meet her and see how deep her secrets ran.

  All the stories about the sisters’ estrangement turned out to be untrue. All the talk about her being disowned. None of that mattered now because she was there, in the house. She was about to stumble into a horror and Harris couldn’t protect her from it. She’d be plunged into a hell worse than his.

  He scrambled to his feet. Right as he turned to run back through the doors to the outside a thought hit him. His mind rebelled at the thought of what he needed to do. The pure sickness of it. His gaze zipped to the doorway before he bent down and used his glove to wipe Tabitha’s mouth. To erase any signs that he’d tried to save her.

  When he stood back up a sensation hit him. Self-loathing. Maybe he was a fucking asshole just as his father claimed.

  Footsteps sounded on the hardwood in the hallway. “Tabitha? Enough with the online sleuthing for today. It’s beautiful outside.”

  Harris couldn’t wait another second. In a soundless jog, he stepped around the body. He’d already kneeled and walked through the scene, likely made it impossible for a forensic team to discover anything of value. His only goal now was not to track blood in a path directly to him.

  The handle slipped in his hand, but he finally got the door open. He’d made it outside and into the sunshine when he heard the sister’s voice again.

  “Hey, who are—”

  He didn’t stop or look around. Didn’t wait to explain or comfort her. He pulled off his shoes and his feet hit the grass. He started running.

  And then the screaming started. A high-pitched wailing that tore through him. A mix of shock and pain so raw it ripped away his defenses and slammed his body to a halt. Right there on the perfect lawn with the blue water shining all around the island, he froze. Not for long, but long enough to hear the sister’s gulping cries.

  He shook his head and took off again. Ignoring the boat dock and the small beach there, he ran in the opposite direction to the rocky shoreline. To his small boat. He climbed over a rock ledge and down to the water’s edge.

  Waves crashed in a soothing beat that clashed with the images rewinding in his mind. They would haunt him. All of this wo
uld. Tabitha. Her sister. The blood.

  He skipped the boat and went right for the water. Nothing in the stolen craft would trace back to him. He’d worn gloves the entire time, so no fingerprints to be found. As he plunged into the water, splashes of red mixed with the blue. He looked down and realized blood coated his pants. Now it mixed with the Bay and slipped farther away from him with each new wave.

  Trying to call up every ounce of training, he mentally walked through his steps into the main house. It took only seconds but felt like a full-length movie unspooled in his brain. Satisfied he’d covered his tracks, he turned the boat over and pushed it down until water bubbled up inside. He didn’t need to sink it, just be sure any unexpected traces and fibers disappeared.

  He heard yelling. A man’s voice. It grew more faint as Harris saw a figure running for the front porch of the house from the far edge of the island. Away from Harris, not toward him. Likely the island caretaker responding to the sister’s screams.

  That was all the incentive Harris needed. People were moving. Law enforcement would appear. The press—everyone. The Wright family had money. Stupid money. They would not stop until they caught the killer, and he refused to be tagged as that.

  He needed to swim. To get to the smaller island nearby. From there he could call his reinforcements.

  The way he got to the main island, by rowing, was too dangerous now. People would remember everything they saw the day Tabitha Wright was stabbed to death. A man rowing at breakneck speed dressed all in black and wearing gloves would stick out. No, he had to bide his time. Hide among the overgrown trees on the island two hundred feet away and let the people he trusted figure out how to extract him.

  But he had to get there first, so he started swimming. A few strokes then he dove under. The tide crashed on him, stealing his breath. He didn’t care. This was life or death. First, hers. Now his.

  Even being in good shape and with the protection of the narrow strait between the two islands minimizing the waves, the tide spun him around. For every two strokes, he seemed to fall back one. He forced his mind to focus and his body to pump even harder. Water filled his mouth, not as salty as the ocean but the taste lingered. His ears clogged. The advance took an eternity and his lungs burned from the effort.