With him diverted, I tried to motion to Alexander to knock his chair over.
"You bitch. You fucking bitch," Chernev howled as he turned back, enraged face filling the screen.
There was a loud thunk, giving me a small bit of hope.
"You fucking bitch. You will pay for this. Do you hear me? You will pay for this."
Then with that and nothing more, he disappeared, leaving the connection open.
No gunshot.
"Alexander?" I called, knowing he was gagged, but hoping for any sound. "Alexander, your brother should be there any second, okay? Just hold on."
There were several bumping noises, a grunt, a shuffling.
And then there he was, still ripping the gag out of his mouth, looking at my face.
He looked a lot like his brother—tall and fit with dark hair, dark eyes. His jaw lacked the sharpness of Christopher's, but I figured that might come with age.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"We can talk about that later. Alexander, why don't you get in the closet for a moment? Just until we know your brother is there, okay?"
"I'm not hiding," he said, spitting the word like it was a curse. And that, well, that was a lot like his brother too, wasn't it?
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.
I found Christopher and a few of his men scattered around his common room.
"Don't mind me. I'm just hoping Cora has some coffee for me," I said when he paused in the middle of his conversation.
He looked tired.
It never ceased to fascinate me when men such as Christopher—men with wealth and power—looked so worn out. Illogically, we tended to think that if someone was rich enough, if they had enough influence, then they could afford to delegate, to shrug off some burdens so that they could get a full night of rest.
I had the sudden, wholly unexpected, urge to tell him to go back to bed, to offer to tuck him in.
"Miss Miller," he said, nodding at me. "I need to speak to you."
"Okay. Well you finish speaking to them while I get some coffee. Then you can speak to me," I said, rushing off to the kitchen.
"Oh, there you are," Cora greeted, piling olives into a small bowl on a giant serving board. "Help me arrange this," she demanded, moving to grab me a coffee.
"What is this?" I asked, seeing an odd mismatch of breads, fruits, and yogurt.
"A breakfast board," she said, grabbing some grapes. "It is easier to serve. These men. In and out, in and out. They never sit down."
"I think they are ramping up security. Have you seen Alexander yet this morning?"
"He stumbled in, yes. He looked tired. I think he went back to bed. Christopher tells me you saved him."
"No. I mean... I just figured out where he was. I didn't do any of the actual saving," I told her, arranging the peach slices into a bowl on the board.
"You saved him," she corrected, giving my wrist a squeeze. "Christopher says so," she added, moving away, leaving me with my thoughts, ones stubbornly stuck on the fact that I was going to leave now, to go back to my old life.
No more Cora cooking for me.
No half-naked sweaty men at four a.m.
It had only been a few days, but I
found myself oddly at home here, despite not having any of my things around.
Regardless, I had to go home.
If for no other reason than I owed Bellamy a thorough ass-kicking.
He wouldn't learn from it, but it was the principle of the thing.
"Here, you bring this in, yes?" Cora asked, picking up the board, practically shoving it at me, giving me no choice but to grab it or she would drop it on the floor.
"You did all the work. You should bring it in," I insisted, trying to give it back.
"No no. Don't be silly. You go," she said, turning her back to start to tackle the dishes, leaving me no option but to take the giant tray back through the house and into the study.
"Hey guys," I called in the doorway, grabbing their attention. Something strange crossed Christopher's face, something that seemed like a mix of surprise and, I don't know, pleasure of some sort? Or maybe that was just my imagination running away with me. "Cora threw together something for you to eat," I told them, feeling oddly uncertain with all their gazes on me. Like they were, I don't know, sizing up my wifely potential or something. "Um, can I put this down somewhere? It's getting heavy," I added when everyone just stood there dumbly, staring at me.
I was ready to check that I didn't have a boob out or something when Christopher finally spoke. "Niko, take the tray out to the sitting room. I need to talk to Miss Miller," he said, dismissing his men.
Niko lifted the tray from my hands, giving me a sweet smile before moving into the hall. Laird closed the door behind him, closing the two of us in.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked, moving to lean against the front of his desk.
"Did you sleep at all?" I shot back.
"No," he admitted, letting out a sigh. "There is a lot to be done."
"To shore up?" I asked. "Because Chernev got away."
"Yes, exactly," he agreed, nodding, raising a hand to rake it over the scruff on his face.
"Well, ah, I will get out of your hair in a little while. So you can get back to your plans."
"No."
"No? No, what?"
"No, you are not leaving in a little while."
"Of course I am."
"No."
"The job is done, Mr. Adamos."
"I watched the video back when we got in this morning," he told me. "He threatened you? Why didn't you tell me this?"
"There was nothing to tell you."
"A threat isn't nothing."
"I've been threatened hundreds of times over the years, Mr. Adamos. I honestly already forgot about it."
"I haven't."
"Really, it's not a big deal."
"It is."
"All the more reason for me to get home then. He might be interested in making me pay, but I doubt he is interested enough to follow me back to the States."
"Miller, no."
"Mr. Adamos. You can't just keep me here."
"It's my job to keep you safe."
"Actually, it's not. At all. That is my job to do."
"You need help."
"I have a whole crew of people back home."
"And still, you will be accepting my hospitality for a little while still. At least until we handle Chernev."
"You can't be serious."
"I am very serious."
"You can't just keep me prisoner here, Mr. Adamos."
"I prefer the term 'guest,' but you are free to call it whatever you want."
"This is absurd," I told him, shaking my head. "Let me call Quin. They can keep me safe without keeping me against my will."
"Possibly, yes. But it is not safe for you to be traveling right now."
"I will have Fenway come back. Can't get safer than a private yacht."
"There is no guarantee of that."
"There's no guarantee that I am safe here either."
"Perhaps not. But I am here."
"And you think you are more capable than my crew full of ex-military personnel?"
He chose to ignore this. Because, well, it was hard to argue illogically against a logical statement.
"Please let me or Cora know if there is anything you need for your stay."
"Mr. Adamos—"
"My decision has been made, Miss Miller. Better to accept it than fight against it."
"Or what? You'll chain me to my bed?" I spat back, knowing they were the wrong words to say as soon as they were out of my mouth because a heat bloomed across my belly at the idea. And, if I wasn't completely mistaken, his eyes went a bit molten at the mention as well.
Great.
This was just great.
I was probably going to sleep with the client.
Or, worse yet, sleep with my captor. I'd never live that shit down. And Quin would probably insist I get counseling for freaking Stockholm Syndrome.
"If that is required to keep you safe, yes," he finally answered, voice a little rougher than usual.
There really was going to be no arguing with him. And with security ramping up, there was a very small chance for escape. Even if I got out of the house, what were the chances of getting anyone to agree to helping me? His reach was long. If he had put the word out that if anyone saw me, to call him, I would be screwed.
I had no choice.
I was going to be stuck here for the time being.
That didn't mean I didn't have to be easy going about it, though, did it?
"I need to write a list of things I need," I told him. "Do you have a pen and paper?"
If he suspected anything about the saccharine-sweet change to my voice, he said nothing, just stood, going around his desk, sliding open the drawer.
This man even had fancy paper.
He didn't hand me a pile of loose leaf or even a yellow-lined notepad. Nope. He had a leather-bound binder full of thick sheets of monogrammed paper. And a pen that probably cost a month's worth of my car payment, white and real gold.
"Just leave it in here when it is finished," he told me. "I will get everything as soon as possible."
"Okay," I agreed, waving the folder at him, then making my way down the hall toward my room, sitting up on the bed, racking my brain for the most ridiculous things I could demand from him. Either hard to secure or obnoxiously expensive—or both.
If he was going to force me to stay here, I was going to put a little dent in his pocketbook out of spite.
What can I say? I just didn't have it in me to be a model prisoner.
Two hours and one full sheet—back and front—later, I made my way back out of my room, dropping the binder on Christopher's desk in his empty office, following the sounds and smells of lunch in the kitchen.
I spent the rest of the day helping Cora with lunch, with early preparations for dinner.
It was around six when Alexander finally sauntered in, hair bed-messy, wearing basketball pants and a loose-fitting band tee. His hand was raised, further ruffling his hair.
"I hear you're a prisoner here too," he greeted me as he walked over to Cora, giving her a small smile as she handed him a plate of almond cookies.
"What? Prisoner? No. You're both very safe here," Cora insisted.
"What is that phrase you use in the States?" Alexander asked. "About drinking juice?"
"The Kool-Aid," I corrected.
"Yes, she's been drinking the Kool-Aid," he said, giving me a wobbly smile.
"Did you sleep those drugs out of your system? I've recently experienced that myself," I added when he started to stiffen, like I was calling him out. Oh, the teenaged ego. Always so fragile. "The hangover from it was a bitch."
"Yeah," he agreed, nodding, dropping down beside me.
"I bet Cora's legendary frappe might help with that," I added. "I got Mr. Adamos to put some mocha in mine for me, and it was di-vine."
The two of them shared a strange look, something I found hard to interpret. But it was something like surprise and curiosity and just... something else. I didn't know, but I wanted to.
"Christopher made you a frappe?" Cora as
ked, brows furrowed.
"Ah... yeah. Why?"
"I didn't think he knew how," Alexander told me.
"He did. He didn't make it seem like it was a big deal."
But maybe it was. Maybe he always relied on others to do for him. Which made it sort of sweet that he'd been willing to do it for me.
"Do you want chocolate, Alexander?" Cora asked, oddly wanting to brush the topic away when she usually liked to wax poetic about the little boy she'd helped raise into a man, and therefore had a motherly love for.
"If Miller says it is good, it must be. Miller," he said, rolling my name over his tongue. "That is a strange name."
"It's my last name," I told him. "I don't like people in my work life calling me by my first name," I added.
"Why not?" he asked, offering me an almond cookie. I'd already had three, but what was another pound or two in the grand scheme of things?
"Because it is a really feminine name. And sometimes men don't take you as seriously when you are very feminine."
"Says the woman who had been flirting with Chernev," he shot back, gaining a slap to the side of his head from Cora. "It's true," he insisted, giving her hard eyes.
"Sometimes, women need to use everything at their disposal," she shot back. "And men, they like when women flirt with them. She did it to help save you."
"Believe me, I can do a hell of a lot better than Atanas Chernev."
"That's right," Cora agreed with a firm nod. "She is a very beautiful woman. A little skinny, but we are working on that."
Alexander shared an amused grin with me. "She tells me I am too thin all the time too."
"I think she secretly just likes cooking for us," I told him, grabbing another cookie off his plate.
"They don't feed him enough at school. And you, you eat on the go too much."
"Cora is teaching me how to cook," I told Alexander.
"One perk to your imprisonment."
"I don't like this word," Cora said, slamming a spatula down on the counter, making both of us immediately clam up, chastened. Even if we were somewhat right.
"Do you get a phone?" I asked him when Cora walked out back to pick some herbs she had growing in pots in the garden.
"No, he does not," Christopher announced, making both our heads turn guiltily.
My lips pressed together to keep a smile in as he flipped open the binder I had put back on his deck, reading over my list.
The Negotiator Page 8