Negotiating Point

by Adrienne Giordano

  Gavin leaned back on the makeshift desk. “In other words, he seems like a straight-up guy. So what happened? How the hell did he get mixed up with this group and kidnap a publisher?”

  She knew exactly what happened. Geeks understood other geeks. Her guess was he wanted to fit in somewhere. “He probably wanted to be part of something. Maybe he’s a little vulnerable and met someone who followed this group. This group took one look at Joe Smith and saw a malleable person desperate for friends.”

  Gavin tilted his head, considered it. “Okay. I’ll go with that.”

  She stared at her notepad, flicked her finger against it. “Us geeks, sometimes we just want to be part of something that feels like it matters. To belong.”

  And, oh, my God. Did she really cough that hairball up? Pathetic, lonely elf misunderstood by all. Swallowing the humiliation, she met Gavin’s gaze.

  He twisted his lips and tilted his head for a second. Studying her. As a former FBI hostage negotiator with a master’s degree in psychology, he knew how to actively listen and study people’s habits. That’s what good negotiators did—they watched, they listened, they stayed calm.

  Don’t you dare shrink my head, Sexy.

  “What you’re telling me, is I can connect with him on the wanting-to-belong angle.”

  Yes, Sexy Galore, you are a brilliant man for not making me feel like a freak. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. The way to get inside this guy’s head is to make him think you understand what it’s like to be an outcast due to his brainiac status.”

  Gavin jotted notes. “I can do that. Does he have any hang-ups? Hates swearing? A religious zealot? Anything?”

  “Nothing on that yet. I can go through his updates on Facebook and see if there are any hot buttons.”

  “Good. Let’s roll. You ready?”

  She spun to her laptop, fingers poised. “Ready.”

  * * *

  Gavin dialed the number Janet had provided for Joe Smith and waited to see how this opening volley would go. More than likely, Joe would nearly soil himself when he realized who was on the other end of the line. After said soiling, Joe would hang up.

  “Hello?” came a man’s voice.

  “Joe?” Gavin asked, sounding like the guy’s best friend.

  “Yeah. Who’s this?”

  “This is Gavin Sheppard. I work for Taylor Security—”

  Click. Gavin sighed—let’s play ball—and redialed. He turned to Janet. “He hung up.”

  “Of course he did.”

  The phone rang again, but went to voice mail. “He cannot believe I’m going away. Can he?”

  Gavin settled into the folding chair behind him and hit Redial. Dipshit Joe Smith didn’t know Gavin had the tenacity to sit here all day dialing this number. He wouldn’t do that though. Soon, he’d deliver a throw phone, a dedicated line allowing the kidnappers to speak only with him.

  He’d spend a week talking a hostage taker down if it avoided tactical assault. Vic was the tactical guy, always ready to take up arms. In the six months of Gavin’s employ at Taylor Security, he and Vic hadn’t yet figured out how to merge their expertise and play nice. Gavin didn’t necessarily have a problem with going tactical, but it meant all other attempts to resolve the situation had failed.

  Gavin didn’t like to fail.

  Going tactical also carried the highest risk of someone getting hurt. Or killed. In this case, that someone could be Roxann Taylor.

  He redialed. Nothing.

  Gavin stood, slipped a radio head-set on, walked across the width of the barn to the rectangular table where he found the case containing the throw phone. He grabbed it and the bullhorn sitting next to it. “I’ll be back. Hopefully.”

  And when had he become so warped that he could be sarcastic about this? Probably after the hostage situation in Arkansas ten months ago. That fiasco wasn’t his fuck-up but he was one of four FBI negotiators assigned to it.

  The twelve dead people, all members of a cult murdered by their leader, were his motivating factor for leaving the Bureau after twelve years. At thirty-eight years old, he’d been aging fast in a job that was bleeding the life out of him.

  Enter Mike Taylor and his ridiculously appealing offer.

  “Be careful,” Janet called after him.

  “I’ll use the guys to cover me. They’ll do that stacking thing they love with the shields and I’ll throw the phone through a window.”

  Janet jumped from her chair. “Hang on. You need a vest and helmet.”

  She grabbed a vest from the box on the floor and held it up for him. He propped the bullhorn under the arm where he held the throw phone and slid his free arm into the tac vest.

  “Now the other arm,” she said.

  “Yes, Mommy.”

  She laughed. “Come to Mama, sweetheart.”

  Maybe she was kidding, but dammit if that loop in his head of all the things he’d like to do to her didn’t start spinning out of control. Visions of her under him, naked, whispering those same words, flashed. Jeez, I’m a pervert. He had to stop that loop. No matter how he sliced it—and he’d sliced it plenty—she was a support person. Maybe he wasn’t her supervisor, but he held a senior position in this company and wasn’t about to become the clichéd skirt-chasing executive. Right now, he had to find a way to bury, to drown, his personal feelings. The memory of that kiss three weeks ago needed to drown with it.

  Making matters worse, he had an erection and needed to get the hell out of the barn before she spotted it. He’d just hold the bullhorn in front of his crotch to hide the traitor known as his wanger.

  With his back still to her, he transferred the phone and bullhorn to his other side and slid his free arm into the vest. Then she planted a helmet on him, swung around to face him and went to work on the helmet’s strap. Her fingertips brushed the underside of his chin, that slight touch kicking off a wicked buzzing under his skin.

  He lowered the bullhorn.

  “You’re all set.” She patted his face.

  He stepped out of her reach because, yes, even her friendly touch made him crazy. No touching anymore. The temptation was too great and he couldn’t risk it. For either one of them.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  He blinked a few times, trying to rid himself of that naked vision of her. “I’m—uh—confused.”

  “Confused?”

  “Conflicted might be a better word. There’s this…thing…between us.”

  “The smoking hot kiss you mean? That thing?”

  He let out a short laugh, grateful for the levity she always brought to a situation. “Yes. That thing. Now isn’t the time, but we need to figure out what to do with it.”

  She reached to secure the strap on his vest, her gaze focused on the task. It would have been so, so easy to dip his head low and kiss her. Just feast on those lips for a while.

  “I know what I’d like to do with it. And that’s saying something because I have an iron-clad rule about not getting involved with coworkers.”

  “Yes,” Gavin said. “There’s the work issue. Technically, I’m an executive. You’re not. I’m worried about the perception.”

  “As am I. So, we agree on that.”

  “Yes.”

  She smiled and patted his cheek again. “Doesn’t make it any easier though. Go deliver that phone. I’ll see you when you get back.”

  He made his way out of the barn, passed Vic on the phone in his SUV and marched up the quiet country road where the only house to be seen was the one holding Roxann Taylor. He took a moment to center himself, to allow the warmth of the midday sun to soak him and imagined the pregnant Roxann Taylor walking out of this mess.

  Not for one second would he allow the idea of her not being freed to enter his mind. Even when he’d have doubts, he’d keep them to himself. If any member of the team felt that doubt, they were done. One little seed could destroy an entire operation.

  He reached the far end of the property and huddled behind a tree. Scann
ing the area, he knew Vic’s alpha team was out here somewhere, but they were hidden well. Good news in case a patrol car went by. The cornfields in the back and on either side of the property could easily hide a man. If they had to have a barricade situation, this probably wasn’t the worst place it could happen. The front of the property though didn’t offer much cover and Gavin wondered where the hell those boys had buried themselves.

  Still huddled behind the tree in case anyone decided to take a shot at him from the house, he pressed the button on the bullhorn.

  “Joe, this is Gavin Sheppard. We have disabled your phones. I’m delivering a phone that will allow you to communicate with us. We are approaching the house only to deliver the phone. I will throw it through the front window so you won’t have to come out.”

  A huge black Taylor Security SUV pulled up. Five guys dressed in full riot gear and carrying shields jumped out. All they had to do was hope a copper didn’t appear. That would be fun to explain. You see, Officer, my boss’s wife has been kidnapped and we figured law enforcement would screw it up.

  Goatfuck.

  With that, he took a breath, prayed this wouldn’t be his last voyage and stepped from behind the tree to the cover of Vic’s team and their shields. One of the men pulled a shield from the truck for him and they lined up one behind each other with Gavin in the middle. In this stacked position, shields providing protection and the steady beat of Gavin’s heart drowning all sounds inside his head, he found himself fully alert, but not panicked. When they reached the front of the house, Jessup jammed the break and rake tool through the window. Glass shattered, disrupting the quiet country air, and voices from inside streamed through the broken glass as Jessup tore the window blind out with the tool. Gavin held the shield in front of him in case some nut decided to shoot. With his free hand, he tossed the throw phone through the window.

  Gavin hustled back to the stack of men and they retreated, unwinding the cord connecting the phones as they went along.

  * * *

  When Gavin stepped into the barn a wave of relief consumed Janet. That had been a lifetime of a fifteen minutes. She’d been watching the action on the monitors to ensure Gavin’s safety, but the tension that came with his absence had nearly paralyzed her.

  She rose from her chair, walked to him and held her hand for a high-five. Unlike the last time they’d engaged in this celebratory habit, there was no prolonged touching and that suited her fine.

  She thought. No. She knew. After all, she’d once been involved with another member of Vic’s team and that hadn’t turned out so well. The sexual tension between them sizzled but intellectually, they were a dead loss.

  Dead loss.

  But, oh, how the gossip mongers had their way with her. Never again would she allow herself to be fodder for the business office’s witch twins, two women who spent every available minute battling for attention from the operatives. When word had gotten out about Janet and Duck, the twins wasted no time spreading vile nastiness about Janet sleeping her way into her job.

  “Did it go okay?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s see if they pick up.”

  He unloaded the bullhorn, shucked the helmet and vest and punched the button on his end of the two-way phone.

  No answer.

  What she learned about Gavin on their last assignment was he’d keep trying. The man never gave up and never gave in. How he handled the stress and the responsibility, she couldn’t fathom, but this was a man dedicated to a nonviolent ending.

  As difficult as these situations were, she found herself suited to the activity. To the challenge of it. Most of her work for Vic’s team happened behind the scenes. Sure, she was integral and probably saved their asses on many occasions, but this…this function gave her the ability to literally save someone’s life with the information she provided.

  And that was a rush.

  On a purely emotional level, she could see why Gavin had built a career on hostage negotiating. Saving a life was hero material. But losing a life, well, she didn’t want to percolate on that aspect of his job.

  She watched him fiddle with his headset before putting it on. “Why do you do this?”

  “Beats the hell out of me.”

  “Seriously? You don’t know?”

  He punched the button on the phone again and waited. No answer. “I knew from the time I was a kid I wanted to work for the FBI. The dad of one of my friends worked for the Bureau and, after my own dad died, I latched on to the guy.”

  A lump settled in Janet’s chest. “Your dad died when you were young?”

  He tried the phone again. Waited. Nothing.

  “I was thirteen and suddenly man of the house. The FBI dad was good to me. Used to take me fishing with them. He taught me a lot.”

  “Gosh, that had to be tough.”

  He finally turned to her. “It was tough on my mom. My dad had been the one to toss a baseball with me or play street hockey. She enjoyed sitting on the porch with her lemonade and watching. That life disappeared. I don’t think she ever recovered.”

  “I’m so sorry. Did she ever remarry?”

  He went back to the phone and tried again. Waited. Nothing. “Nope. She says my father was irreplaceable and she doesn’t see any point in trying.” He smiled and looked back at her, the features of his face softening. “I have to imagine she’s been lonely all these years. Hell, my wife divorced me ten years ago and there are still times when I miss having someone there when I get home. That’s only a divorce. Death? Forget it.”

  Divorced. She’d wondered. “Why did you get divorced?”

  “I loved my job more than my wife.”

  “That’s an honest answer if I ever heard one.”

  “Life with a FBI negotiator is hard. At any time I could be called away for who knew how long. We were told to always have a bag packed and in our car. The final straw came at her brother’s wedding. I got called in and had to leave. I came home from Manila two weeks later after negotiating the release of an oil company executive to find my wife had moved out.”

  “Harsh!” Janet’s voice went half an octave higher than she’d aimed for and she smacked her lips together. “Sorry, but cripes, she didn’t even tell you.”

  His lips bowed into a sagging smile. “She’d been telling me for months. I didn’t listen. Or didn’t care. I’m still not sure which. Either way, we’re both better off. She remarried a nine-to-five guy and has a couple of kids now. She’s happy. And she deserves that.”

  He tried the phone again. No answer. “Damn. They won’t pick up.”

  But Janet was still stuck on him being okay that his wife hadn’t bothered to tell him she’d moved out while he’d been working. How could that be? When two people shared a life, how did communication break down to the point where one simply walked away without telling the other? “What do you deserve, Gavin?”

  He flopped his bottom lip out. “Not sure. I guess I need someone who understands my life. I’ve chosen this work. I can’t always control where I’ll be and when. If I ever get married again, I’ll have to make sure the person understands that.”

  He punched the button on the phone again. Waited. No answer.

  “Keep trying.” Janet wasn’t sure if she meant the phone or about finding someone who understood his life. Which, she might add, she most certainly did.

  “I never give up.”

  * * *

  After twenty minutes, someone picked up. Finally. Gavin launched from his chair and snapped his fingers. Janet slid her headset on. Her task would be to analyze and research every morsel of information the hostage taker—HT—gave them.

  “Joe?” Gavin said.

  “Yeah.”

  “This is Gavin Sheppard.”

  “What are you people doing?”

  “Well, Joe, we’re trying to resolve this situation in a peaceful manner. We want everyone out of there safely.”

  “How the hell did you find us?”

  “Joe, that doesn�
��t matter. Let’s stay focused here, okay? Try and fix this thing?”

  “Will my article run in the paper?”

  Gavin stared straight ahead. Above all, he always treated the HT with respect. Earning their trust would help end the standoff and that meant being honest and decent. He wouldn’t lie. Not yet, anyway. In a hostage situation, the first lie would come when he needed the HT to step in front of a window so the tactical team could get a clean shot.

  “Joe, we’ve received your article and sent it to the newspaper.”

  Perfect nonanswer.

  “What did you do to our cell phones? We need our phones.”

  “We’re trying to keep this situation under control. Look, Joe, you asked us not to call the authorities. We haven’t done that. If we handle this ourselves, we’ll all get what we want. How does that sound?”

  Step up here, pal. Between the casual, anger-free speech and constantly using his first name, he was completely priming this guy.

  “We want Jackson Spelling out of jail. He’s been wrongly convicted. He’s a great man and he’s being persecuted by our government.”

  Yeah, dumbass, because he tried to kill a judge. Gavin rolled his eyes and sat. Sometimes this job made him sick, but he had to connect with this guy. Make him think he understood his rage. “Right, Joe. I hear ya. I was with the Bureau for twelve years. Why do you think I moved to the private sector? All that bureaucratic bullshit, that’s why. The government, they want us all to be a bunch of puppets. Who needs that crap? Am I right?” He leaned back in the chair, jotted a note to himself.

  Joe stayed silent. Come on, idiot. Answer me so I can bury you.

  No answer.

  “Tell your men outside to back off. We’re leaving here.”

  Not gonna happen. If these people went mobile, they’d lose total control. And one thing Gavin never allowed was losing ground they’d already gained.

  “Joe, right now, we need to talk about getting everyone out of this mess. I’ve directed our men surrounding the property to stay put. As long as you do the same and continue talking to me, nobody gets hurt. Nobody is hurt, right?”