The Negotiator Ch. 01

Somewhere in the Mediterranean...

Near the coast of Spain...

"There's nothing out here." The pilot's face was a pale, worried oval when it flashed in Stone's direction. The pilot was young, and he'd never been out in weather like this before. Never been out on this kind of trip, either.

Rain hammered on the front window of the helicopter's cockpit. Dozens of feet below, the water was dark and choppy. It should have been blue, an unbelievable shade, in this part of the world. But tonight lightning sliced the murky sky and the water was as rough and dark as shattered obsidian.

The man in the cargo bay sat quietly, his back curled forward and his forearms resting on his legs. His hands dangled between his knees. They were folded calmly together, and he didn't say anything. His gaze was resting hazily somewhere in the distance, most of his features in shadow.

"Really!" The pilot's voice was higher now. Another flash showed his fists were clenched around the helicopter's controls. "There's nothing out here! We should go back!"

Behind the pilot, Stone looked up. This would never do.

The helicopter dropped several feet and then rose again, battling with the wind. Overhead, the blades spun and cut the sky. They held the two passengers aloft, but only barely.

The pilot's voice was wild, almost hysterical. "I'm turning back! I can't go on! We'll crash and die out here all alone and—" He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder.

It squeezed, gentle but firm.

"Fly on."

When he heard the Voice, the pilot knew, very suddenly, why there had been ancient kings whose orders were obeyed without question. Why thousands of soldiers would kneel or salute at their passing.

The pilot couldn't kneel. And taking his hands off the controls to salute would be a dangerous prospect. But he could fly. He nodded. "Yes, Sir." The pilot had never been introduced to the man from the cargo bay. But he knew that Sir was the correct form of address.

"Good." This time the Voice was quieter, approving.

The pilot nodded, reassured. This wasn't so bad. He could do this. He was an ace, the top of his class. He had never felt fear at the controls of his bird. "Where are we going?"

But now the Voice was silent, and the pilot understood that it was not his place to ask that sort of question.

And then, there, up ahead and just a little bit to the right, the pilot saw a ship.

* * *

Paulina Jovanovic watched the helicopter come to rest on the deck. It was a superb landing, and the woman wondered how the pilot managed to remain so calm and steady despite the lashing rain.

Some of her men immediately dashed forward. They were swift, efficient figures in dark slickers as they tied the chopper down to the deck. The rest of the men stayed back. Harsh, artificial light flashed on the wet barrels of automatic weapons.

A man descended from the helicopter. The trailing hem of his long overcoat billowed in the downdraft of the slowing rotor blades.

Paulina could see that he was tall and broad shouldered, though far more slender than she usually liked her men. She flicked a glance to where Ivan waited stolidly by her side. The man's bearded face was set in an expression of boredom, but the woman knew that her bodyguard was ever watchful. Rain beaded on his shaved scalp.

When she wore her heels, Paulina was several inches taller than the burly Serbian mercenary. But she barely noticed. He was a towering presence: shoulders like cannonballs, bulging arms and legs like tree trunks.

A real man, Paulina thought. She knew she would cast Ivan aside once their assignment together was completed. But so long as both of them got what they wanted, it seemed like a satisfactory arrangement. And she had little doubt that Ivan was enjoying their arrangement.

The man from the helicopter approached Paulina, the only woman on the deck and the only person not carrying an assault rifle. Funny, how in their world the ones without weapons were usually the most powerful.

"Good evening!" Paulina had to raise her voice to be heard over the sounds of the waves crashing against the hull of the ship.

Paulina's English was impeccable, with barely a trace of an accent. It was one of her many points of pride. So she was shocked when the man responded in French, her mother tongue.

"Good evening."

She hesitated then, off balance.

The man's features were hard to make out in the rain and the poor lighting. He swept his arm in the direction of the bulkhead and the hatch belowdecks. "Shall we?" He took another step forward.

Ivan, expressionless, put a hand on the man's chest. He didn't say anything but his meaning was clear. No closer.

"No, no..." Paulina shook her head, wondering what it was that struck her about the man's words. Was it his French? But no, there was no accent she could place. He spoke like a born Frenchman. She put one small hand on Ivan's shoulder. She spoke rapidly in Serbian. "Follow us closely, but do not interfere. I may need you."

Ivan's head turned slowly. Bright blue eyes met her dark ones, and then the man nodded slowly. He stepped aside and inclined his head at their visitor. Again his message was clear.

Continue. Carefully.

* * *

The room was large and well-appointed, with a heavy wooden table, a leather couch, and Ivan's burly figure standing quietly in one corner. Belowdecks, the only indication of the raging storm was the sound of rain against the porthole windows.

Paulina sat on one side of the table and her visitor sat across from her. Almost exactly between them a small, silver thumb drive rested on the dark wood.

Paulina studied the man carefully before she spoke. His face was lean and handsome, paler than it should have been. He looked like a vampire, or a man who rarely spent time in the sun. His eyes were grey, disconcertingly so, with flecks of steel and silver. It was a face that gave her no answers, and so she knew she would have to speak.

"I am Paulina Jovanovic. I represent Gospodin Ilyich." She wondered why she felt like she was leaning forward, waiting for the man to speak. She pressed her spine against the back of the chair to reassure herself that she was sitting upright.

"Enchanted," the man responded smoothly, also in English this time. "My name is Walter Stone. Negotiating on behalf of Herr Wagner."

It wasn't the language, Paulina realized. It was something about his voice. Not an accent, per se... She would have to listen more closely. "Wonderful," Paulina said. "Let's begin."

"Let's." Beneath the trench coat he'd worn to ward off the rain, Walter Stone had on a dark suit. His hands rose and very deliberately loosened his tie. He unbuttoned the top button of his starched white dress shirt, then shot Paulina a look with those grey eyes. "I hope you don't mind if I get comfortable? I anticipate we may be here for some time."

Paulina felt a thrill as her gaze rose from the hollow of his throat. She blinked, then raised one eyebrow. Usually she was the one drawing distracted glances. She would have to be very careful with this man. "Why do you say that?"

"Your employer has a reputation for stubbornness." The man's teeth flashed in a brief grin. "As does mine."

"Can Herr Wagner afford to be stubborn?" Paulina toyed with the pearls that rested on her collarbone. Her fingers were long and slim. "Given the nature of what's at stake?" If she asked questions, then he would be forced to speak. And then she would have the chance to listen, and to discern what was so fascinating about his voice.

"Usually not." The man bent his head in acknowledgement. "That's why he sent me." His lips twitched toward a smile again as he said it and Paulina found herself waiting for another flash of the grin.

His confidence was intoxicating, erm... irritating. She would have to take him down a couple of notches. She tossed back her long, platinum blonde hair and laughed softly. "Do you need a reminder of what we have on your Herr Wagner?" She glanced over at Ivan and then gestured him forward. "Fetch my laptop, will you?" she ordered.

Ivan silently obeyed, picking up the slim device from a nearby table. He deposited it in front of Paulina and she reached out to pick up the thumb drive. She feigned focus, but she was watching Walter Stone's face closely through her lashes.

He leaned back, looking almost bored as she flipped open the device and inserted the drive. Seconds later, a video was playing on the screen.

"It would certainly be unfortunate," she murmured. She was watching Walter Stone as he began to watch the video. "If something like this were to find its way into the hands of Mister Wagner's political rivals."

On the screen, an older man with an impressive belly and a handlebar mustache was vigorously fucking a young woman with dark skin and a stunning physique. Paulina knew, and was certain that Walter Stone knew, that the woman was not Dietrich Wagner's wife.

Paulina thought she saw the man's lips twitch towards a frown, and felt an inward glow of satisfaction. The glow intensified when the man spoke.

"It would," he agreed slowly, "be quite unfortunate." His voice was mellow, and instead of uncertainty she detected a hint of amusement. His grey eyes twitched from the screen to meet her gaze. They were almost glowing in the low light, sparkling orbs of molten steel.

"I'm glad we're both on the same page." Paulina swallowed and crossed her legs, then uncrossed them and crossed them again. Usually the movement was a tactic, a distraction to throw off her opponent, but today she curled her toes into the soles of her shoes and tried to ignore the heat in the pit of her stomach. Was it getting hot in here?

"Of course," Walter agreed magnanimously. He leaned forward onto his elbows. His fingers wove together and he rested his chin on his knuckles. The lights from the computer screen flickered and glowed on his lean face but he seemed to have forgotten all about the video that would destroy his employer's career in politics. "So it seems that all we have left to do is negotiate a price."

Paulina forced a chuckle. His tone was unsettlingly calm. "I think we both know that this is not really a negotiation. You don't have a leg to stand on." She paused to give the man a chance to dispute her, to argue, to use that voice of his, but he simply raised his eyebrows. She continued, inexplicably disappointed. "Herr Wagner will wire three million euros to a numbered Swiss account..."

No response, not even a twitch from the evidently seasoned diplomat across from her.

"And he will provide Gospodin Ilyich with access to the Polakk."

Now there was a response, the flash of teeth in a disbelieving smile. Walter Stone cocked his head with an amused smirk. "Your Mr. Ilyich really believes that he can just extort his way into contact with the most secretive and powerful arms dealer in Eastern Europe?"

Paulina's jaw tried to clench at his tone, but it was difficult when she was feeling so calm and in control. She felt her shoulders relax. His resistance was expected. It was almost a comfort for the man to finally be doing what she wanted. "Whatever we ask," she said slowly, "you will comply."

"Comply?" The other negotiator's Voice sounded amused. It was a delicious sound. Paulina could practically taste it, running down the back of her throat like warm chocolate.

The rain outside smashed angrily against the windows but wrapped in the comfort of Walter Stone's Voice — that is to say, in the comfort of the interior, of course — Paulina relaxed. "Comply," she agreed. The woman blinked languidly. It felt so good to close her eyes for the briefest of seconds, because in the darkness behind her eyelids she could practically see her victory.

It was definitely warm in the room, and the warmth wound gently up her spine and into her mind. Paulina took a deep breath. She felt her blouse stretch across her perky breasts with the sigh, buttons tightening, and she slowly reached up and undid one of them. There, that was much better.

She glanced up to see if Walter Stone was looking, but no... His grey eyes were on her face, waiting to catch her gaze and hold it. She was impressed at his self-control.

"Comply," he said again, tasting the word like it was an expensive wine. He made the word sound comfortable and easy. "Aren't you asking me to surrender rather quickly?"

Paulina nodded easily, her dark eyes locked onto his lighter ones. "That's right," she agreed. "Surrender..."

"It sounds like you just want me to obey you without question." Walter Stone sounded far too relaxed, far too calm, far too at ease.

"Of course," Paulina managed. "That's what I want. To... for you to... obey."

"Obey..." His mouth played with the word, changed it from something unpleasant to something intriguing and pleasurable.

The room was definitely getting a little too hot, Paulina thought as she once again noticed her rapid blinking. But it was mostly the Voice, the heat in it was like an undertow pulling her along. She hadn't noticed it before, and she glanced over to see if Ivan was paying attention, too.

The mercenary was standing very still in the corner, where he'd retreated after retrieving her laptop. His usually alert blue eyes seemed strangely still and dull. His posture was erect but relaxed, his arms hanging by his sides.

For the briefest moment, Paulina felt a flicker of anxiety.

"Wait..." she murmured. Her eyebrows tried to furrow.

"There's nothing to worry about." Walter Stone was leaning forward on his elbows again, watching her carefully. His Voice drifted through her mind like a gentle river of honey.

Of course there was nothing wrong.

"Nothing to worry about..." she agreed, nodding slowly. "Of course." She blinked and gently shook her head. Her hair swayed. "Where were we?"

* * *

The woman across the table from me was stunning, no doubt about it.

Her hair was long and straight, platinum blonde. Maybe, once, I would have been distracted by the way the pearls around her neck drew attention to her throat and the upper swell of her breasts. Her cleavage was deep and inviting where she'd unbuttoned her white blouse. I knew that her legs were long and athletic, because she'd crossed and uncrossed them several times since we started talking.

But I had more experience now, and what drew me in was no longer just the sight of a beautiful woman. It was the thrill of taking a beautiful woman and ensnaring her, gently guiding her deeper and deeper into my trap until she was so far gone she could no longer escape, even if she wanted to. And they rarely wanted to.

Oma wouldn't approve, of course. But I never told Oma about how I used my Talent. I was doing it for her, after all. Now, the gorgeous European woman was unconsciously rubbing her thighs together as her dark brown eyes glazed over and her lips parted in a soft sigh of surrender. "Where were we?" she asked.

But I knew that tone. It wasn't the sound of someone who wanted to continue negotiating. It was the sound of someone who wanted to relax, to be guided, to be led down and down out of control into something... wonderful.

I shrugged easily. "I think that we were just about to let me take control of the conversation."

A tiny frown twitched at the edges of her full lips. "Control?" The word was a sigh, one third worry and two thirds anticipation.

I lowered my chin in an easy nod. "That's right, Paulina," I murmured. I felt the power swirl through my voice, fueled by a fire in my core that imbued it with resonance and heat. A thrill ran through me, down my spine. "Because now you're giving up control, you're just letting all of it go and giving it to me..."

The man in the corner barely moved, but his eyes bulged and he took a single step forward before my gaze swung in his direction.

I pointed at him with a single, dominant finger. "Still."

The Serbian mercenary stopped cold like I'd hit him with some sort of freeze ray. I grinned, the wolfish smile spreading slowly across my mouth. I carried no weapons, but was hardly unarmed. My strange and unaccountable Talent made sure of that.

I pushed myself back in the chair and surveyed my erstwhile opponents.

Paulina was blinking up at me with wide brown eyes from across the table. She was a butterfly caught in my web, a particularly exciting butterfly. Her long hair tumbled down her back. It was only a little darker than her blouse but both of the lighter colors contrasted with her narrow black slacks. The heavy coat she'd worn outside in the rain had hidden her elegant figure, but now she lounged back under my gaze. Her body was loose and I devoured it with my eyes, tracing over her full tits and then traveling mile after mile down long legs.

"Wouldn't you be more comfortable out of those heels?" I commented easily, flicking my eyes back up to the woman's heavy-lidded gaze. As if to demonstrate, I gently eased my feet out of my black, patent leather shoes.

"Hmm..." Paulina's feet were sliding out of her stilettos even as she pursed her lips and seemed to concentrate. "Perhaps," she agreed, nodding. "But, of course, this conversation isn't about comfort."

I spread my hands. "Of course," I said amiably, slowly standing. "But as we've already said," I reached up and gently tugged my tie a little looser. "We may be here for some time. Naturally, it's reasonable to have some level of relaxation."

The woman frowned, but her bare feet gently nudged the stilettos away. One of them toppled gently and silently into the shadows beneath the table. "Naturally..." she said.

"And, indeed," I continued. I sidled slowly around the table toward her, shooting a glance at the petrified mercenary.

The hulking Serbian stood stock still, his blue eyes almost comically blank.

Neither of them realized, of course, that they were under my spell. Even if they had, I'm not sure they would have had the desire to resist.

That was the crux of the matter, after all. My Talent was useless when someone truly wished to resist me. But it was evident that neither of them did, nor could. Paulina had been at this game for so long, for too long. She didn't care about her employer, about the men under her command, about her negotiating objective. All she cared about were the games, the machinations and the control. And somewhere deep down she knew that this was just another game; and that part of her loved it.

As for the merc? Well, he was simply used to taking orders.

Until my hold over them was completely secure, though, I would continue with the charade that we were still negotiating. I reached out easily with one long arm and tugged the thumb drive free from Paulina's laptop.

The woman started, her mouth parting. "Wait, no, you can't have that." She sounded almost foolishly plaintive.

"Don't worry," I reassured her, holding the device up as though examining it. I glanced over into her eyes, which were slightly more aware. I'd startled her, rousing her from the light trance she'd drifted into.

At my words, she slowly eased back down into the chair and watched me.

"Is this the only copy?"

Her head moved in a slow nod of confirmation.

"And, if we agree to his demands, Gospodin Ilyich will similarly agree to leave Herr Wagner in peace?"

Paulina nodded again, hair swaying. She cleared her throat quietly, as though trying to find her voice. "Yes," she agreed.

I set the thumb drive gently back down on the table and lifted my hands away. I slowly tugged again at my tie. This time I was simply easing the silk knot free. I dropped the undone ends of the tie onto my chest.

The woman's eyes dropped to the pale skin at my open collar. Then she shifted in her seat and looked back up into my face. Her expression was controlled, but barely. I could see that once I'd lowered the thumb drive her defenses had lowered again, as well. "Will you agree to the terms?" she asked.