The Negotiator
A Games People Play Christmas Novella
A Games People Play Christmas Novella
by HelenKay Dimon
Genre: Adult, Contemporary
Romance
Publisher: Avon Impulse
Publication Date: November 14th
2017
BLURB
Lauren Gallagher’s life changed almost three
years ago. After her husband disappeared at sea, she was left with a failing
pleasure boat company and more than a few secrets. Now, after years spent
rebuilding the business and paying off the pile of debts, she finally feels in
control. But when she finds her husband, actually dead, on the floor, she
becomes the leading suspect in his murder investigation.
Garrett McGrath wants Lauren in his
bed, not his heart. He doesn’t do emotions, but every time he sees her, holding
himself back gets harder and harder. When Lauren comes under suspicion for
killing her previously presumed-dead husband, he knows he has to help her, any
way he can.
But as the danger becomes more intense
and Garret and Lauren grow closer than either planned, they’re in danger of
losing everything…including their hearts.
EXCERPT
Chapter One
He rose from the dead.
Lauren Gallagher couldn’t come up with any
other explanation. Her once-dead husband was very much alive and standing on
the other side of her front door . . . and she felt nothing but
numbness spreading inside her.
For a man who supposedly washed overboard in
the middle of a violent storm, he looked pretty healthy. Big smile. Bright
white teeth. Khaki pants and deck shoes. She’d forgotten how much she hated the
deck shoes.
The wattage on his supersmile dimmed a bit as
he shifted his weight from foot to foot and rubbed his hands up and down his
arms. “Aren’t you going to let me in?”
Her mind went blank. The world flipped
sideways on her and her stomach rolled. The whole time she could hear him
talking but the words didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. She opened
her mouth but nothing came out but a tiny gasping sound. That’s all she could
muster as she blinked, trying to process what she was seeing.
“Lauren? Why are you just standing there?
Open this door.”
An order. The sharp smack in his voice
sounded far too familiar. That quickly it brought her crashing back to reality.
She really wanted to say no to his command.
Not that she hadn’t mourned him. Even with the dysfunctional state of their
faltering marriage at the time he disappeared, she had. She’d grieved for what
could have been and the dreams that fizzled out early in their time together.
She grieved for his loss as she would an old friend, not as a person she viewed
as her soulmate, if there even was such a thing.
That was less than three years ago. The
police had arrived and she’d dropped to her knees feeling sick and hollow at
the idea of Carl gasping for breath as the water he loved so much overtook him.
Months had passed slowly after that. She’d
been locked in a perpetual state of shock, topped off with a wallop of guilt
because she’d visited a divorce attorney for the first time just before he
disappeared. With him gone she’d found out about the lies. His hidden debts and
how he’d taken their business to the brink of bankruptcy, all while showing her
fake bank statements he’d manufactured. He’d gone to a lot of trouble to carry
on the ruse of pretending their finances were fine.
And then things had gotten even worse. All
those whispers about Maryanne, the girlfriend who seemed to be an open secret
to everyone except Lauren. The one who, unlike Lauren, did not have any debts
or an unpaid mortgage or a business on the verge of bankruptcy. Maryanne
Lightwood, the same woman who’d mysteriously walked out on her rent and left
town right as Carl’s boat disappeared.
Lauren prided herself on being practical. She
was skeptical of coincidences and not stupid, so confusion had turned to fury
in record time. As the cool December wind blew in the front door of the small
cottage now, she realized the fury still simmered inside her.
She lived far enough from the water that the
breeze wasn’t frigid, but it carried a bite. For the past few years early
winter in Annapolis, Maryland, had meant an unwelcome amount of snow. This year
had been mild. As someone who ran a pleasure boat and fishing tour business and
depended on tourists, she thought she might get lucky this year and only have
to survive a short off-season.
Apparently, her luck had just run out.
“Lauren, honey?” Carl pulled on the handle of
the screen door. When it didn’t immediately open, he shook it, rattling it in
the door frame. Still, it didn’t move.
She’d never been so grateful for her
lock-the-door paranoia. He should be happy, too, because the thin screen might
be all that was saving his sorry lying ass right now.
Under the numbness and shock lurked a layer
of bubbling resentment and rage. She’d kept up the outward farce of being fine
for so long that she’d started to believe it. Now the mask slipped. She wanted
to throw open the door and pound on his chest and make him apologize for every
wrong.
But Carl had never taken responsibility for
anything in his life. Even now he had the nerve to stand there with a stupid
look on his stupid face, as if she were the unreasonable one for not welcoming
him home with a big hug. So, yeah, the door stayed closed for his protection
because she knew once she unleashed her temper she would not stop.
“Hey, what is this?” Carl’s hand dropped to
his side as he frowned at her through the mesh screen. “Honey, I’m back.”
Honey? What kind of man
checked out of his life for almost three years and expected to step right back
into it, no questions asked? It was as if he were empty inside, without a
conscience. And he was so close to getting a kick in his junk.
“Yeah, I can see that.” She tried to swallow
but couldn’t choke down the lump of anger racing up her throat. “Tell me, where
have you’ve been?”
“Lauren, Jesus. It’s freezing out here. Let
me in.” He pulled on the handle again as if he expected a different result than
last time. The door made a thumping sound as it hit the frame. “What’s wrong
with you? Snap out of it.”
He kept up that tone. Short, dismissive,
demanding. The only time he hadn’t been obnoxious was during the years when she
thought he was dead. Even then . . .
That’s all it took. Something inside her
snapped and wave after wave of uncontrolled, boiling-hot rage raced through
her. He wasn’t the only one who could throw his attitude and his I’m-done tone
around. “Where the hell have you been, Carl? You don’t contact me at all and
then you just stroll up to my door. You ripped my life, my work—my
everything—apart and now act as if you’ve only been gone for an afternoon. What
is wrong with you? What happened?”
“I was left for dead.” His surfer-boy good
looks faded a bit as his eyes narrowed. “Thanks in part to you.” Wherever he’d
been he must have forgotten how locks worked because he rattled the door one
more time. “Now open this.”
He was blaming her. Of course he was. She was likely at
fault for the fact his hair wasn’t the same sunny blond it once was and for the
few wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He was forty-one, having celebrated
two birthdays while he was gone. She doubted he was taking the transition out
of his thirties all that well.
She’d been thirty-three and inching very
close to thirty-four when he went missing and even back then he’d mentioned
“hip spread” more than once. Hers, of course. Not his. She’d expected him to
battle aging as fiercely as he’d fought to be the only one in charge of
handling the bills. Now she knew why . . . because he hadn’t
bothered to actually pay any debt with her name on it.
“You disappeared.” Right there, in that
moment, she kind of wished he’d do it again and had to push back the wave of
guilt that came with that realization. She’d had no idea how much hate had
festered inside her until he popped up again. The frowning, his ridiculous
summer shoes in winter, that voice—it all worked on her nerves and it had been
less than ten minutes.
“A wave hit the boat. It tipped and I went
overboard.” He shrugged. “Are you satisfied now?”
Not even close. A hundred questions filled
her head. “Who could be satisfied with that? What’s the rest of the story?”
His body language and easy dismissal of how
his terrible choices impacted her life only made her more determined to
understand what his days looked like during the last few years. Then maybe
she’d let him in, but probably not.
He waved her off. “None of that matters now.”
“It does to me.” His short nonanswers ticked
her off even more, and she wouldn’t have said that was possible. “I deserve an
explanation. A real one. All of the facts, not just pieces.”
He leaned in closer as his jaw tightened. “I
said later.”
Wariness surged through her. She wasn’t afraid.
No, scared wasn’t the right
word. Carl had never been violent, never raised a hand or threatened her. But
near the end he’d been distant and that had turned into flashes of meanness.
Snide comments about how he’d married a woman but got stuck with a fisherman.
Sudden outbursts of blaming her for the fact that they weren’t making more
money in the boating business.
So much confusion swirled around him and his
stories and all that deception. She’d convinced herself he ran off with his
girlfriend. Not that she ever admitted that to anyone or said the words out
loud. No, there had been too much at risk.
To save her house and business she’d needed
the life insurance and a final judgment from the court about Carl’s fate. A
confirmation that he was legally dead. She had to pretend to believe it. It had
taken her almost two years to persuade the court and wrestle the business and
house away from the legal no-man’s-land it had wound up in when he disappeared.
The life insurance company had refused to pay on the claim. That meant she’d
had to salvage what she could with him gone.
Now he was back, and as much as she hated it,
they needed to talk. She tried, even as her brain screamed for her to slam the
door. “I think we should—”
“I can’t believe you’re being a pain in the
ass.”
Her head snapped back at the fury lacing his
voice. “Me?”
“Jake warned me you’d gone from grieving to
stone cold in a matter of months.” Carl shook his head. “I didn’t believe it.
Not after everything we’d been through.”
She lost the thread of the conversation as
soon as Carl mentioned his brother. “Jake?”
“That’s where I’ll be. At his house.” Carl
started to shift away from the door. “But get your act together and do it fast,
Lauren. I plan on being in this house and back at work by Christmas.”
“That’s two weeks away.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow.” He made a face that
suggested he was sick of her again already. “Be over your shock and ready to
talk by then.”
Lauren watched Carl walk back down the path
to the car parked on the street. She recognized the dark sedan. It belonged to
Carl’s brother, which meant Carl had gone there first.
Her mind spun with questions about where he’d
been and why he was back. She had no idea how he planned to explain and argue
his way out of this . . . or why he thought he could walk back
into her life now without any real explanation or sign of remorse.
A gust of cold air got her moving. She
slammed the front door closed and rested her palm on it. Tried to breathe in,
to think.
Her usual calm detachment abandoned her.
Jumbled thoughts crashed into her brain. Panic rose in her chest, threatening
to swamp her. Finding a lost husband should be a good thing. For her, it
amounted to a nightmare. Everything was upside down and all she wanted was to
right it again.
Help. She never asked anyone for help. Not
ever. She’d learned long ago that needing someone, depending on them, led to
heartache and disappointment. But Garrett McGrath’s face kept flashing in her
mind. Sarcastic, charming, sinfully handsome Garrett. They’d met in the summer
and he’d asked her out for two months. Hanging around, texting, insisting he’d
wait for her to be ready to date again.
The guy had honed his tall-dark-and-smoldering
look and for some reason he’d decided to aim it full force at her. Probably had
something to do with the thrill of the chase. That was the only answer she
could come up with. Because once he knew her, really knew her, he’d back off.
Any sane person would.
But right now, as the walls closed in and she
struggled to hold on to a coherent thought, all she could do was think of his
face. The dark brown hair and those big green eyes. That firm chin . . .
and his uncanny ability to solve complex problems while making a joke and
without breaking a sweat.
She glanced around her cottage. It had a
beachy vibe with weathered white beadboard walls and overstuffed blue
furniture. It consisted of two small bedrooms, a bathroom and a joint living
and eating area. Her refuge. The place she’d rented when she lost everything
else. The same place Carl for some reason thought he had a right to live in.
She grabbed her cell off the couch and dialed
the number Garrett had put in there when they first met. The phone rang and his
deep voice came on the line. Voice mail.
She waited a few moments. Gave herself a bit
of a pep talk and mentally insisted she could handle this, just like she
handled everything else.
Instead of leaving a message she texted him.
She tried to think of the right thing to say. She went with the only words that
made sense to her . . . You were right. Carl
is not dead.
[no
ornament]
Garrett stared at the text message. It had
come in a half hour ago. He’d missed it while he was parking his car in the
airport lot. His flight to San Francisco left in an hour. He would have enough
time to maneuver his way through security, grab a coffee and get to the gate,
and even that was pushing it. Now this.
He’d been trying to win Lauren’s trust for
months. With Christmas coming and her refusing to commit to seeing him, Garrett
had booked a last-minute flight to visit with the only family he had left. His
aunt and cousin, Lotti. The goal was to see his aunt before she left on a
cruise then annoy Lotti for a few days before taking off on his own. That was
about all the family time he could muster for this holiday.
His parents had died in a car crash exactly
one month after he turned nineteen. Christmas Eve almost twelve years ago. He’d
been in college and orphaned in a matter of minutes. Too much alcohol had
accompanied what many suspected was a fight that had started at his dad’s work
party and continued into the car . . . and then they were gone.
The devastation had lingered for so much
longer than Garrett had expected. He was an adult when it happened, or almost.
He knew he’d grieve but he’d thought that would end and then he’d move on.
Being alone wouldn’t matter because he wasn’t a kid. He would be fine. But his
aunt had known better and explained that type of mourning was a forever
process. She’d wrapped him in a blanket of love and given him an extended
family, and his cousin had become the little sister he never had.
They were expecting him. He’d promised to
come out for a week before the holidays and maybe again after. They didn’t want
him to be alone on the anniversary of his parents’ death, but he’d long ago
learned that he operated better on his own that day. Quiet and still, wondering
what could have been if his father had just called a cab.
For once December had rolled around and he
wasn’t thinking only of his parents. He hadn’t buried himself in work to battle
back the memories. That had been the plan, but now he had Lauren’s text.
You were right. Carl
is not dead.
The clipped sentences fit Lauren. She wasn’t
the flowery type. She was practical and beautiful and smart. She never
volunteered information, except to insist their more than five-year age
difference mattered. When he refused to accept that as an excuse for not going
out with him because it was ridiculous, she informed him that she was a mess
and that he could do better.
If she’d said she wasn’t interested, he would
have walked away disappointed, but he would have gone. Not having dinner
because of some perceived failing she had about herself? That part he couldn’t
agree to.
For the first time since he’d met Lauren, she
needed him. He hated the idea of her being targeted by a con man ex, but he
loved that he was the one she had on speed dial for anything.
Yeah, his family trip could wait. They’d
understand because that’s what they did. They were bone-deep decent. They gave
him room and reeled him in now and then when he failed to call often enough.
Lotti would give him shit for picking a woman over them, so he decided to keep
that information quiet for now. He’d call this a work problem. He could almost
see Lotti rolling her eyes at that one.
He dialed his aunt as he turned around and
headed back to his car. A shot of anxiety surged through him, making him speed
up the pace with each step. He had the sudden need to race to Annapolis.
Carl Gallagher’s being alive made Garrett
want to kill him.
Author Info
HelenKay Dimon spent the years before
becoming a romance author as a...divorce attorney. Not the usual transition,
she knows. Good news is she now writes full time and is much happier. She has
sold over thirty novels, novellas and shorts to numerous publishers, including
HarperCollins, Kensington, Harlequin, Penguin, Samhain and Carina Press. Her
nationally bestselling and award-winning books have been showcased in numerous
venues and her books have twice been named "Red-Hot Reads" and excerpted
in Cosmopolitan magazine. She is on the Board of Directors of the Romance
Writers of America and teaches fiction writing at UC San Diego and MiraCosta
College.
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