“This is a fucking nightmare. I don’t want to be in a safe house,” Stella said to George. She shielded her eyes with her hand to block out the sun and saw a crowd gathering in the park. “Let’s get the fuck out of here, the media is going to be all over this shit.” She kicked an imaginary ball. “Fuck.”
“We’ll be all right.” George put his arm around her shoulders and they walked into the house to get their things and Cooper.
They’d driven the few miles to George’s mom’s house in silence, both of them contemplating their circumstances. They’d have to wait out the bomb detonation team before anything was decided. Stella hated waiting. She sighed as she sat in the den of George’s old house. The tension in the room was thick as Mrs. Finnegan made small talk with George and completely ignored Stella.
Stella gazed at pictures of George and the rest of his family from the time he was born. It was clear he was the favorite of the kids; the pictures of him plastered all over the wall were so numerous they would fill up seventeen scrapbooks. His looks changed significantly over the years, but his eyes were still the same gray with green flecks. They were the same eyes that made her weak in the knees when they looked at her in a certain way.
“El?” she heard George ask. She’d tuned out their conversations about Mrs. Finnegan’s friends and all the gossip surrounding them.
“Hmm?” She raised her eyebrows in question.
“What do you think? Can we make it?” George questioned.
“Make it?”
“Were you even listening?” Mrs. Finnegan didn’t even bother looking at Stella.
If she weren’t George’s mom, Stella would’ve told her exactly why she wasn’t listening to her soliloquy on all of her friends’ medical conditions. Stella smiled. George had the patience of a saint when dealing with his mother; maybe that’s why he was able to put up with Stella.
She applied her fake smile. “Of course we can make it,” she confirmed without any idea what they were talking about. She was sure it’d be fine. Her phone buzzed and she looked at a text from Christine at the office. “I’ve got to tend to this, it’s work,” she said, standing and moving away from George and his mom.
Senator in trouble need you here yesterday
Stella felt the heat of rage begin to incinerate her body, starting at her toes. She replied.
I was testifying at a federal trial for a terrorist attack
Her phone vibrated immediately.
Saw you had new death threat
Call me now
She shook her head, pissed initially, though it was actually refreshing to have someone not give a shit about the state of her undoing and just want her to do her job. She dialed Christine as she walked outside and sat down in a chair on the front porch.
“Need you here,” Christine answered the phone in her no-nonsense way, “now.”
“Can’t. FBI has me cornered while they’re clearing out the bomb in front of my house.” Stella was matter of fact.
“Press conference is necessary in this case.” Christine’s voice was clipped. “You’re up. We’ll set it up and I’ll get you the details.”
“Fine. I should be there early tomorrow afternoon. I have Special Agent Harris meeting me in the morning. There’s a small possibility that I’ll be moved to a safe house and I’m not really sure what that means. But let me know what you need and I can do it from home until I’m able to come in.” She disconnected. Staring at her phone, she opened her Kindle app and began reading a book about a paid assassin and the girl he unknowingly saved. George and his mom didn’t have to know she was done with work.
After she’d been outside for over an hour reading on her phone, George opened the door and looked outside. She looked up from her phone. “New case,” she said with a grin.
“I’m sure.” He walked out, his hands shoved in the pockets of his low slung jeans, his dark hair disheveled from running his hand through it in worry. He cocked his head to the side.
“She hates me,” Stella acknowledged softly.
“She’s not your biggest fan,” he agreed.
“You’ll convince her what a good person I am?” Stella joked.
“Probably not.” He smiled and she fought the urge to lick his dimples.
“I guess she has better taste than you.”
Her phone buzzed, breaking the moment. It was Millie.
You’re trending on twitter, asshole
Stella laughed as she texted back.
People hopeful I died?
Millie replied immediately.
How did you know?
#itshardhavinganassholeasabestfriend
Chapter Two
And it begins…
She’d just gotten out of the shower the next morning and was pulling a Foo Fighters t-shirt over her head when she heard the doorbell. Cooper started running down the stairs, barking like a madman. The chime sounded; George let someone in. Hurrying, she pulled up a pair of jeans and slipped her feet into flip flops.
George and Agent Harris were in a serious conversation when Stella made her way to the den and coughed to make her presence known. Agent Harris had that stereotypical cop swagger—all the confidence and half of the intelligence. He was probably in his late thirties and he always wore suits. Today he was wearing a blue pinstripe suit with a yellow shirt and red tie. Paired with his spiky brown hair and brown eyes, it was actually a dashing look; he was an attractive guy, but very uptight. He’d always been very no-nonsense with her and that alone had pissed her off at several points during the investigation on the Montana bombing. Part of her wished Monica Peterson, the Assistant U.S. Attorney who prepared her for trial, had been the FBI agent and the lawyer.
“Thanks for coming,” she said.
George stepped aside and turned to face Stella. Agent Harris already had his pen and pad out and was taking notes when she came to a halt right in front of George.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asked.
“No thanks. I’m in DC for a short time and I have to get up to headquarters to fill them in on this threat. We aren’t taking this lightly, Stella.”
“Okay. I thought someone was coming with you.”
“She got called to another emergency; I’ll be filling her in after I leave here.”
“Alright. Well, I appreciate you coming so quickly.” Stella inhaled deeply. This was going to be tricky. “So you may want to sit down for this or, even better, sit at the bar so that you can take a ton of notes.” She smiled weakly and walked to the kitchen to make herself coffee. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and her hair was still wet; she looked and felt vulnerable.
“So, when did you discover the threat?” Harris asked.
“Well, let me start and say that when I left for Montana, a box of clementines was delivered to Stella,” George interrupted. “I was running late, so I pulled them in and left them in the foyer right in front of the door.”
“What time was that?” Harris inquired.
“My flight was at eight in the morning,” George replied.
“George and I both were in Montana for my testimony. We spent the night in the hotel and got a pretty early flight out. When we pulled onto the street and saw my car parked in front of the house, we figured something was up.”
“Did you not leave it there?” Agent Harris asked.
“No. It was stolen when I was in Atlanta.”
“When?”
“February.”
“Wait—in February?” Harris raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, which is why George and I stopped in the middle of the road for a minute. I called my dad to see if they’d found my car. He said no, he hadn’t heard anything like that.” Stella leaned against the counter and sipped her coffee. “We both got out of his SUV after he parked it in the driveway. He walked to my car while I went into the house to get my spare set of keys. When I got to the door, I turned because Cooper ran up the driveway. He jumped up on me, which pushed me back a little and I ende
d up tripping over the box of clementines. And, well you know the rest.”
George moved to her side and put his arm around her.
“So you think your car being stolen and this threat are related,” Agent Harris said, writing and not lifting his head.
She nodded. “And…I was kidnapped in February by the undercover ATF agent. Jack, I believe you call him.”
Agent Harris’ head snapped up so fast he looked like a cartoon character. “What?!”
“I was drugged at a bar in Atlanta and taken by the undercover agent to one of the Florida Keys. I escaped.” Stella examined Harris’ face, which didn’t hide his disbelief.
“You escaped?” He was incredulous. “Why didn’t you call the authorities, Stella?” His eyes bore into her.
“And say what?” She ran her hand through her wet hair and looked at George. “I got away and really didn’t have any evidence to support the fact that I was kidnapped.”
“Except your broken nose,” George commented.
“Except my broken nose.” She nodded. “Jack Ryder, the ATF agent that was undercover in Montana is really Jamie, my former fiancé, who ‘died.’” She shrugged her shoulders, knowing how ridiculous it all sounded.
“Wait, what?” Agent Harris eyes narrowed at her. “Why am I just now hearing about this?” He sat back on the barstool, examining her.
“See, it’s almost laughable, right? Who’d believe me?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you knew Jack, let alone were engaged to him when I showed you his picture last year?” He was flipping his pen through all the fingers on his right hand without dropping it. She could tell it was something he did when he was contemplating something; it looked practiced and he wasn’t even thinking about the motion.
“Because his identity was top secret and I was told it couldn’t be revealed. It didn’t seem like it was an issue at the time. Also, I figured if the ATF wanted you to know, they would’ve told you.” She shrugged as if it were nothing, masking her concern.
“Why did he kidnap you?”
She looked down at her hands. “I honestly don’t know; some weird attempt to get me back. He said he was laying low because his cover was blown or something, and that he bought a house for ‘us’ and he wanted to tell me everything.” Her nails were ragged; she needed to file them.
Agent Harris threw his pen down at that and looked at Stella in disbelief.
George cleared his throat, walked over to where she was leaning on the counter, and squeezed her hand. “What does she need to do for you to believe her?”
“Record him admitting to it. You think you can do that?” He laughed.
“Sure. If you can find him,” Stella said confidently.
“What makes you think you can get him to talk to you again?” Harris asked, clearly not believing for a second that she’d be able to get Jamie to admit anything to her.
Stella loved to be underestimated.
“Because he’s arrogant and he underestimates me,” she answered. Just like you do.
“So, Stella. This is all very interesting, and the fact that you’re just now getting around to telling means you’re hiding something. You know I’ll find it.” Harris narrowed his eyes at her, examining her expression for any trace of extra information.
“You know what I know,” she lied easily. Stella was surprised the lie came so effortlessly; the words dropped from her mouth without thought or remorse.
“So based on the threat and the potential testimony you’ll be giving against a federal agent, we’ll need to move you to a safe house.” Harris sighed. “This will make things a little more difficult. We’ll have to work with the Marshals.”
She started shaking her head while he was talking. “No. I’m not going anywhere. I have a job and a…” She trailed off and looked at George. She beamed at him. “And a George.”
“Well, I can’t leave a witness here without protection; you die and I’m slaughtered.”
Stella stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest.
“What do you propose?” George asked.
“Hmph.” Harris ran a hand over his hair, showing his discomfort. “First of all, I’m not sure I believe any of this, but if it were true, we could use you to lure him out.” He cocked his head at her in a question.
“I understand. Check it out with the ATF. Look at his pictures. See if they can locate him. You get me close to him and I’ll see if I can get you what you need. Just know I’m not going to any safe house. I won’t do it. Now,” Stella said, abruptly ending the meeting, “I have work to do since I took two days off for the trial. A brief on moral turpitude and some other shit that’s just hit the fan are calling my name.” She pushed herself from the counter and nodded to him as she walked upstairs. “Let me know what you decide!” she called.
George stayed with Agent Harris and showed him out, then he followed Stella up to the office. “What do you think?” he asked.
“I think I’m going to need to be very careful. I hope he can find Jamie.”
“He said the potential for another threat is enough that he can work protection on the house even if you’re refusing to go to a safe house.” George leaned against the doorframe and watched Stella sink into the office chair. “I’m really worried about this, Love.”
“I know, but we’ve got to get him on their radar somehow. If it’s by me, so be it.” She would do whatever she could to make sure Millie, George and Patrick weren’t hurt in this shit.
She started her computer and called Greg, who answered after one ring.
“How’d it go?”
“It went.” Stella took a deep breath. “I guess they detonated the bomb or something and they’re keeping my car as evidence. The insurance company already paid me when it was ‘stolen.’ Do I need to notify them about this?” She was rambling. Agent Harris had told her on the phone yesterday that if the bomb would’ve gone off there would’ve been causalities. It’d shaken her to the core.
“I’ll call and take care of it,” Greg assured her.
“Okay.” Her voice was shaky.
“Are they moving you to a safe house?”
She sighed. “No, they’re using me as bait for Jamie.”
“Stella. That’s not a reasonable thing to do,” Greg chided.
“I know, but this has to end, Greg. He threatened my family, the people I love more than anything, and he knows that. It may be me instead of them, but I’m okay with that. This will end and I am going to end it.”
“That’s big talk.”
“Could you tell it was all a bluff?” she joked.
“No, but I figured you were shaking in your boots while telling me confidently.”
“I’ve gotten pretty good at my job; it comes in handy every now and then,” she acknowledged.
“Stella, please be careful with this and keep me in the loop. Okay?” Greg’s voice softened.
“Okay,” Stella agreed. “Oh, and Greg? Thanks for everything.”
“You don’t pay me the big bucks for nothing,” he said and hung up.
She remotely linked to her firm’s server. She’d heard back from Christine and the press conference was set up for the next day; she’d be handling a statement from a Senator that was alleged to have had an affair with a minor. Fucking awesome. This was the part of her job that she actually liked, using the law to create an argument that suited her; developing something unique out of the law and making it personal enough that the judge would rule in her client’s favor. She pulled up her brief, turned her music up and started building her argument.
After a few hours of researching and writing, Stella took a few minutes to check her personal email and saw over a hundred notifications of new tweets. Reluctantly, she logged into Twitter and saw it all over her page.
#stellamurphydeaththreat
#testimonyspursdeaththreatsforfbibeauty
#norestforthewearystellamurphy
#somebodykillthatbitchalready
It’s all starting
again. She inhaled sharply and emailed Greg; she wasn’t capable of going through this again. His response was immediate.
We’re handling it. I’ve put out a statement that you’re working with authorities and I emailed you a statement so that you can put on Twitter and Facebook if you wish. Stay low and let me handle rest.
Chapter Three
I Don’t Do Trust
She slammed one of the desk drawers closed, then made her way out of her office and down the hall. This was the last thing she wanted to be doing right now, but she’d rescheduled three times already. Fuck. She tried to slow her thinking. She waved at Brenda and made her way onto the elevator, where she tapped her red five-inch heel to the beat of the particularly horrible Backstreet Boys song that was playing. Anything to get her mind off her appointment.
She didn’t even know where to start today or what issue was most important. The more she thought about it, the more she realized how fucked up she really was at the moment. Opening the door to the psychiatrist’s office, she immediately felt unwanted tears threatening the backs of her eyes. She closed her eyes and counted until she reached thirteen and the tension faded. Then she walked up to the window and smiled her perfected fake smile. She didn’t care what George said, it was just the right mixture of lips and teeth to make people believe she was okay.
Signing her name to the pad, she said, “Hi.”
Beth, the receptionist, smiled back at her. “Hi, Stella. Go on back; Denise is ready for you.”
“Thanks.” Stella opened the door and walked back to what she’d come to think of as her room, because Denise always had Stella’s session in the same room. Stella walked over to the loveseat and pulled her shoes off before folding her legs underneath her body.
“Hey, Stella. Glad you could make it.” Denise’s smile immediately put Stella at ease as usual.
Stella found Denise oddly comforting—her face was wrinkle free and warm, a direct contradiction to her stark white hair, and she almost always had vibrantly colored glasses (today they were red) balanced on the bridge of her nose. Stella half-expected, when she began her visits, that Denise was a strange hippie shrink she could never trust, but it turned out that Denise’s no-nonsense demeanor and non-threatening appearance were the perfect fit for her.
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