Tension (14 page)

Stella looked down at her full plate. She’d lost her appetite.

“I told you I’d pay.” Stella mindlessly popped a fry in her mouth. “I am getting paid for nothing.”

“Lucky you,” Stan teased.

They talked another minute or so before Stan left. Stella ordered another beer and thought about what Stan told her. The FBI was getting nowhere with the investigation and nothing was missing except information about the undercover agents. Maybe Jamie was afraid someone would find out about him and rat him out, so he orchestrated the bomb. She racked her brain about why he was involved and she simply couldn’t come up with any reason that Jamie would conspire with two bad guys to bomb a FBI office. The problem was the Jamie she knew didn’t exist anymore.

Cooper followed George around his bedroom after he got out the shower. “Why are you following me, boy?” George asked, leaning down to pet Cooper’s back. “You feeling needy?” he teased. He heard his cell phone ring from his office and he jogged to answer it, holding his towel around his waist.

“Hello?” George didn’t recognize the number.

“Will, this is Paul from AP.”

George scratched his head. “Paul?”

“From AP, we worked…”

“Oh,
Paul
. Sorry, you caught me totally off guard.” George sat in his leather office chair. “How’s it going, man?”

“Oh good, you know there’s always news to report.”

A twinge of nostalgia rose in George’s throat, and he cleared his throat.

“So, the reason I’m calling is I was wondering if you might be interested in doing some independent work for us.”

“What? Why me?” He was shocked; he’d been out of the business for years. It was strange that this guy even remembered his name, let alone wanted him to do work for him. Reporters were a dime a dozen.

“Well, you had talent. I’m guessing you haven’t lost it,” Paul answered.

“Okay…”

“Look, I have someone who wants to do a story on the ‘FBI Beauty.’ Can you help us out?”

George smiled; he knew there was a catch. “So…what? If I help you get some quotes from
my girlfriend
you’ll let me cover stories?”

“We may want you to do some research for the piece and that sort of thing, get quotes from her friends… but yeah. You do this, you’ll be back in. You interested?”

A feeling of pure elation filled his gut, followed by the realization that he couldn’t do that to El.

“I don’t know. Stella isn’t really doing interviews…” George hedged.

“I know; that’s why I’m calling you. This would help her. You would be able to get the piece to put her in the best light. Really get her story out there, not some shit about her drinking and almost failing out of law school. Anyone who looks at her transcripts can tell she didn’t do that bad.” Paul took a breath. “Look, Will, you’ll be leading the entire story. We’ll put it with another person’s byline, but you’ll have final approval of the story before it goes. People really want to know everything about her. Who better to get it out there, from her perspective, than you?”

“Well, a friend is handling press, so let me put a call in. I’ll get back with you.”

“Good, I look forward to hearing back from you, soon.”

“Is this a good number to reach you?” George sat back as far as his chair would let him go.

“Yep. Talk to you soon.” Paul disconnected.

Cooper put his head on George’s knee, his tail wagging back and forth. George smiled. “What do you think, Coop? You think she’ll go for it?”

After she met with Stan, Stella went straight to the gym. The pounding of her body and the loud bass of her music helped her keep going. Thoughts from her lunch with Stan swirled around in her head.
I’m a smart girl, I can figure this out
. She willed her body to make it five miles. As she looked up briefly, she tripped as she saw her 19-year-old self in a light blue string bikini. Then the news show flashed onto the video of her first and only run outside with Cooper since she’d been back.
Good God, that sports bra doesn’t do its job
.

Being pissed fueled her to run six miles.
This is on a news show? I can’t fucking get away from this shit
. She turned off the treadmill and walked into the locker room. Turning the corner, she took in a very unusual and disturbing scene. One of the older regulars at the gym was standing behind the bench with her leg propped up on the bench, naked. Stella was mortified as she watched the woman rub lotion up and down her legs. Stella grabbed her stuff from her locker and practically ran in the other direction before the old lady could initiate a conversation, laughing the entire way to George’s.

As she turned into the driveway, she realized his SUV and motorcycle were in the garage. She usually parked in the garage. Annoyed, she parked outside in the driveway, hurried into the garage, and closed the door, evading the sole cameraman in the front of the house. Opening the door, she yelled, “George?!”

“Up here!” he called from the third floor.

“What are you doing up here?” she yelled as she walked up the stairs.

“I got a proposition today.”

“You got propositioned today?” Stella laughed as she walked into his study, where he was working on the computer.

“So you know how Millie told you to get out in front of all this media coverage? The Associated Press called today and asked me if I was interested in writing again.”

“They want you to write a story? That’s awesome.” Stella walked behind him and ran her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp.

His dimples appeared. “Yep. There’s a catch, though. They were hoping to get an exclusive interview with you. I know it’s because you’re my girlfriend, but damn, it feels good to think about writing and investigating again.” George swiveled his chair around to face her and grabbed the back of her thighs, pulling him to her.

“Who would do the interview?” Stella cocked her head to the side.

“I would,” he said, looking up at her face. “I’d conduct the interview and help the reporter with the piece.”

“All you have to do is ask me, George. I’ll tell you whatever you need.”

He stood up and walked over to where a big stack of papers was precariously stacked on the side table and leaning against the arm of the couch. She tilted her head to the side again in question, then took off her workout clothes and moved to George’s room to throw them in the hamper.

“I’ll have to do research about what happened in Montana!” he called from the study.

“Did you know that pubic hair turns grey?” Stella yelled back from his room.

Stella reversed out of George’s driveway slowly, trying not to run over any of the people blocking her way with cameras. Anger boiled and sent bolts of rage through her brain. She took a deep breath and counted to thirteen. Turning left, she went the back way to her old house. Millie had been pestering her since she got back from the beach to get together, harassing her a few times a week since she bailed at the bar. She’d agreed to have lunch with her at her old house; she couldn’t go anywhere right now without paparazzi knowing about it. Stella sighed. She didn’t want to see Patrick, but Millie had begged and Stella felt like she owed Millie for helping her with all the media requests for interviews and information. She hoped there wouldn’t be a repeat performance of his visit to Montana.

A few days after she awoke in the hospital, George had to go back to Virginia to take care of business at Finnegan’s. He was planning on coming back the following Monday and staying through Wednesday, since those were the least busy days at Finnegan’s. Stella’s parents were staying in a hotel near the hospital and barely left her side. They did manage to leave the room to give them some privacy before he caught his flight.

“Thanks for staying with me, George.” Stella put her fingertips to his and then interlaced their hands. “What’s the problem at Finnegan’s?”

“No problem, I’ve just been going back and forth so that I can be there during the busiest days at the bar. It seems like the bar can run itself for a few days a week, but longer than that and the natives get restless.”

“Y’all busy?” Stella was trying to steer him away from their usual conversation about her; she felt guilty.

“Well, this really hot FBI attorney used to drink there all the time and started making out with the bartender. Then she got shot, became a hero, and now everyone wants to sit at the barstool where she once sat.” He ran his hand through his deep brown hair. It was shaggier than normal; he hadn’t had time to get it cut in awhile.

“This is all so stupid, but at least you’ll be making more money...” Stella brought his hand to her lips.

“Get better and fast, I can’t wait to see what’s under that hospital robe.” George laughed and pulled the covers down.

“As soon as the doctors clear me, I’m coming straight to your house.” She smiled.

“It seems like it may be a couple of weeks before they let you go, right?”

“That’s what it’s looking like. At least.” Stella looked at all the flowers that lined the walls. She had gotten all sorts of things delivered to her room after the hospital had given a statement regarding her recovery. “I just want to get out of here. I feel like an invalid. Staying in a room all day and night, not being able to get up or even go to the bathroom by myself may make me finally lose my mind.”

“That’s all it took?” George shook his head and laughed. “Let me get this straight. I mean, you thought your fiancé was dead for four years only to find out he was just undercover and that didn’t do it. You get shot on your first assignment and that didn’t do it, either. The media is having a field day with you—whatever. But not being able to pee by yourself—that’s the last straw?” George pulled a chair close to her bed and sat down. “We’ll get through this. As a matter of fact, I kind of like the fact you have to rely on me for help. It makes me feel needed. Usually, you don’t need me at all.”

“Oh, but I do, just in a different way.” Stella looked at him with need in her eyes. He leaned toward her face and she grabbed his with both hands. She kissed him, slowly and intensely.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered in her ear.

“I know.” She nodded and stroked his cheek. “I love you.”

“You too, Love. I’ll text you when I land. Feel better.” He kissed her forehead and then walked to the door. He glanced back at her one more time, held his hand up in a half wave, and then he was gone.

Her eyes were closed when she heard someone come in the room. She could tell it wasn’t either of her parents by carefulness of the footsteps. Cautiously, she opened her eyes.
Fuck.
Her eyes closed automatically.

“I saw that,” Patrick said. He walked to her bed with the same lazy gait as always; full of confidence. His black hair was military short and his blue eyes as cold as ever.

She was silent.

“Look, El,” Patrick started and sat in the same chair George had vacated. “I’m so sorry. About everything, I’ll keep apologizing to you until I die. I swear, I’d do anything if I could make this all go away.”

Silently, she looked into his blue eyes. Patrick looked like he’d aged a good bit in the last month; the crinkles around his eyes were more pronounced and he looked tired. He was wearing a cream cable-knit sweater; he sort of looked like a model.