Tension (18 page)

In her mind, she kneed both guards in the nuts.
Unprofessional bastards.
Then she smiled and walked through the double doors. Since the last meeting had been a conference call, she thought this meeting may be a good sign of her ability to return to work. Stan had told her to have the secretary buzz him when she got there.

The door leading into the lobby of the General Counsel’s office stood out amongst the other doors that appeared on the hall. The double cherry wood doors stretched from floor to ceiling, an American flag to the right side; it was all very intimidating looking. She pushed through the door and walked up to the reception area with a smile.

“Hey, Kari. Can you tell Stan I’m here? We have a meeting.”

“Stella, how you doing, honey?” The receptionist was an older woman that Stella always thought of as the office mother. Kari picked up the phone and punched Stan’s extension. “She’s here.”

“I’m good, Kari, just ready to get back to work, you know?”

Kari nodded. “We hope you get back here soon.”

The door opened and Stan stood there, looking impatient as always. The man was forever in a hurry. Montana was the most relaxed she’d ever seen him, and even there he was wound tighter than the normal guy. “Well, come on,” he said with an attempt at a smile.

Stella nodded to Kari and then followed Stan as he led her to one of the conference rooms. When she entered the room, she saw the General Counsel of the FBI, Peter Alfonso, and a female that she didn’t know sitting on one side of the table.

Stan sat opposite them, so Stella followed his lead and sat next to him.

Peter was an intimidating man in stature and demeanor. His black hair was slicked back and his tone was clipped. “Stella, it’s good to see you. I’m going to make this quick, so we won’t waste anyone’s time. Ms. Morris,” he motioned to the female sitting next to him, “will be the psychologist that will clear you for work. Her next open appointment is January 30. Mark it down and be here, in this room at 9:00 am. Plan for all day.” With that, he got up and marched out of the room.

Stella looked from Ms. Morris to Stan. Ms. Morris smiled. “It should take about six hours for your evaluation, Ms. Murphy. I’ll see you then.” She got up and left the room as well.

“Couldn’t they have done that over the phone?” she asked Stan, exasperated.

“You got me.” Stan stood up and ushered her out. “Stop by my office real quick before you leave, please.”

“Okay,” Stella said, following him to his office.

“Shut the door behind you,” Stan ordered as he walked around his desk and sat in his chair.

Stella shut the door gently and stood looking at Stan.

“Well, sit the fuck down.” Stan pulled a jar of peanuts from his desk and threw some in his mouth. “You want some?”

“No, thanks.”

“So you need to be ready by January 30.”

“I’m getting that.”

“Any luck on what you’ve been working on?”

She shook her head. She’d been looking into where Jamie was; he’d been out of touch with his ATF contact person since the blast. The ATF didn’t consider him a suspect or that he was involved; they thought he was in some kind of trouble and couldn’t risk the contact.

“Well, do you have a plan?” Stan asked cryptically.

“I’m in the process of getting the details worked out,” she answered without answering. They’d perfected this sort of conversation.

“Anything you want to share?” Stan popped more peanuts in his mouth.

“Nope.” She smiled at him.

“You’re learning,” Stan said, returning her smile.

Stella stepped up on the bench with her right foot then down with her right for 10 counts and then alternated to the left foot. Sweat dripped down her back, soaking into her spandex. She sat on the bench and did shoulder presses to the beat of Kid Cudi. Putting the weights down, she started stepping up on the bench again, her legs screaming. She saw him cutting through a couple of weight lifters to stand behind her. Stella pulled the earbud out of her right ear and nodded at him in the mirror. He pulled dumbbells off the weight stand and lay on his back doing chest flyes. She continued stepping up, watching him in the mirror. He sat up and put the weights down with a thud.

“He’s in Atlanta,” he said and put the dumbbells back on the stand, picking up the 60 pounders and repeating the flyes.

Stella sat and did her second set of shoulder presses.
Atlanta
. “How do you know?”

“Because he contacted me. He’s an arrogant prick.”

“Has he contacted the ATF to explain his absence yet?”

“Yep, just this week. He called me to give me his location and get in touch with his contact.” Dropping the weights near his feet, he gazed intently at Stella. “He’s explained his absence by saying his cover was blown.”

On her third set of step ups, her moves were sluggish. “Oh yeah, by who?”

He looked at her.

Realizing what his silence meant, Stella blew up. “That’s bullshit and you know it. Everyone knows it.”

“Do they?”

“I...how did I supposedly blow his cover?”

“You followed him from the airport to his apartment and someone saw you. That person was a part of the team that blew up the building and shot you.”

Pressing the weights up, she shook her head. “
I
followed
him
, huh?” She laughed. “He’s got a fucking answer for everything.”

“Yep. Thought you should know.” Patrick replaced the dumbbells and walked away.

Atlanta
,
here I come
.

“Hey, babe,” Stella said as she threw her workout bag down and rubbed Cooper on his sides.

George looked up from the couch and the sea of papers that surrounded him. “Has it been two hours already?”

“Yep.” she walked toward him and then veered right into the kitchen. Cooper followed her foot for foot. “Okay, okay,” she said to Cooper. “You haven’t fed him, have you?”

George looked up from his work again. “No. Sorry. I didn’t even realize what time it was until you came in.”

Pulling out a bottle of water, she drank half of it in one gulp. “Hey, babe?”

“Yeah?”

“You put the happy in my ness.” She finished the rest of her water.

George laughed. “You quoting Ben Harper for me?”

“Only for you...” she said, picking up Cooper’s bowl and depositing dry food in it. She nodded at his papers. “Must be pretty interesting stuff.”

“Oh, it is,” he answered with a smile. “I’m getting ready for the article on Montana.”

Stella looked up from what she was doing and into George’s eyes. Her head turned to the side slightly. “What is all that?” she asked.

“This,” he made a motion around the room, “is you.”

Frowning, she put Cooper’s bowl on the ground and petted his back and he almost knocked her down to get to it. “What do you mean, it’s me?”

“Well, there’s background. I have softball video that I’ve been watching from your little league days. You were the cutest little girl I’ve ever seen,” he said, pointing to one stack of paper. “There’s medical information.” He pointed to another stack of paper. “You really are a miracle, you know.” Motioning toward another stack, he said, “and there’s what you’re doing now, which according to all the tabloids is an enormous amount of activity.”

“But...” she protested, walking over to the tabloid stack. “Why do you need all this? You know all I do is work out and hang out with you.”

“Love, I’ve got to cover this from every angle. Agent Harris won’t give me any information about the status of the investigation, which tells me it’s basically stalled, and I don’t want this to be a tabloid piece on you.”

“There’s not that much to tell, George.” She ran her hand over the stack about her background. “You know everything that’s in here.”

“Babe, I had no idea you were such a good ball player,” he said sincerely. “The video of your little league team when you were twelve... I mean, I almost cried you were so cute, but fierce. You’ve always been a competitor, El. Always a fighter.”

Stella moved toward him. “A fighter, huh?” She was stunned at how he saw her. She didn’t feel like a fighter. She felt like an imposter.

George pulled her to him by the back of her thighs. “That’s what I love most about you.”

“That I’m a fighter?” Her eyes widened.

“That you’ve always been a fighter. You don’t give up. I mean I know that, but you should have seen the look in your eyes when you got to bat in the last inning of that last game.” His eyes were taking her in. “It was like you thought you could win the game yourself.” George leaned his head into her abdomen, wrapping his arms around her.

“I don’t see myself that way,” she said softly.

“I know, but that’s part of it. It’s just innate in you. It’s just how you are, what you do. I don’t think you can help yourself.”

Stella shrugged, uncomfortable with his analysis.

“Oh, by the way, I’m getting a quote from Professor Lightman and Gary, your old boss from the Marshals, for the story. You cool with that?”

“Sure, I’m not going to tell you how to write the story.” Stella gently separated herself from him and walked toward the stairs.

“It’s not really my story, I’m just helping out. Then they’re letting me cover the new gun control legislation. I’m just helping get them quotes from people that know you. You don’t mind that Patrick will be quoted, right?”

Stella’s steps hesitated for a second but continued up the stairs. “It’s your story!” she called over her shoulder.

Millie and Stella sat at the back table at Finnegan’s trying not to look at their watches. It was the day they got their bar results. While it didn’t really matter that much to either of their jobs because Stella wasn’t working and Millie wasn’t really ‘practicing’ law, they were both beside themselves with trepidation. There was a lingering tenseness between them that they both were ignoring, at least for tonight. This is what it all came down to. Three years of school, two months of studying, two days of testing, three months waiting for results and you could either be an attorney or you couldn’t. The bar was absolutely the most unfair test she’d ever taken. During the prep course she took, they told the entire class there are two right answers on the multiple choice test, one answer was just more right.
Seriously.
The essay portion was just as bad, because it’s evaluated by individuals and subjective.
What if she got the one judge that hadn’t been reelected and was so pissed, as she drank her wine and graded all the tests, that she gave every one a low score?

They discussed all of these possibilities and ignored the time. Millie decided they should go and drink for several hours when the results were due so that they wouldn’t be on the internet hitting refresh for thirty minutes prior to posting. Stella agreed; she was wearing a new wig she purchased down the street in an effort to enjoy an evening without paparazzi. It was dark blond and she looked ridiculous, but nobody was looking for a blond at the bar, just for Stella’s raven waves, which typically hung to her mid-back.

Millie had also put both of their cell phones with George behind the bar so they couldn’t check the results on their phones. Finnegan’s was packed but George had reserved the back table for them so they wouldn’t have to stand at the bar.

“This place is crazy for a Thursday,” Millie observed.

“Oh, you haven’t been in here for awhile, but it’s like this on Tuesdays now, too.” Stella curled a piece of her blond wig around her finger. “George is raking it in with all the media and people wanting to catch a glimpse of the ‘FBI Beauty.’” She grimaced at the name.

“I hate that name,” Millie said. “I mean, who came up with that? Why not the FBI Bombshell? That’s much more apropos.”

Stella stared at her blankly.

“Get it, it was a bomb...” Millie giggled. “Okay what about FBI Belle? Or what about...”

“Cut it out, asshole,” Stella interrupted her rant.

“I’m trying to get our mind off the results,” Millie said taking a sip of her vodka and cranberry.

“I feel like I might throw up. I have to pass, now more than ever.” Stella leaned back in her seat and took a gulp of Guinness. “First of all, can you see the headlines—‘FBI Beauty Bombs the Bar!’”