Seamless (17 page)

“Okay,” Patrick said, taking a sip of his beer. “How’re you planning on doing that?”

“I’ll get him to meet me somewhere and record him telling me he did it.” She honestly didn’t think it would be that hard; he liked to hear himself talk.

“I don’t know, El.” Patrick shook his head skeptically while examining the cracks in the bar. “You’re going to have to make sure when you’re recording that you only get the parts you want. If it’s clear that you knew he shot you earlier, you’ll be in trouble. If it seems like you knew he was part of the bombing, you could be charged with being an accessory after the fact. I mean, there are so many things that could go wrong.”

“But, it’s really the only way I can get Agent Harris to act on this. I mean, if I’m taking Jack Ryder down, I’ve got to give him this admission. I want him arrested.”

“Well, I guess if you record him there’ll be proof that he told you, but…” Patrick doubted she’d be able to pull it off; it was all over his face.

“Come on, Patrick, give me some fucking credit. I can coax people to talk about what I want them to.” She shrugged. “I’m good at distracting boys.”

“Oh, really,” Patrick mocked, running his fingers up and down his pint of Bass.

“Yeah, really,” Stella said, grinning. “My job of distracting people from what’s really going on will be helpful in this adventure. For example, my current client, who’s fucking a dude even though he’s married to a woman and has two kids—send me in there and the media forgets all questions about him, but wants to talk about death threats and string bikinis. It’s fucking easy.”

“Job kind of sucks, huh?” Patrick ruffled her hair. It was growing out of the bob she had during the trial.

“Kind of.” She nodded and leaned away from his hand. She hated being petted.

“Most jobs do.” Patrick took a gulp of his beer. “You want to stay at the house?”

“Maybe...” She was nervous to stay by herself since she ran into Jamie. While it was hard to have media outside her house at all times, it was also like a security blanket. Agent Gunter had seen her rush back to her house, but hadn’t said a word about it. Everything was so fucking complicated.

“When does George get back?” Patrick asked, throwing down a bill on the bar.

“This weekend.”

“He in Iowa?”

“Yep.”

“You better call him. He voxed me and he was pissed.” Patrick smiled and drained his drink. “See you in a bit. I’ll tell Millie to buy some wine.” He kissed her cheek and left her sitting there contemplating whether she could pull off the only plan she’d come up with so far to deal with Jamie.

“Owen?” Stella called.

“Yes, Stella?”

“I need another one before I go.” Stella lifted her empty glass toward him.

“Of course.” Owen nodded and got her a Snakebite. When he set it in front of her on the bar, he smiled sympathetically. “Rough day?”

“You could say that.”

“What’d you do to your hand?” he asked.

“Broke it. Fell off the treadmill,” she answered, feeding him the same story she’d told the media.
Liar.
She’d found it easier that once you lied, just keep lying; just fall into the lie and wallow in it. You may end up even believing the story you’ve created for yourself, anyway, and then it will be less likely others will know you’re a liar.

“Damn, seriously?” Owen’s eyebrows rose.

“Yep. It was a sneaky bastard.”

“You know, I don’t care what everyone says about you. I think you and Will are good together.”

Stella’s mood darkened. She already knew George’s family didn’t like her, but shit. “Thanks.” She shrugged and gulped her beer down, now ready to leave. She waved as she walked toward the door.

Stella fell into her car, which she’d named Delilah, and headed home to grab her things and Cooper. On the way she listened to her Voxer messages from George. He was pissed because she hadn’t told him about her hand, but she didn’t tell him because she didn’t want him to worry. Then she made a rookie mistake by holding a press conference and not telling him before then. She and Cooper got in Delilah and made their way to Patrick’s.

She called George and listened to him berate her as soon as he answered.

“Where have you been? I’ve been calling and fucking voxing all fucking day. How do you not tell me that you ran into Jamie and it ended in you breaking your hand?”

She was silent. Stella had no valid reason for not telling him, she just didn’t want to worry him, which was stupid.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry!?” George’s voice boomed from the phone and Stella pulled it from her ear.

“I don’t have an explanation. I just didn’t want to worry you.”

“So you’d rather me see it on TV with everyone else when you smile your fake fucking smile and tell your pretty little lies?”

“George, I’m sorry. I’ll do better.” She wasn’t even putting up a fight and that seemed to take some of the air out of his fight.

“Stella, I can’t be here and know you’re lying to me.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“Cut the bullshit.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay....” There was a strained silence. “I was running and Jamie was waiting for me. He wants his money. I punched him in the face.”

“Pay him,” George said unequivocally.

“What?”

“Pay him,” George repeated. “Write him a motherfucking check and get him out of our lives.”

“I bought Delilah with it and some shoes,” she said sheepishly.

“I have money to pay him; do it.”

“B-but…” Stella stuttered, not knowing what to think.

“I’m not asking, Love. Pay him.”

She continued to make the dumbest decisions. What was her problem? She reluctantly agreed to pay him out of George’s bank account. By the time she pulled up to her old house, she’d told him she loved him as big as the world and he’d laughed because that’s what Finn always told him. Stella thought they ended the call on the best note possible.

She was sitting at the desk assigned to her in the Montana field office, music playing in the background. She couldn’t quite decipher what it was, but it sounded like a Matthew Mayfield song she loved. She was alone, and then all of sudden, the surrounding desks were occupied by Trey Williams, Jeffery Riggins, and Peter Richardson, the agents she was working with. She frantically looked around and tried to get up, but her feet were stuck to the floor. Shouting, she tried to get the agents’ attention.

“Hey! RUN!” She yelled over and over, but the music got louder and eventually drowned out her screams.

A figure appeared, dressed all in black. His eyes locked on hers when he pulled the trigger and shot Agent Riggins. She screamed as his head exploded and his blood splattered on the files that were strewn on the floor. Stella shook her head furiously.

“STOP!
JAMIE!”
she cried and screamed as loud as she could.

Jamie’s eyes never left hers when he moved to Agent Williams and shot him at point blank range. Stella closed her eyes and willed them to stay closed. She heard another shot and a body hit the floor. Richardson.

The music quieted and Jamie was standing in front of her; she felt him. Kneeling in front of her, he pulled her chair flush with his chest, his face inches from hers.

“You know I have to kill you, right?” He looked like he had in college and it made her insides seize in fear.

Stella shook her head. He leaned in and claimed her mouth with his. Her mouth betrayed her and fell in sync with his nips, tugs, and licks. He tasted of spearmint and home. Jamie broke off the kiss and kept his lips near her ear.

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. I do.” He raised the gun to her head.

She felt the muzzle burn her temple and she squeezed her eyes closed. “Please,” she choked out.

He pulled the trigger and she screamed.

“Stella!” Patrick was sitting in the bed shaking her by her shoulders. “El! Wake up.”

Her eyes popped open and she let out a loud sob. She covered her mouth with both of her hands and he pulled her into his arms.

“You’re okay.”

Stella sagged against him.
Fuck.

“What was it this time?” Patrick asked into her hair.

“Bullet to the head,” she answered lifelessly. “When will it all end? I’m so fucking tired.”

“Have you talked to your psychiatrist about your dreams?”

She nodded into his chest.

“Why are they getting worse?”

“I assume because of what we’re planning. I don’t know.” Her voice was scratchy from screaming. “I’m feeling like I’m on the edge of something deep and scary, like an abyss where I keep falling.”

“We’re close,” he whispered into her ear.

She nodded. He was the only person who knew the plan, but they needed help and she was leaving that up to him. It was his plan. His crazy, fucked up plan to use her as bait to get Jamie to attack again. This time they’d be ready. The only question was if the plan would work; would he attack at the right time or would he just kill her and that would be the end?
The end of it all?
She’d really decided she was fine either way.

“El! Patrick! You guys okay?” Millie called as she came down the stairs.

Patrick separated himself from Stella, squeezing her shoulder before moving away.

Stella wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her left hand. “Sorry, Mil. I had another dream where Jamie killed me.” She put on a fake smile. “Nothing new.”

“Why is your medication not working? You really need to get that worked out.” Millie sat down on the opposite side of the bed as Patrick. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

Stella stopped wiping her face for a minute. “Really? Would you?”

Millie nodded and lay down next to Stella, moving Cooper with her foot.

“Wait, can I stay too?” Patrick asked excitedly. “This is like a dream—”

Millie threw a pillow, interrupting him. “Girls only.”

“That sucks.” He shrugged. “Can I at least tuck my girls in?”

“Get out of here, perv!” Millie threw another pillow at him.

Stella felt Millie’s fingers entwine with hers and she squeezed her best friend’s hand. “I love you, Mil. Thank you.”

“Of course, asshole.”

“My dreams are getting much worse.” Stella was sitting cross-legged in the wingback chair facing Denise. She shook her head, remembering the most recent one.

“What was this last dream about, Stella?” Denise asked.

“About the guy who shot me and him killing me this time.”

“Well, that’s a reasonable dream for someone who’s been through the trauma you have,” Denise soothed.

“But I don’t want to have these dreams anymore.” Stella pulled out the pen that was holding her hair in a loose bun and reached it down into her cast to scratch an itch. She sighed in relief.

“I understand, Stella, but I think while the threat is still very real to you, that’s just not going to happen. Your dreams are your biggest fears coming true.”

Jamie kissing her and her liking it was something she feared in a deep, distant way, but it was in no way the worst fear of the dream.

Denise took a sip of her tea. “You told me that you have an active death threat. It makes sense that while all of your fears are coming close to reality, your dreams would be getting more active.”

“Honestly, my biggest fear isn’t me dying,” Stella responded.
This was a full disclosure place, right?

“What is your biggest fear?”

She took in a breath. It scared her so much she didn’t want to say it out loud. If only Denise knew how close it was to being a reality.

“Biggest fear, Stella,” Denise prompted.

Stella examined her hands.

“You want to know mine?” Denise asked. “Something happening to my kids. I’m afraid that’s something that would be so devastating that my entire world would change.”

“I’m afraid that George will be killed because of me,” Stella blurted out.

Denise looked up. “That’s perfectly reasonable.”

“I’ve been through that sort of pain, that loss, and I’m honestly not sure I can do it again. Add on top of that pain, the knowledge that I’m the reason behind his death would end me.” Stella was frozen with the reality that she’d just said that out loud. This was something she wanted to keep buried deep and not even acknowledge the possibility.

“Stella,” Denise’s voice was calm, “you aren’t responsible for the actions of a sadistic psychopath.”

“If George wasn’t anywhere near me, that sadistic motherfucker wouldn’t even know his name,” Stella spit out.

“Stella, I need you to do something for me,” Denise said, setting her tea down. “This is going to be hard for you.”

“Well, all of this is hard for me.”

“We need to get everything out in the open. I’ve put some things together since you’ve been getting therapy and I’m going to ask you a series of questions I want you to answer.”

Stella shrugged. “Okay, that doesn’t seem that difficult.”

“I want honest, truthful, nothing-omitted answers,” Denise cajoled.