Tension (33 page)

“Well, I couldn’t be seen with you how you look now, could I? I mean you are the ‘FBI Beauty.’” He laughed and took a huge bite of a fried oyster po’ boy.

“That’s very true,” she said, laughing and looking into both bags. “You know, you never cease to amaze me, Willston George Finnegan.”

“I hope I never do, Stella Eugenia Murphy.”

“Why did the media have to tell everyone my middle name?” Stella pouted as she sat across from George and ate her fried conch and fries with a huge caffeinated soda. “When I was little, I would cry the first day of every class because teachers would call out my middle name.”

“Why did your parents torture you that way?” George joked. “Not that Willston is that great.”

“It’s after my grandfather.”

“Well, maybe when we have new lives, you can go by Eugenia.” George continued to stuff his face.

“Um, I don’t think so. I want to be called Meryl or Marilyn or something exotic, like Vivica.”

“I like Vivian,” George laughed. “You could wear the red wig I bought you.”

“You know, you’re my hero,” Stella said sincerely. She peered at him, self-conscious about her face but full of adoration for how he hadn’t even bothered to ask her again what happened. He was waiting for her.
Always waiting for her
.

“Oh, you shouldn’t give me credit for this one.” He shook his head. “This was all Jesse. Undoubtedly, you’re really good friends.”

She raised her eyebrows at him.

“He had Greg fly in his private jet to get me and he borrowed another plane to fly to Miami and drove Highway 1 looking for you for hours. We ended up meeting him in Key West and drove up and down Highway 1 trying to find you based on the pings off your locator.”

“Where are Greg and Jesse, by the way?” She popped another fry in her mouth. Stella knew that she owed all her knights in shining armor big time; she’d have to think of some way to thank them.

“They left around 9:00 this morning. I told them I’d call them when you got up and we figured out what we’re doing and saying. Greg said the media is hounding him about your whereabouts and what happened Friday night, but they don’t really know what happened. He told your parents some cock and bull story about you getting really drunk and losing your phone. You need to call them. Oh, and they haven’t found your car.”

“Shit,” she said. “Someone better find my car.” She looked out the window thinking about what problem to tackle first. “I don’t have my bag,” she said.

“You know where it is?” George asked.

“Maybe I could find it...” She took another bite of her fish. “Let me use your phone.”

Stella called her parents and explained about losing her phone at the bar. Both parents took turns yelling at her for being so stupid and not calling them sooner. She told them she was trying to get away from the cameras and was going to lay low at Sara’s house for a few days and then going to see George. She apologized for giving them heartburn over the last couple of days and promised she’d let them know when she’d be back.
Liar.

“Let’s go see if we can find my bag. I have the keys to his car, so I know it’ll still be there.” Stella started toward the door.

“Um, don’t you want to shower?”

Stella hadn’t showered in three days, but couldn’t imagine waiting any longer to get her purse. “No. I want to find my fucking bag.” She felt an unreasonable need for her gun.

“El, Love. A five minute shower is not going to change anything,” George said, eyeing her blood-encrusted shirt.

“Let’s go. The sooner we find it, the sooner you can get me in the shower.” She smiled at George, her first real smile in months.

They drove north in the rental car that Greg rented yesterday. The scenery was gorgeous; all you saw on either side was endless ocean. It was warm but not oppressive. Stella’s seat was reclined so she could look out George’s window; that’s where the car would be if they found it. They’d been driving for an hour with no luck.

“It’s beautiful here,” Stella said, examining the left side of the road.

“Yeah, it is,” George agreed.

“You know, George, I’m still stunned by seeing you three come through that door last night. I’ve had a lot of time to think over the past couple of weeks and days. As fucked up as my life is, you make it bearable and even enjoyable. I can’t even tell you how much you mean to me.” Stella chuckled at herself.

“What?” George asked, rubbing his thumb down her cheek.

“I want to tell you all these things, but they sound so cheesy. You loved me when I was raw, and ugly, and exposed. You didn’t need me to put on airs about who I was and I never felt like I had to pretend to be someone else, someone you wanted me to be. You saw there was something there. Someone you could love behind the alcohol, the sex, and the walls. You saw through everything. You’re why love songs are written, you know? You know that song I love by Jason Mraz about not giving up? That song is about you. I just know it. You rebuilt me into someone that people can stand. I want to tell you all these things, but then I want to vomit at my cheesiness. I want to tell you with all the problems I have, just having your hand in mine makes everything seem possible. Then I really do vomit.” Stella leaned her head back and laughed. “When I’m with you, you make me feel tough enough to make us last. I’ve thought about how to explain my feelings for you and I can’t; not without wanting to stab my own cheesy eyes out. I can’t imagine my life without you.” She sighed. “This would work so much better if I could sing...”

“Stel—” he interrupted, gripping her hand in his.

“I’m almost done.” She stared out of the window of the rental car, unable to look at him. “What I feel is hard to explain, but let me tell you this. When we started seeing each other, I was numb and unfeeling. You broke through that. When I see you, my face changes because I can’t detach it from the way my heart feels. My stomach flips when you touch me. When you’re gone, I don’t have that. I miss you constantly. This hardness that happened after him made me brittle and bitter. You changed all that. You changed everything.”

“El, I...” George started.

“Right there!” Stella yelled. “There it is!” She didn’t notice a tear fall from his left eye, roll down his cheek, and drop off his jaw.

George pulled the car in the makeshift parking area right next to the Ford Jamie had been driving the day before. It was a vacant as it had been yesterday. She pulled the keys out of her pocket and sent up a thanks for little things; she’d found the keys in the bag under the kitchen sink. Popping the trunk, she pulled her bag out. She held it to her chest and felt the weight of the gun. George moved beside her and started examining the contents of the trunk. There were bottles of water, rope, duct tape, and ammunition.

“Well, he was prepared,” she said.
She was alive
. She sighed
.

“El, we need to figure out how you’re going to handle this.” George walked up to the front of the car and looked in the windows. Her blood spotted the back seat. “They’ll find your blood in here.”

She sat down on the ground, her back up against the back tire. “You ready to hear it?” She looked up at him.

He sank down next to her and leaned against the car. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

They stood together on the balcony of their hotel room, looking out at the water and enjoying the peace that comes with full disclosure. Stella had gotten her bag back and told him everything, even the fact that it was Jamie that shot her. George was silent for most of the ride back. He’d asked a few questions, but mostly listened. After she told him about leaving and crashing the boat into the dock, he asked her what she planned to do. Stella admitted she didn’t know, but she was done worrying about or thinking about
him
, the one that will not be named.

Stella made calls while stoic George drove. Greg first; they went through strategy, her response to the pictures of her, and agreed that the story of her drunk at the restaurant was their safest bet. She needed to call Jesse next, but she’d put that off for another time when she wasn’t in the car with George; he probably thought she’d killed Jamie like she’d planned.

George’s fingers traced her eyelids, then her lips, careful not to touch her bruises. Matthew Mayfield’s songs coming from inside the hotel room soothed them both. They were sitting side by side in the chairs on the balcony. With her eyes closed, she waited for him to kiss her, but he didn’t. Then she heard his voice whispering in her ear.

“I’m going to marry you, Stella Eugenia Murphy.”

Her eyes flew open. “Oh, you think so?” Relief flooded her brain. Worry had plagued her for so long; a little voice in the back of her head constantly whispering that he was ready to leave her. Stella knew he would leave her eventually, that he would tire of her craziness, but wanted to hold onto him a little longer.

“I know so.” George smoothed his hands over her tangled, dirty hair.

“You sure are a glutton for punishment,” she said with a smile.

When she got the 100 watt smile with both dimples, she realized she hadn’t protested his thoughts on marriage. She changed the subject, worried he’d come back to the marriage discussion. “So, are we driving to Atlanta tomorrow?”

“How about we stay one more day, let your bruises look a little less...horrible?”

“We can stay for days for all I care,” Stella admitted.

“What about your evaluation?”

“Fuck it. They aren’t going to let me come back, George.”

“Well, I have to get back after a few days. I left suddenly and didn’t get to plan that well.” He hugged her, pulling her chair even closer. “When am I going to stop almost losing you?” he whispered into her hair.

A tear fell from her eye. “I need a long shower, you want to join me?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” George took his shirt off and they laughed when they heard cat calls from the pool area below. “You probably need help washing off all the dirt.”

Later that evening, Stella was sitting outside on the balcony in the moonlight, watching all the beautiful yachts come and go. She sipped her Pusser’s Painkiller, a fancy drink from the poolside bar that came in a hollowed out coconut. Stella thought they should definitely stay here again; it was relaxing and fun and they hadn’t seen a single cameraman.

Earlier, they walked down Duval Street, looking at all the shops and galleries and stopping for drinks along the way. They stopped at Hogs Breath Saloon and listened to live music for awhile, then headed back to the hotel with only a quick pit stop at the poolside bar for another drink before coming back to the room. George was in the shower (actually washing himself this time) and she was working up the nerve to call Jesse.

Picking up her phone, she dialed his number.

“Stella, I’ve been waiting for you to call me. You okay?” Jesse’s voice was full of concern.

“I’ve been better, but I’ve been worse.”

“You gonna tell me what happened? What
really
happened? I’ve been so worried, girl.”

“Jamie had his sister drug me. Then he kidnapped me and threatened to hurt me to get me down here. Then once he got me to that house in the middle of the ocean on fucking stilts he told me he loved me and that he was tricked by the ATF to joining the undercover team.” She paused, running her fingers through her hair.

“You don’t believe this shit, do you, Stella?”

“No, but I’m just telling you what he told me.” She twirled her hair as she talked.

“Go on.”

“He proposed to me so he could tell me that he was going undercover for six months. Before he could tell me, he was taken to his undercover assignment and the ATF told everyone he died, took his phone, and gave him all new documentation. They forced him into his undercover position by taking his identity from him. He said he begged Patrick to tell me, and then Patrick cut him off, too, a few months later. He left everything behind and turned into the bad guy he was supposed to be until he saw me in the conference room in DC. Then he thought the man in Montana was going to rape me, so he shot me.”

Jesse was silent. She took a deep breath.

“He told me he shot me because we’d talked about that in college; that I would rather die than be raped. I
do
remember saying that...but I never expected it to actually come up in my life! Anyway, he wanted me to know he loved me and we could be together…”

“So do you believe him? What happened?”

“No! I don’t know… He told me all that, then he went to sleep. TO SLEEP, J! I was so pissed, but I didn’t have a gun. He took his gun with him to his bed. I-I couldn’t... “

“Stella, baby. It’s good. It’s good news you didn’t do it.” Relief flooded his voice.

“But, I wanted to do it; I just needed the chance to get to him. I’m so pissed at myself. It may have been my only chance.”

“How did you get out?”

“I guess he thought that was it; that I would just stay with him. When he was sleeping, I took his boat, ended up at the marina, and my heroes rescued me.”

“So what story are we using?”

“I got drunk at the bar and Sara took me home, I left my phone at the bar and didn’t find it until today.”