R. Griffin - Seamless

“Stella?” Greg asked impatiently.

Stella was distracted, wanting to get out front with George and the ATF guy. “Yes?”

“Be very careful with your words. Make sure you’re honest,” he coached.

“Yes, sir. I’ll call you when I find out anything else.” She hung up.

Standing in the now open door, she saw the ATF agent holding a long pole with a mirror right under the driver’s side seat. He looked at George and nodded solemnly.

“What is it?” George asked, glancing at Stella, who was standing stoically on the stairs, her face devoid of emotion.

“Some sort of explosive device. I’ll have to call in a team to get it removed and then we’ll have more information,” the ATF agent answered, pulling out his phone.

Stella hung her head. He confirmed what she’d thought initially. That crazy fucker had just pushed her over the edge. She hadn’t realized she even had an edge anymore, since she’d been free falling for the last four years.

George held his hand out for her to stop before she came down the stairs.

Anger, red and hot, shot through her brain. Oh, I’m so done playing nice. Jamie had threatened the people that she loved. Done. Now she just had to figure out how to deal with this situation without it turning into something bigger.

Two dark sedans pulled up, blocking the entire road on either side of her car. It was like a scene out of a movie; four agents swarmed the car and spoke with Patrick’s friend. Oh fuck, here it goes. She glanced into the park and saw people taking notice and digging out their phones to take pictures. She could only imagine what people would think about this.

One of the new agents glanced at Stella, then stalked over to her. George followed him up the stairs and then stood shoulder to shoulder with her.

“Ma’am. I’m Special Agent Mark Gunter. Agent Harris called and we’re here to assess the threat and the necessity of a protective detail. However, it seems that the ATF just confirmed that your vehicle does, in fact, have an explosive device on it. We’ll need to clear you and your other neighbors out for about an hour so that our team can come in and detonate the device.”

Stella’s shoulders slumped and she nodded. “Okay.” She was sorry the neighbors would be inconvenienced, but assumed most of them would be at work. Thank goodness for small mercies.

“Stella. I’ll be in charge of protection. I’ll need your phone.” Agent Gunter held his hand out for her phone.

She pulled it out of her pocket and handed it over, taking him in. He was older than Agent Harris and slightly friendlier looking with short grey hair, a freshly shaved face, and an ill-fitting navy suit. He entered in his number and then sent a text to himself, adding her information to his contact list.

“I’ve put my number in here, but I’m also adding a walkie-talkie app that you can use to contact us as well,” he said while he was working with her phone. “There will be four agents that could be assigned to your detail.” He looked over his shoulder to the three other agents. “These are Agents Josh Regents, Oliver Morris and Max Eddy. As soon as our team gets out here and we talk to headquarters, I’ll make contact with you on specifics.” He handed her phone back to her.

“Specifics about what?” she asked, confused.

“On whether we’re putting you in a safe house tonight or later on. Whether we’re going to allow you to come back to this house at all,” he answered, already walking back down to her car in front of the house.

“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

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 ended 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.