Seamless (16 page)

Owen’s green eyes grew exponentially.

Billy’s laugh was so loud it cut through the bar. “Not even close.”

“No.” Stella shook her head. “I lived with two guys before I moved in with George.”

Owen nodded, contemplating. “You guys are friends?”

“The best,” Stella confirmed.

“Will know you’re here?” he asked.

“Yes.” She laughed uncomfortably. She loved Owen’s Irish accent, so she wouldn’t mind talking to him more, but she really didn’t want him to end up seeing/hearing about her cast. “He told me to tell you hello. I had to tell him that I would be in the news again and it seems like it’s sooner than I thought.”

“What’d you do this time?”

“Kicked a photographer in the balls.”

“He deserve it?” Owen asked.

“Yes.”

He nodded and moved down the bar.

“Odd one,” Billy commented.

“Yes, he is,” she agreed, taking a gulp of her beer. She turned to Billy abruptly. “I think I may stay with y’all this weekend.”

“The silence getting to you?” Billy teased.

“Of course.” She nodded.

“El, I’m not sure what all’s going on, but know you can come back to our house whenever you need to. Your bed’s still there, for fuck’s sake.”

“I appreciate it, Billy. I’ll probably be wearing out my welcome soon enough.”

“You did that a long time ago.” He grinned and pulled her into a side hug.

Confidence exuded through her every pore as she parted the crowd gathered in front of the four microphones set up in front of the National Cathedral. Christine thought it’d be a nice touch to have the press conference in front of a church. Senator Miller had come to them less than 24 hours ago with the reality that his political and personal life was about to explode on the front page of every newspaper in the country. With the 24 hours news cycle, she was all too aware that he’d be on TV and the internet every 10 minutes for the next two weeks. Personally, she always appreciated new headlines—it meant there’d be no stories of her life.

Although everyone in the United States knew her whereabouts and the fact her life was being threatened, no one at her firm or any of the firm’s clients had any idea of the emotional turmoil that bubbled just below the surface of her perfectly straightened hair, exact makeup and designer outfits. She performed her job seamlessly. She wrote competent legal arguments, handled the media with ease and perfected several different fake smiles. The fake smiles were particularly important—they were all smiles for different situations, but covered up her real emotion. Her life was in chaos, but she could do her job. She was happy to be good at something.

“Good morning,” she said into the microphones.
Fake smile one, gratitude
. “Thank you all so much for taking the time to come and hear Senator Miller’s statement today. The Senator regrets that this statement is even necessary, but as we are all aware, there are some things that the media cannot help covering.” She smiled and the reporters chuckled at her.
Fake smile two, amusement with the situation.
“Senator Miller is having personal issues that have nothing to do with his duties and responsibilities as a Senator. He’s guilty of having bad judgment, which we all have from time to time, but this in no way compromises his position in the United States Senate.” She pushed her hair behind her ear. “That is all we have to say at this time.”
Fake smile three (into the cameras), thank you for coming and we’re done.
She turned to walk away, confident in her statement. That’s when all questions started.

“Stella! Stella! How are you? Any other death threats?”

“Where is George?”

“How is your hand?”

Stella sighed and counted to ten before she made an off-hand comment about getting injured on the treadmill.
Fake smile four, dumb me falling on the treadmill
. It was painfully obvious that this was her job—distracting the media from the story they were clambering after and give them herself.
Bait and switch
. Her story was always way more interesting to the media than anything else going on. She initially thought she’d been hired as an attorney, but she now knew she was hired to be a decoy and it was invaluable to have that big of a story in front of the media. Waving her in front of reporters was like giving a hungry dog a steak; they forgot about the dog food they’d been devouring a second earlier. She turned on her six inch heel and walked toward her car parked on the street near the cathedral.

“Ms. Murphy?” a female called from behind her.

Stella didn’t turn and switched the alarm off on her car. She opened the driver’s side door and got in as elegantly as possible.

“Stella? Ms. Murphy? Do you have a minute?” The reporter made it to Stella’s car before she shut the door.

“I’m so sorry. I’m not doing any interviews right now.”
Fake smile
.

“Can you tell me about an undercover agent named Jack Ryder?”

Her fake smiled slipped for just a few seconds and Stella felt a flash of fear travel through her body before she arranged her face back into her placating fake smile. “I’m not doing any interviews, but I’m unfamiliar with the name Jack Ryder.”

“Jack Ryder,” the reporter shoved a recorder in Stella’s face, “the undercover ATF agent that you traveled with to Montana before the explosion. Where is he?”

“I’m sorry. I’m just not sure I can answer your questions.” Stella slammed her car door and took off as quickly as possible. She couldn’t believe that he’d travel from DC to Montana using his own name. If this reporter knew they flew together, then it
is
possible Jamie’s cover had been blown in Montana.
Fuck.
What an idiot.

She pressed one of her favorites on her phone. “Greg. I’m getting questions about Jack.”

“Who’s Jack?” her lawyer answered distractedly.

“Jamie’s name after he went under. A reporter just asked me where he was and knew that we traveled together to Montana. She had his full fake name.”

A loud breath sounded through the phone. “This shit keeps getting deeper and deeper. Who was running the operation in Montana, Stella?”

“I’m not sure, but Patrick would know.” Stella racked her brain to see if she could recall the name of the agent who’d talked Jamie into going undercover. “I’ll ask him.”

“Okay. I mean, I just don’t get what sort of operation is going on where they’re letting agents use their own name to fly back to DC to inform on…” he trailed off. “It doesn’t really matter. We just need to make sure we protect you.”

“I didn’t tell her anything. I said I couldn’t answer her questions.”

“That’s an accurate answer. Jack Ryder is a name that’s top secret, unless he fucking flew to DC using it.” Greg cussed under his breath. “You did well. Let me do some digging. Did you get her name?”

“No.” Stella inwardly chided herself for that misstep.

“It’s okay, Stella.” Greg cleared his throat. “Have you heard from Harris lately?”

“No, but I have a couple of ideas and I still think he’s the way to get this thing settled.”

“What do you mean?” Greg asked.

“I think if I get Agent Harris to ask if I would be willing to wear a wire, then all I have to do is get Jamie to talk about what he did. I already set it up for him and he said that’s the only way that he’d believe what I told him anyway. I honestly think it’s just a matter of time before he sets it up.”

“Oh, so all you have to do is get him to talk about what he did and not incriminate you in the process.” Greg’s voice was amused. “That sounds easy as pie.”

“You don’t know him. He’s been talking my ear off for a year.” And she was used to being underestimated.

“You can certainly try, but we need to have other contingencies in place if that doesn’t work.” He’d stopped laughing, realizing she was serious.

She smiled into the phone. “Oh ye of little faith.”

“Oh ye of protect your ass.”

“You have a tough job.” She laughed. “I appreciate you.”

“I’m sure you do. That’s why you pay me as much as you do.”

Stella laughed at the socially inept statement; she wasn’t surprised the smartest people usually had difficulty with communication. She didn’t care if she and Greg could have great conversations or if he thought she was stupid, just as long as he did his job.

“Talk later, Greg,” Stella said and clicked end on her phone. She immediately voxed Patrick. “Breaker, breaker. Hairy Ball. It’s Magic Box. What’s your twenty?”

A few seconds later, Patrick’s amused voice came across. “Fuck Hairy Ball. I’m headed home. Why?”

“You got a few minutes for a drink with me? Finnegan’s?”

“Anything for you, Magic Box.”

George leaned back in the chair and stretched his arms above his head. He had a pen behind his ear and Spotify playing on his computer. Papers were scattered all over the hotel’s desk. He was covering the race up to the primary elections and the election was still a year out. The potential candidates ran the gamut from political elite to up-and-comers. He was already bored by all the papers recycling the same stories. Hell, he was bored with his own story. This certainly wasn’t what he thought he’d be writing about when he’d agreed to use El to get back into journalism. He wanted to be writing cutting edge articles about things that mattered, not doing feel-good pieces for political campaigns.

Senator Ashby had asked him on the campaign trail because Jessica had given him the nod. George didn’t know what to think about the fact that she vouched for him after all these years. He’d thanked her when he saw her his first day. She’d aged, just like he had, but overall she looked the same, her wavy red hair was pulled into a tight ponytail and she was wearing a suit, every inch the young businesswoman. During the course of the last couple of weeks they saw each other routinely and were cordial.

He had the news on mute while he was writing, but he looked up at the TV and saw Stella holding a press conference. He smiled seeing her; he missed her. She was in professional mode and had her fake smile affixed to her very kissable lips. Then he noticed her right hand was in a cast. He sat upright and found the remote to turn up the volume.

“We appreciate you respecting his privacy right now,” she said soberly.

“Stella...how’s the hand?” a reporter called.

“How long will you be in a cast?” another asked.

“What happened?”

She looked down sheepishly. “I lost a fight with the treadmill yesterday.” She shrugged like “what are you going to do, you know?” and he almost bought it until she used her fake smile again. She was getting good at lying through her teeth. It made him very nervous.

George ran a hand through his unruly hair. He was pissed. He’d talked with her last night and she hadn’t mentioned breaking her hand. He sighed. “What the fuck am I going to do with you?” he asked TV El.

She smiled another fake smile and walked off the screen with reporters still yelling questions.

George pulled out his phone and voxed Stella. “You need to fucking call me.” He looked out his window. “Now.”

He selected Patrick next. “Hey, is Stella staying with y’all this week? What happened to her arm?”

His phone dinged immediately. It was Patrick, voxing.

“She’s staying on and off, why?”

“Because I just fucking saw her on TV with a broken hand or arm or...”

“Jamie,” Patrick responded immediately. “She punched him.”

George stared at the phone.
When the fuck was she going to tell him that
? Jealousy crept up his spine and settled in his throat. Of course she’d told Patrick.

“10-4,” George said and voxed Stella again.

“Stella Eugenia Murphy. I will come back to DC and spank your ass. Call me NOW!” He didn’t keep the anger out of his voice—he wanted her to hear it loud and clear.

“Okay. So I’m trying to get Jamie to admit to everything, but I need to get him somewhere where he won’t suspect that’s what I’m doing.”

Stella and Patrick were sitting at their old stools at Finnegan’s, knocking back beers. It was almost like old times, except that Owen was behind the bar. When they’d come in, he’d given her the third degree about Patrick as well. Stella was positive George must’ve said something to Owen about keeping tabs on her. It was ridiculous, but she understood it, especially after hearing his latest vox, which she was ignoring.