Tension

by R. L. Griffin

  “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.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Missing Since Montana

  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.”

  “That’s a pretty thin story.” Jesse sighed. “They find your car yet?”

  “No. I know the story is stupid, but I don’t have any other ideas and neither did Greg. You got any people that can help find my car?”

  “I’ll check with my people.” Jesse laughed.

  “I know.” Stella laughed at their lame story. “I’m so done with all this. I’m going to miss my evaluation tomorrow at the GC’s office. I’ll have to resign.” She sighed and gazed out at the water.

  “What’s next?” he asked.

  “George and I are driving to Atlanta tomorrow. I want to take you both to dinner. I’ll make reservations at Chops.”

  “Okay,” he said hesitantly. “Why the turnaround?”

  “We’re getting ahead of this story. Greg sugges
ted we get out there and start making the media work for us. I plan on taking my own lawyer’s advice.”

  Jesse laughed again. “That’s smart.”

  “You’re my hero, J. Thanks for saving me, a number of times, in the past couple of months.” She cleared her throat. “Thanks for bringing George with you.”

  “You’d do the same for me,” he answered.

  “Well, I don’t have private jets at my disposal, but if I did, damn right I would,” she said quietly. She cleared her throat. “You know, this hotel is awesome. I’m going to have to come back.”

  “It looked nice enough. I had to get back to do that charity auction I was telling you about.”

  “Oh, right. How did that go?” Jesse volunteered for an annual charity auction event where dates with Falcons players were auctioned to the highest bidder. “Did you get the highest bid?”

  “No, but it was close.” He laughed again. Jesse’s demeanor was making Stella uneasy.

  “I’m drinking what’s called a Pusser’s Painkiller. It’s fantastic.” Stella changed the subject as she took another sip out of her coconut.

  “Stella...” Jesse said.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m glad you didn’t have to kill him. It would’ve changed you in a way that you can’t come back from. It would’ve made you just like him.”

  George and Stella walked over to the marina near their hotel, admiring the night, the moon, the ocean, and the general splendor. The slips were full of enormous yachts and Stella had never seen anything like it. They walked, hand in hand, to the end of the dock to Half Shell Raw Bar, a place that the bartender at the hotel told them about. It was a total hole in the wall type place, very typical for Key West. There were long picnic tables and benches scattered with mismatched candles and cutlery. Everything looked like it had seen better days—they don’t put on airs in Key West.

  They were seated in a cozy booth that overlooked the water. They ordered and sat across from each other, both looking out at the ocean. Stella practically clapped her hands together in excitement; she wanted to order the entire menu. She finally decided to start with raw oysters.

  “You know I can’t think of a better way to spend two days than with you, but this won’t happen again, El.”

  Stella cocked her head in question. “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve got to tell the FBI about Jamie. You can’t let him get away with this.”

  She was about to protest when the server came with their appetizer, a dozen oysters on the half shell. Stella squeezed lemon on an oyster, shook a few drops of hot sauce and a dab of horseradish, then picked up the shell and slurped the oyster down her throat.

  George swallowed hard watching Stella eat the raw oyster. Shaking his head to clear the sexual thoughts away, he said, “You’re not going to distract me with that.” He pointed at her.

  “What?” She shrugged innocently.

  “I’m serious, Stella. You’ve lied to me for months and you just let him get away.”

  “I haven’t lied.” She looked down and prepared another oyster.

  “You omitted, damn it. Don’t lawyer me. I thought we agreed we wouldn’t lie to each other. We’d tell each other everything. You gave me this whole spiel about how you love me like a love song or some shit, but you’ve been lying to me since you woke up.”

  She started shaking her head, all of her fears coming true. “No. George, everything I’ve told you is true.” Heat rushed through her; he was going to leave her. But he just told me he was going to marry me.

  “No, Stella, it’s not. You didn’t go to Atlanta to spend time with your mom. You were training.”

  “My mom was insane about me going to Atlanta,” she said, protesting.

  “Tell me you weren’t training.”

  “I...I can’t.”

  “Tell me you weren’t trying to find him.” He stared intensely into her eyes.

  “I can’t.”

  “I don’t like it. We need to clarify what I meant when I said we would tell each other everything.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek. George reached over to wipe it away.

  “Tell me you’re not leaving me,” she mirrored his words.

  He shook his head and her heart cracked open, she grasped her chest and tried to breathe.

  “No, Love, I’m not leaving you.” He smirked at her belief that every conflict would lead to him leaving.

  Stella looked up at him, not believing she heard his words right. “You’re not?”

  “Nope,” he said, smiling his full-on, two-dimple smile. “On one condition.”

  The server came right then and put their food down on the table. They’d both ordered the catch of the day. Hers was grilled; George’s was fried.

  Stella looked out the window toward the ocean. “What’s the condition?” she asked hesitantly.

  “You see a therapist,” George said and popped a french fry in his mouth.

  “What?”

  “A ther-a-pist,” George mouthed slowly, mocking her.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re fucked up. I love you and whatever, but I need you to be okay. I couldn’t take it if I lost you. I need you to come back to me. You’ve been missing since Montana.”

  “George,” she whined.

  “Are you whining?” His eyebrows rose with surprise.

  She averted her eyes, ate another oyster, and then drank the rest of her draft beer. “No.”

  “We’re in agreement, then. Therapy it is,” George declared. He patted her hand. “I’ll go with you if you want me to, El.” He chuckled and motioned with his eyes to a rowdy table behind them. “At least the therapist won’t ask you to put a parrot on your head.”

  Stella turned her head and almost laughed out loud at the sight of a couple who, in fact, did have parrot hats on their heads. It was clear they were getting married; the woman’s parrot was wearing a veil. They were both grinning from ear to ear even though they looked ridiculous. The entire party was laughing and smiling like they didn’t have a care in the world.

  Stella wondered if she would ever be that happy.

  Stella and George held hands as they walked down Margaret Street. Stella eyed a tattoo parlor and pulled George inside with a smile on her face.

  “What are you doing?” George asked, taking in the stark shop. There were only three empty chairs and two artists were hovered over a binder at the back table. A woman with violet hair and several facial piercings turned slowly and looked George up and down.

  Stella scowled, jealous. “I want a tattoo.”

  “I’m sure you do. You want a butterfly or flower?” the bitch asked sarcastically.

  Stella turned around and took off her shirt, exposing the black string bikini that George had bought for her. “Oh, I think a flower will go really well with my others,” she retorted.

  George shook his head and smiled.

  The other artist walked over to Stella. “Holy shit, that’s awesome! Where did you get that?” He reached out and ran his palm down her left shoulder blade. “You want to see some of my work?”

  Stella recoiled from his touch. “Yeah, sure.”

  He rushed get the binder full of his tattoo work and passed it over to her, rocking back and forth on his heels as she perused.

  She looked through a few pages and winked at George. She pulled out a wad full of cash from her pocket. It felt really good to be spending Jamie’s money on this tattoo.

  “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Look at My Moves

  George rolled over and threw his arm over Stella’s naked body, both of them groaning at the same time. “I haven’t drunk that much in a very, very long time,” George whispered.

  “Water. I need water,” Stella croaked.

  George squinted, testing whether this motion alone would make the pain in his head triple. It did and he immediately closed his eyes. “Remember, we put water and vitamins by the bed last night—
or that might just be wishful thinking.”

  Stella ran her hand over his bare chest, making him stand at attention even in his hungover state. He opened his eyes and they went wide immediately. Stella was naked but for a pair of heels that were covered in a Wonder Woman motif.

  “What are you wearing?!” he cried, smile evident in his voice.

  “The same thing I had on last night,” Stella laughed. “Nothing.” Then she noticed she was wearing shoes and looked down at them. “Oh My Shit! Those are awesome.”

  “Where did you get those?” George ran his hand down her leg.

  “No idea.” She laughed even harder, rolling over on her back to look up at the ceiling. “Last night was fun. It was, like, the first date we’ve had in years.”

  “Now, that can’t be true,” George said, turning to stare up at the ceiling, too.

  “Think about it. We broke up, I got shot, and then with all the media, we haven’t been anywhere.” Stella put her hand dangerously low on his abdomen.

  George’s breath hitched; he didn’t understand how her touch made him turn into a twelve-year-old boy.

  “You know what, that’s not true. You took me to lunch after we got our Christmas tree.”

  “That’s just sad; when we get back we will have to remedy that.” George took her hand and kissed her knuckles.

  “You gonna take me on a date to the movies?” Stella giggled. “Pick me up at my door and everything?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “Tabard Inn?”

  “Sure, only if you order the donuts,” he agreed.

  Stella faked a dry heave. “Can we not talk about food right now? I’m trying not to vomit.”

  “You mean we can’t have sex?” George asked, moving Stella’s hand farther south.