“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.