Page 16 of Stella's Christmas Rescue
“I don’t like it.”
“Well, neither do I. But with my boss breathing down my neck about Stella, our budget cuts, and all the rest of it, I’m out of good options. Either she stays here, and we risk the worst, or she is kicked out of the program, I get fired, Riker goes free and gets another 1,200 people murdered, and Stella ends up floating in a river somewhere. There are no more good options for this situation.”
My stomach twists into a knot. “Maybe less colorful language for the woman I slept with last night.”
“I didn’t mean to make light of it, Jordan, but this is the reality I’m faced with, and I don’t like it any more than you do. That’s why I need your help.”
I sigh and run my fingers through my hair. “You know, before Max ran away yesterday, my life was so much simpler. I got up, worked out, checked my plants, went to work, came home, and hung out with my dog. Now…this.”
Wes smirks, then lustily asks, “Can I trade lives with you for like, a day?”
I laugh. “I thought you were a happy family man.”
“I am, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything, but one day of quiet sounds like heaven.”
“Tell you what, I’ll trade you for a day, but I get to have a go at Jennifer.”
Wes laughs, “You still mad she picked me at the bar that night?”
“Nah, you two are perfect together. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Alright,” he sighs. “I have to check on the team, and we’ll be heading out. Any other questions?”
I shake my head. “I just hope I’m up to it. Been a while since I did anything like this.”
“You were in the Special Forces, man. I’m sure it’ll all come back to you, like when you threw that asshole.”
I laugh, “I don’t even remember doing it. I saw him lift a gun at her, and everything went red.”
“Yeah, I saw the footage. I know that look on your face, Jordan. Just like the old days.There’s a reason we called you the Hulk, you know.”
“Go home, Captain America. I’ve got it from here.”
6
My foot won’t stop tapping. It’s a nervous habit from childhood, and I’ve never been able to stop it completely. My grandfather used to say that I had too much energy, and it had to go somewhere. He’s high energy, like me. That’s why we took ballroom dancing lessons together—to burn off the energy. Says we get too stressed out, if we don’t do something physical to take the edge off. He’s right about that.
Even though he wasn’t interested in the sport, even when I whined about it, every Tuesday and Thursday for nine years, he made sure we danced. It was our special time together, just me and him. And I am grateful every day that I had that with him, especially now since he’s sick and I can’t see him.
After our parents died, me, my brother, and my sister went to live with our grandparents. They are wonderful people, and they worked hard to raise us. Overtime, holidays, weekends, they worked if they could. They were determined to make sure we had the chance to go to college or a trade school, that we had whatever we needed to succeed. At their ages, they should have retired years ago. Instead, they raised another crop of children.
And no matter how much Grandpa worked at his factory job, be it long hours or extra shifts, he always had the energy to take me to our ballroom lessons. I was never a competitor—it wasn’t about that for me. Dancing has always been my comfort food. Grandma says no matter what happened when I was a kid, as long as I danced, I was happy.
But I can’t dance in a kitchen with blood splatter on the floor, so my foot taps instead.
Jordan and Wes come down the stairs, laughing and carrying on, like I wasn’t just attacked in my own home. Okay, Hanson’s home. Whatever. I interrupt their merriment to ask, “Wes, did Jordan convince you to get me out of here?”
“Uh, no. Like I said, that’s not up to me. It’s up to my boss, and she has already said you’re staying put for now.”
“That guy was going to kidnap me and bring me to Riker, Wes,” my voice shakes, but I say it anyway, “We both know what that means. And you’re telling me it doesn’t matter.”
He sighs and says slowly, “Stella, it matters. Of course, your safety matters. I’m sorry there isn’t more I can do for you right now. As soon as I can, I will get you out of Floyd. I promise. I just need you to hang on a little longer.”
I’d throw up again in response, but I’m running on empty. “Fine. Go.”
He huffs and says, “I’m leaving you in good hands.” Wes says his farewells, collects his crime scene agents, and leaves.
Jordan kneels in front of me and asks, “What can I do for you right now? Tell me anything and I’ll do it.”
