Page 17 of Stella's Christmas Rescue
“Beat the crap out of Wes for getting me killed.”
He smiles kindly. “He’s not getting you killed, Stella, but I promise if he does, I will kick his ass.”
“Oh, sure, take his side.” I fold my arms and look away. His handsome face is distracting me from my anger, and it’s not fair.
He softly says, “He is doing the best he can with the resources he has. They cut his budget and now his hands are tied. It doesn’t help that you keep breaking the rules?—"
“He told you about that, too?” I’m livid.
Jordan dissents, “He’s not telling me some big secret, Stella. He needed to explain what’s going on here, so I can watch out for you. I need to know what’s going on, or I can’t do my job.”
I’m confused, “What job?”
“Like I said, his budget has been slashed, so he had to get creative to protect you, because you keep breaking the rules, so you keep having to get relocated, which is expensive, and his boss wanted to cut you from the program because you’re so expensive. Do you know that he forged his boss’ signature just to get you here so I can look out for you?”
My blood boils. “So, I’m a huge liability for Wes, and I should just be grateful he takes pity on me?”
“I don’t mean it like that, Stella. I mean, he might lose his job trying to keep you safe.”
“And I might lose mylife, if he doesn’t. Who has more at stake here, Jordan?”
He sighs loudly. “He got you to Floyd, so I can help take care of you. It’s not easy for him to admit when he can’t do something, but he did it, because he wants to protect you. And he’s risking a lot to keep you safe, so he needs you to be patient with the system.”
I don’t want to sound bitchy, but I have had it. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what is so special about you, last night aside, that he risked his precious job just to get me here?”
“Wes and I were in the Special Forces together in the Marines.”
“Special Forces…you mean the Green Berets?”
He nods. “Sorta. But it is called Force RECON.”
I laugh angrily. “So, what in the hell are you doing in Floyd, Virginia, Jordan? This isn’t exactly the CIA.”
“So?”
“I thought when Special Forces guys retired they became CIA agents.”
He smiles, “You watch too many movies.”
“Why Floyd?”
“After what felt like several lifetimes in over two decades in the service, I decided I like the quiet life. A simple life. I like being just a civilian these days?—"
“And now you’re stuck with me,” I say. My rage keeps wanting to escape my mouth, and I try to hold it back, but as the moments pass, I’m getting worse at keeping my tongue in check.
He shakes his head. “Wes needs help, and I’m happy to do it. I just need you to look at this rationally and calm down?—"
“And I just need to stay alive!” I shake my head and grouse, “That is it.” I get up and run upstairs. My luggage is stuffed in the tiny closet, and I have to yank it out from between the clothes. Despite my years of ballroom training, I still end up on my ass when I fall. I’m too distracted by the chaos to watch my footing, or anything else really. I land next to the bed. Just a few inches back and I would have landed on it, which would have been nice. Instead, I bruise my tailbone. Because this shit sandwich of a day just keeps adding layers.
My whole life is screwed. I wish I never knew what Riker was doing. I could have been blissfully unaware for years. Instead, Isaw what I saw, and I just had to go and say something. Now, my life is nothing but paranoia and pain. Why couldn’t I just keep my mouth shut? Tommy Kowalski’s holey head is in my mind again, and I remember why I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I’m in tears by the time Jordan walks in.
He kneels next to me and asks, “What the hell?”
I sniff loudly, “I’m done waiting for Wes and Witness Protection and their bullshit budgets. I can’t do it anymore, Jordan. I’ll do better on my own.”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that! You don’t know what it was like! Or what it’s been like, the past three years! You don’t know…no one knows what it’s like to be on your own, watching over your shoulder constantly, praying they don’t go after your family…” No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop the tears. I choke on them, in between my words, “I can’t keep living like this, Jordan. I’ll lose my mind. There’s always someone watching me. Everything I do, everything I say, it’s all monitored. I can’t get away from that, while I’m here. And I can’t stop remembering the broken plate sinking into my attacker’s finger bones.” I crawl onto my hands and knees, and I feel like a cat about to wretch.
