R. Griffin - Seamless

“Sure,” Mille answered. She was busy typing away on her laptop.

Zipping up the jacket, Stella opened the front door and took a step into the snow. She sank to her knee. She loved the snow when it fell in the city and covered everything. It was like a makeover for the entire place; it covered all the ugly and made you only see the beautifulness of where you were. Once the snow had been there for a while, you started to remember the ugliness again. The snow turned black with dirt and the roads iced over, making them impossible to traverse. But for the time when the snow fell it was like heaven on earth, a quiet, lovely façade that melted away to reveal a gritty reality.

“Patrick?” she called as she tried to maneuver through the snow.

He looked up at her, surprised.

“Can I help?”

He shook his head. “Go back inside; I got this,” he replied shortly.

Stella awkwardly walked toward her car and opened her trunk to grab her shovel and scraper. She shuffled to where he was and began shoveling.

“I’m serious, El, I got this.”

“You don’t have to do everything by yourself and you can certainly talk to me.” She looked at him, hoping he’d give something away.

“I…I’m trying to sort out some things.” He continued to shovel.

“Like what?” She wasn’t going to let this go.

He looked back at the house and put his hands on his hips, his chest heaving from exertion. “Like leaving DC.”

Stella stopped shoveling and examined his face, it gave nothing away. “What? Why?”

He shrugged and started shoveling again. Stella wondered if she’d be able to get it out of him or if she should talk to Billy.

“Patrick?”

He looked up at her, his eyes betraying pain and indecision.

“Your person?” She smiled slightly.

He nodded. “My person. Now fucking shovel.”

* * *

It had been a week since she’d told everyone she was engaged and she’d stayed at her house since then, mainly because it seemed like Patrick needed to sort things out with Millie, especially if he was thinking about moving. Stella had just stepped out of her car and saw she had a new Voxer message from Patrick.

“El, I think Jamie may have found out you’re working with the FBI.” His voice was quiet and strained. “Be careful.”

Stella felt a flutter in her stomach, nerves that would turn into vomit. Pulling out her medicine, she cussed as she took the last pill. Fuck, I can’t run out of those right now. She always knew that Jamie finding out she was working with the FBI was a possibility, but it still stirred fear that she’d been suppressing for months. She walked into the FBI building and put her bag on the screening belt, her thoughts swirling out of control. Hopefully Harris would tell her things were on schedule and they would arrest Jamie, but she couldn’t shake the ominous feeling she had in her gut. She’d come to the FBI building during her lunch hour, so she was in a black suit and heels, looking like every other professional female in the building. She walked to the conference room where Agent Harris told her he’d meet her.

She opened the door and there were two men in cheap suits sitting at the table with Agent Harris. She stared at them for a beat, trying to figure out what was going on and why she’d been summoned. Stella wasn’t doing witness protection; they’d just have to figure something else out.

“Hi, Stella. These are Special Agents Moore and Stevens. Have a seat.” He gave her an uncomfortable look.

A twinge of fear played at the base of Stella’s neck.

“Sorry I haven’t gotten with you sooner, but I took the recording you got for us up the chain. We were finally able to interview Jack Ryder last week.”

Stella exhaled in relief. This is where he was going to tell her that he got the go-ahead to arrest him.

“The ATF attorneys wouldn’t let us ask anything about his undercover assignment. They basically shut the interview down before it began.”

Stella never sat, but was standing across the table from Agent Harris. She took him in, his forced casual demeanor, his grey pinstriped suit, his pink tie and carefully mussed hair. “B-but, you have the recording,” she stammered, her voice an octave higher than normal. She began pacing the length of the small conference room. Her hopes were crashing around her like waves and she could feel the undertow grab her, trying to pull her under, flipping her head over heels until she finally drowned.

“I know, but it’s grainy and there are some parts that we can’t hear.” Agent Harris’ voice brought her back to reality and she looked at him, at his short brown hair and non-descript features. He looked embarrassed now, as if he couldn’t believe this was the outcome of the investigation. “I believe you, but what I think doesn’t matter that much. It’s all about what the US Attorney feels like he can pursue and because there’s a four-year long undercover investigation in jeopardy, they’ve told me to shut it down.” He sighed, resigned. “I have to shut it down.”

Stella felt like she’d been punched in the gut. They didn’t care that an agent took part in a bombing that killed three agents because of a four-year investigation. They didn’t care that an agent shot an attorney because of a fucking four-year investigation.

“You have to shut it down,” she repeated. “Are you fucking kidding me?” She stalked over to the door, put her hand on the knob, and toyed with the idea of leaving immediately. Stella had so many choice words for him, but her voice failed her.

One of the agents nodded in confirmation. “I’m afraid so, Ms. Murphy. The investigation has been closed.”

Pulling her voice out of her ass, she allowed the hardness she’d been pushing away for the past year and a half take over her entire body. “You know, I’m sure the families of Trey Williams, Jeffery Riggins, and Peter Richardson will appreciate that one of the guys that killed their loved ones is back doing his job.” Her voice sounded stronger than she felt. “I’m sure they’ll be able to sleep better at night knowing that you had information to put him away but chose not to pursue it.”

“As you are aware, any information you have regarding this incident is top secret and cannot be disclosed to anyone. If it is disclosed, that would be a violation of federal law,” the other agent threatened.

“I’m a fucking witness. What I know is who killed those people and shot me.” Stella was incredulous. “That’s not top secret, that’s testimony, asshole.”

“The US Attorney told me that they would pursue charges against you if you disclose anything from your time in Montana,” Agent Harris said, not even looking at her now.

Stella paced the entire length of the room again before responding. “Okay, then I can disclose what was admitted to me by Jack Ryder,” she suggested, thinking out loud.

Agent Harris shook his head and looked down.

“You know what, Agent Harris? Fuck you. And fuck the FBI. You guys can charge me if you want, I’m sure that will go over really well—witness got dirty agent to admit his involvement in a terrorist act and witness is facing charges for telling the truth.” She stalked out the conference room and slammed the door.

She pressed her phone. “Patrick…” her voice failed her again, but she refused to cry. She was not fucking crying. “We’ve got to go back to the drawing board.”

“What’s your twenty?” Patrick’s voice echoed in the hall as she exited the building.

“Leaving now. Headed to your house tonight. We’ll talk then.”

Her thoughts were so jumbled she didn’t even know what emotions she had.

This changed everything.

The weekend after the meeting with Agent Harris, the one where he bent her over and shoved a pole up her ass, she had plans to spend the night with Millie. A nice, quiet, wine-heavy girls’ night was exactly what she needed. No boys allowed.

When she’d told George what happened with Harris, he couldn’t believe it and made her conference call Greg; they talked for an hour about what her legal options were. It wasn’t very pretty. Patrick had been less surprised and listened to her rant about the FBI and the ATF; they drank and then passed out. Millie was at a reception on the Hill that night, and without her around, she and Patrick were able to talk frankly about her situation. He’d called it “their” situation, but she knew it was hers—it wasn’t his, or theirs, and she was trying to come up with a solution.

Stella took a sip of her third glass of wine and pushed her empty plate across the coffee table. She and Millie were lounging in the den watching Pitch Perfect, laughing hysterically and decompressing from her horrific week. Billy was out of town all month for an investigation in Chicago and Patrick was in Atlanta with Jesse, doing God knew what at football parties. Stella had met Millie at their house after work and made one of the meals she could cook, eggplant rollatini and a salad. She was looking forward to a night without talking about anything heavy, just chick flicks and wine.

“Okay, that had to be one of the funniest movies I’ve seen in a while,” Stella said, picking up their dinner plates.

“I liked the No Diggity part,” Millie agreed, taking a sip of her wine. “So what now? Do you want a romantic comedy? There’s one with Justin Timberlake—let’s watch that one. We could mute it and pause it when he has his shirt off.”

Stella’s laugh rang through the house. “Or we could drink every time we want him to break into song.”