Chapter 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.”
“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 my life, 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, I saw 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.
Jordan wraps his muscular arms around me and holds me until I calm down again.
Quietly, he says, “I won’t try to stop you, if you really think you need to do this on your own, Stella.
But I will say this—I’ve been friends with Wes for a long time.
And he’s never lost a witness. But the one time a witness abandoned the program, they died.
Wes doesn’t talk about it anymore, but I think that loss is why he did what he did to get you here.
Wes Jennings is one of the best people I know.
He’s got great instincts and just as importantly, he genuinely cares about the witnesses in his charge.
If he thinks this is the right thing to do, then I can’t disagree with him. ”
“I don’t—"
“And just so you know,” he pulls a phone from his pocket, “since Wes had to tag me in, he wanted to make sure I can see what’s going on all the time, so he gave me this.” Jordan scrolls through the camera feeds in my home, then looks at me and smiles. He’s so proud of himself.
My eyes flutter as I try to control my rage. “Why are you smiling?”
“Because now you know you’re safe. You have me watching out for you, 24/7, and I can be here before you blink. It’s better this way. You’re safe now.” He smiles.
I swallow my bile. My voice is shaded with darkness, “You think the answer to me needing some space from all of this big brother madness is one more person who has access to the cameras in my house?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, I know I’m one more person, but I’m the only one who has access to the cameras and lives five minutes away. This is the smartest play. This way I can watch over you.”
My volume is out of my control. “I do not NEED A BABYSITTER!”
“Well, you sure needed one this morning, didn’t you?” he barks back.
“Get out!” I find my feet and stand over him.
“Are you kidding me? Stella, be reasonable—"
“OUT!”