Chapter 7

Stella

My head is muddled, body aching and it’s not just because of the lack of caffeine or the goodbye sex I shouldn’t have had.

It’s the goodbye part I’m struggling with. I shouldn’t be. I’ve had plenty of flings before and never gotten attached, but somewhere in the recess of my mind, I know it’s unhealthy not to trust anyone.

But as great as Jagger might be in bed, and as appealing as he is, even if I wanted to carry on seeing him, it’s not even an option.

We live on different continents and I do not do long distance. Not for him, not for anyone.

By the time we reach the office, I’m desperate for a shower, and even more desperate to be away from him.

My truck is where I parked it, hidden around the back, and inside the small garage as per Jagger’s instructions.

I climb out, stretching, and yawning as Jagger does the same. Except his eyes never still as he searches the area around the office.

He gestures to the door. “You want coffee?”

What I want has no importance, so I shake my head. “I’m going back to the motel. The coffee’s better and I need a shower.”

A faint smile appears before it disappears. “And you need to report in to Waylon?”

I nod, and slide my laptop bag over my shoulder, while I heft my overnight bag to my other hand. “You must owe Matt a progress report too.”

He shakes his head. “There’s nothing to report.”

I slide my hand into my pocket and pull out my keys. “I’ll let you know if I find out anything useful at the power station.”

His eyebrow rises. “How? You won’t give me your cell number and the coverage is still patchy out here.”

I force a shallow smile. “You had a deadline, didn’t you? If you can’t catch him by tonight, you leave for Seattle?”

He folds his arms over his chest and leans against his truck. “That’s the plan.”

I don’t look him in the eye as I back up, blinking rapidly to hide the stupid tears I don’t understand. “Then I’ll call you tonight with an update. Does seven work for you?”

A frown is growing on his face, and he’s looking like he wants to say something, but he seems to realize there’s no point. “I was planning on getting something to eat at Ken’s then I’ll be checking in at the motel.”

My heart starts to thump against my rib cage, more for what he’s not saying that what he is.

It would be incredibly easy to stay another night, and drag this out a little longer, spend the night together, share a steak at Ken’s in a repeat performance.

I’m torn between relief he’s asking, and the desire to get the hell away from him.

“Why don’t you meet me there? We could have dinner and debrief before we leave.”

If he intended the pun, the humor falls flat, mostly because there’s nothing I’d like more than him debriefing me one last time.

I shrug, sure I’m losing my grip on my self-control as I try to think of how I can do this without feeling more conflicted than I already do.

“I’ll think about it,” I say.

And I will, I’ll be hard-pressed not to think about Jagger long after this weekend is over.

A lump is forming in my throat, that I can’t deal with right now.

Unable to say goodbye, I turn my back on him and make my way back to the truck.

He seems to take the hint, and I hear him climbing the steps to the office as I unlock my truck and climb inside.

I can’t risk hanging around, so I switch the engine on, and make sure the music is loud enough to drown out my own thoughts.

Despite my best efforts, I check the rearview as I pull away from the office but I refuse to admit my feelings towards Jagger are down to anything other than the conditioning targeted advertising for Valentines’ Weekend.

My fingers clutch the steering wheel as I drive through the reserve, only spotting a few animals in the distance as I reach the gate.

Since it’s still unlocked, I drive straight through, and ignoring every impulse in my body, I don’t stop driving until I reach the motel.

I still have a job to do, and I’ll be damned if I let one amazing sex marathon destroy everything I’ve worked for.

Weary and emotional, I slide from my seat and take the key from my pocket.

I make it two feet from the door of my ground floor room when I notice the door is open.

I frown and glance down the line of rooms in case the cleaner is inside.

Given it’s not even seven-thirty and I see no sign of a cart or anything to indicate anyone is around this early, it’s highly unlikely.

I cautiously take a step forward, heart in my throat as I push open the door.

The entire room has been trashed. Sheets ripped from the bed, drawers pulled out, and my bag’s contents dumped in the middle of the room.

I back up, adrenaline mixing with anger that the security is so lousy this has happened.

I should call the police and the manager, then Waylon, but none of those people come to mind.

Stupidly, in my frazzled state, it’s Jagger who I want to call.

I curse at myself and use my jacket to close the door and pull out my cell as I walk toward the manager’s office.

At the message on a phone, no one has the number to, bile rises to my throat as I read the text.

Who the fuck have you pissed off now?

Call me.

Mom.

***

Jagger

Sunday 6.56pm

After yet another fruitless day, and no word from Stella, I’m back at the restaurant wondering if she’s had more luck than I have.

The parking lot is packed, but like the last time I was here, the Valentines’ Day shit is still on display.

As I lock my Jeep, I search the lot for Stella’s truck, and when I don’t see her, I head inside and hope I can get a table.

Ken is hanging around by the entrance when I arrive. He bobs his head in acknowledgment and excuses himself from the guests he’s serving.

“Didn’t see him then?”

I shake my head. “Unless he slipped past me. Won’t know until Matt gets back and we can do a headcount of the animals.”

Ken gestures to a table with a reserved sign on it and when I sit, he takes a seat opposite me. “That’s too bad. I know he had high hopes you’d catch him. He seems to be having a run of bad luck.”

“How so?”

Ken pours me a glass of water as he replies. “His kid was sick too recently, wasn’t he? Wound up in hospital and needed a kidney.”

I frown across at him and wonder why Matt didn’t mention that. “When was this?”

A knot forms on his wrinkled brow. “Not sure exactly. Last year around fall.”

Alarm bells start to go off in my head, and I’m about to ask Ken more questions when he stiffens in his chair as the door opens.

I look over my shoulder and see a young, uniformed state trooper heading towards us.

Ken mutters under his breath and excuses himself as I grow increasingly anxious as I wait for Stella to call, I get to my feet and decide to go check on the laptop.

As I walk past, nodding at them, the officer shifts to stop me. “Mr. Lincoln? You’re working at the reserve this weekend with Stella Knight?”

I nod. “That’s me. Is there a problem?”

He looks me over before he answers. “When was the last time you heard from or saw her?”

I blink. “Why?”

He lowers his voice and looks more at Ken than me. “We had a report of a possible break-in at the motel. We’d like to get a hold of Ms. Knight to confirm she’s safe. But she’s not answering her phone.”

My stomach muscles contract as I inwardly flinch. “I haven’t heard from her since this morning”

Ken’s frown only grows as the officer hands me a card. “If you could ask her to check in with us, we’d appreciate it. We need to establish if a crime has taken place.”

I take the card and slide it into my pocket. “I have no way of contacting her, but if she calls, I’ll be sure to tell her.”

He gives me another nod, and when he starts to ask Ken how his family is, I use the opportunity to put my mind at ease.

Hiding my own worry, I push open the door and jump in my Jeep.

The laptop Stella set up is still on the passenger seat, so I open it and do what will be my final headcount before I see Matt in the morning.

Awareness settling over me, my pulse speeds as I triple check the bait animals. Anger flowing through me, I slam my fist down on the dash.

Three of the red lights showing as inactive.

The poacher moved in the second I locked the fucking gate.

***

Stella

Sunday 7.08pm

I’m parked on the side of the highway, trying not to panic while I sip a cup of terrible coffee and force myself to eat the now stale breakfast burrito, I bought this morning.

I’ve managed to find a hotspot, and in a ridiculous attempt to stay busy, I’ve completed most of the pen test, and I’ve even visited the power station, all in a vain attempt to put off doing what should obviously take precedence.

I glance at my burner phone and wonder how the hell my mom managed to trace it to me.

But what bothers me more is the why.

Considering I haven’t spoken to her in seven years and the last call ended with me telling her to fuck off and leave me alone, it’s not a conversation that will yield anything I haven’t already figured out.

I blow out a breath and pick up my now useless burner phone. My fingers hover over the call button as I think about the other phone calls I’m supposed to be making.

But Waylon and Jagger will both have to wait.

I clear my throat, take a sip of my bad coffee, and wait.

Her voice comes out terse as always. “You took your time.”

I run my hands through my hair and grimace at my reflection. “I’m working.”

She snorts. “Of course you are.”

I blow out a breath and steel myself for what’s to come. “How’d you find me?”

She chuckles. “Same way I find anyone who needs to be found. You can change your name, but you can’t change your face.”

Shit. Facial recognition. I thought I’d been careful. “Where?”

This time she sounds genuinely concerned, which makes a shiver of dread run through my body.

My mother doesn’t do emotions. Just like she doesn’t do relationships.

In her line of work, where she has access to secrets I can only dare to dream of, she’s the reason I grew up paranoid and unable to make friends.

And now it seems that paranoia hasn’t been enough.

“Not the place I wanted to see it. There’s a contract out on you. And it’s not just for murder, they want extra and are willing to pay. I can send you a server code if you want to see it?”

My bravado evaporates as the enormity of what she’s saying lands like an anvil on my shoulders.

Someone hates me enough to want me dead. And are smart enough to know how to access the one place murder and rape can be organized without anyone blinking an eye.

And thanks to the US Navy who wanted to spy on everyone, the only place where every damn user is anonymous.

The dark web.

My voice comes out weak. “I don’t need to see it. When was it placed?”

She releases a long sigh. “I got a ping when your face came up a few days ago. You should know. This isn’t an ordinary contract. They have specific requirements. They want you raped, and they want the pictures.”

My stomach roils as I think of every single man I’ve turned down, and every man I’ve taken great pleasure in humiliating given the chance.

Karma is one fucking mean bitch.

I can’t seem to draw breath as she continues in a monotone as if this conversation bores her.

“I told you before you had your temper tantrum. You need to play by the boy’s rules or this sort of mess happens. You keep showing them up, then turning them down, you damage their fragile little egos. Men think they run the world, and they won’t tolerate a woman telling them they’re wrong.”

I close my eyes and try to think past the mounting panic growing inside me. “Can you clean it up?”

I hear the click of a lighter before she takes a long drag. “I don’t know. Maybe if one of mine had taken the hit.”

My breathing is starting to get uneven, and I have to open the window to help me to think.

“I’d ask if you have any friends, but I know you don’t have any other than Meredith Granger. And even she doesn’t really know you.”

I wince. Meredith knows me as a tech geek and fellow singleton who goes to her gym.

She doesn’t know I’m the daughter of the woman who could take down half the country’s servers if she wanted.

“Is there anyone who can help you? Anyone you can trust?”

I swallow hard, throat closing over as the last person I want floats to mind and the words he kept repeating…trust me.

“I think so,” I say.

“Then get the fuck out of Oregon. I’ll do what I can, but you wanted to be on your own, and this is the penalty.”

The line goes dead at precisely the same time I realize I’ll probably never make it home to Ellensburg if I don’t do something drastic.

***

Jagger

Monday 6.12am

I’m lying flat on my back, staring at the ceiling in my motel room, three doors down from what should have been Stella’s, and growing increasingly pissed off.

Not only is Stella AWOL, Matt isn’t answering his phone, and the money he promised for this weekend hasn’t shown up in my account.

I could haul my ass out of bed and go knock on his door, but there’s a chance his reason for not picking up is legitimate and related to his trip to Portland.

I blow out a breath and throw the covers back, so I can take a shower before I either hit the road or go pay Matt a visit.

I flick out a quick text to my brother to say I’ll be back before the end of the day, leave it on the cabinet and step into the bathroom ready to blast myself with hot water.

It’s hard not to think about where Stella’s been and whether she’s okay as I stand under the high-pressure showerhead.

If I’d had my way, we’d be showering together this morning, and I’d be trying to figure out whether this could be something other than sex.

Thoughts straying to her and how much she’s gotten under my skin in such a short space of time, I almost miss the sound of my phone ringing.

I switch off the shower and squint through the steam to see who’s calling as I wrap a towel around my waist.

When I see Dawson returning my text, I put it on speaker as I dry off. “Hey. How’s dad?”

Dawson yawns. “A little better. Still won’t take the antibiotics.”

I frown as I reach for my jeans. “You tell him he’ll wind up with pneumonia like last time?”

“You know how he is.”

I snort a laugh as I pull my shirt over my head. “Yeah, I do. Stubborn as fuck. I don’t know how mom put up with him.”

Dawson sighs and sounds about as tired as I’d expect him to. “I’m thinking about hiring a nursing student or someone to keep him company. His neighbor is moving and she used to drop by a few times a week. His face used to light up every time she came by. Dirty old man. Think that’s why he’s more depressed than usual.”

I pick up the phone and carry it back into the studio room. “Fifty-eight isn’t old but you’re right, we should hire someone to keep him company or convince him to move.”

I find the coffee and dump a travel pack of cereal into a bowl as he yawns again. “Yeah. I’ve tried talking to him about moving but he’s still got this idea you might come back. How’d your weekend go, anyway? You catch up with that old friend?”

I scowl as I pour some milk into the bowl. “After this weekend I don’t think I can call him a friend,” I mutter.

I shift the laptop back a little so I can put my bowl in front of me.

The movement unlocks the screen and it takes me a second to realize what I’m looking at.

I freeze, spoon halfway to my mouth as a message flashes on the screen.

I drop the spoon and with my eyes glued to the screen as I read, I interrupt Dawson mid-sentence. “Sorry. Something just came up. I’ll see you tonight.”

I don’t wait for him to reply, just end the call and re-read the message.

Don’t reply.

Check out ASAP, drive to the southern exit, and await further instructions.

Do NOT tell anyone you heard from me.

Stella

My fingers hover over the keyboard, and I ignore her instruction and tap out my own message.

How do I know you’re Stella?

The reply comes back instantly and has me jumping to my feet.

Who else would hack your laptop to send you a message?