Chapter 8

Stella

Monday 7.07am

As I sit inside the coffee shop where I’ve arranged to meet Jagger, my toes are tapping in my boots.

Dressed in a baseball cap, hoodie, and a pair of glasses I wear when I need to, I’m positioned so I can watch the entrance, and get out the back if I need to, and drinking my third espresso for the morning.

But even that amount of coffee hasn’t been enough to counteract a night spent in the back of my truck trying to figure out who hates me enough to actually pay for my death.

Worse than having to contact Jagger and having to wait all night for his reply is knowing I’m possibly putting him in danger by doing so.

I might be incognito, and the coffee shop I chose is busy enough not to care about an out of towner lurking, but that doesn’t make me any less jittery about checking out every single person who walks in.

My laptop is in front of me, and since I couldn’t recharge at the motel last night, I’m juicing up my Asus while I’m here, in case I need to make a fast getaway.

To provide a cover, in case anyone asked, anytime the waitress asks me if I’d like a refill, I’ve made a point of telling her I’m a journalist who came to Oregon for research.

So far, it’s stopped her from asking me if I’m waiting for someone, but the second Jagger walks through the door, and I see her jaw nearly drop, I know I can’t stay here.

Every eye in the coffee shop is watching him as he stalks towards my table, eyes locked on me.

He slides into the booth and doesn’t ask permission before he grabs my coffee and downs it.

I arch an eyebrow, but he raises a hand. “You owe me more than a coffee.”

My eyes scan the coffee shop and I wait until the smiling waitress looks positively jubilant at Jagger’s arrival. “Can I get you something?”

Jagger gives her a distracted nod. “Two more espressos. Have you eaten?” he asks me.

I shake my head, and again am a little annoyed when he orders scrambled eggs, with home fries for us both.

The second the waitress moves away, he leans forward. “How much trouble are you in?”

I lower my voice and check to make sure no one is listening in before I reply. “A lot.”

His brow knits. “Be more specific.”

I swallow and hate my hands are shaking, and not just because of the caffeine. “Someone broke into my motel room.”

He frowns. “Yeah, I know. The manager called it in. What I don’t know is why you’re avoiding the cops and why you’re wearing this lame ass disguise?”

I chew my lip for a second and wish he hadn’t ordered food. Staying in one place is dangerous. “The cops can’t help me,” I say quietly.

When he just stares at me, I think he’s going to get up and leave, but he just sighs. “But you think I can?”

I wince. “I just need somewhere to, um, hide. Until I can figure this out. I can pay you.”

His lips twitch. “Second person to say that the last few days. I’m picking you’ll be the second to re-neg.”

I slide my glasses down my nose and peer at him. “Matt? He didn’t pay you?”

He nods. “No. I was going to see him before you summoned me.”

When the waitress returns laden with food and more coffee, I push the glasses back over my nose and wait as politely as I can for her to leave before I answer him.

“He’s not there,” I say.

He picks up a fork and points at my food. “Eat and tell me what you know.”

Considering I need his help, I ignore the instinct to do the opposite of what he says, and relent I probably do need to offset the caffeine with some food.

“Matt has a gambling problem,” I say between bites.

Jagger shakes his head. “Fuck. What else?”

I swallow a mouthful of eggs before I answer him. “Jeff hired him on the recommendation of a friend of a friend. Turns out his old employer just wanted him gone, and writing a glowing recommendation was the best way to do that.”

His expression grows even darker as he keeps eating. “Waylon told you all this?”

I shake my head. “That’s part of why he hired me. He wanted an outsider to check the security systems and the staff. It’s why he told me not to pass on any information to you.”

Jagger’s jaw starts to work making it obvious he’s reining in his anger. “Where is Matt now?”

I cram a few fries into my mouth and wipe my fingers on a napkin before I reply.

“Atlantic City. Probably on the roulette wheel losing all the money he got from allowing a team of poachers onto the property last night.”

Jagger nearly chokes on his coffee. “What the fuck?”

I release a breath, feeling decidedly uneasy at giving him so much information I promised Waylon I’d keep to myself until I gathered enough evidence.

“Waylon has given him three written warnings in the last six months for lapses in judgment leading to loss of stock. Turns out his wife left him six months ago. He’s been lying to everyone and making up stories to explain his behavior.”

Jagger pushes his plate away, food half-eaten. “He told Ken his kid was sick. Needed a kidney transplant.”

I nod. “He’s getting desperate. He owes a lot of money, but he knows Waylon is close to firing him.”

“So, Matt brings me in, to what? Make him look good?”

I nod. “I’d say so. If a poacher could slip by a member of the ESPA, then Waylon couldn’t exactly blame him.”

He slowly shakes his head. “He had me looking in one direction so they could come in the other. He played me and tried to stop me from working with you.”

I pick up my coffee. “No surprises there. He would have panicked when he found out Waylon had gone behind his back and hired me. A few phone calls and he would know I’m not someone he could manipulate easily.”

Jagger’s lip curls. “Are you saying I am?”

I shake my head. “He’s good at pushing people’s buttons and figuring out what motivates them. I called a few of the staff. Most felt sorry for him, that’s why they haven’t said anything to Waylon.”

His eyes drift to the laptop. “Was I included in this covert investigation?”

I should have known he’d ask, but the question still jars me. “Not really. I think Waylon knew you weren’t really corruptible.”

He runs his hand over his face and gives me a wry smile. “Okay, so Matt scammed me. But you haven’t answered my question. Why did someone break into your motel room?”

I swallow hard, a trickle of worry edging its way down my spine. If he doesn’t believe me, he’ll walk out the door and I’ll be on my own with no choice but to change my identity again and hope for the best.

I close my eyes, blow out a breath as the words come out in a stuttered rush. “Remember how I said I tend to rub people the wrong way?” I say.

***

Jagger

Still reeling from the confirmation Matt screwed me over, for his own gain, I’m not sure Stella can top that.

Sitting there in her dark glasses and cap, she looks about as conspicuous as I do. And the cloak and dagger shit is bizarre enough to get my attention, even if I am wondering if she’s got a screw loose.

“Yeah? That’s why you live in a small town and why you avoid airports,” I say.

Her mouth presses together. “That’s not entirely why I do. I stay away from anywhere I can be tracked easily.”

I narrow my eyes. “Cut to the chase.”

She slides the sunglasses off her nose and places them on the table.

From the looks of her, she’s had even less sleep than I have. “Someone wants me dead. And if they knew I was here, it means they know where I live. I can’t go home, and I need to buy a little time so I can think.”

If her bottom lip wasn’t carrying the slightest quiver, I might have passed her off as paranoid.

But I’ve spent enough time with her over the weekend to know she’s not a woman given to hysterics or falsehoods.

Couple that with the break-in, and I know this is legit. “What exactly is it you’re asking me to do for you?”

She swallows hard, and her shoulders slump a little. “I need to be somewhere no one can trace me and I need to make it look like I’m still here.”

That she considered me her best option, is either a testament to how scared she is or a warning she’s unhinged.

Considering I’ve already been played once this weekend, I’m not entirely sure I’m not being again.

She seems to realize I’m on the fence and releases a weary sigh. “Okay, fine. I get it. I sound insane. And believe me, this is not a position I want to be in.”

When I don’t answer, she lifts her chin and narrows her eyes. “Do you really think I’d make this up? Why would I do that? I have nothing to gain from trusting you, and I can transfer ten grand, right now.”

To emphasize her point, she opens a tab on her laptop, and shows me her very sizable bank balance, and clicks to show my account details and my name as a new payee.

“Say the word and I transfer it while we’re sitting here.”

I frown at her and close the laptop as the waitress breezes past our table. “I don’t need your money.”

Her eyes pop and I can hear the slightest waver in her voice as she slams her palm down on the table hard enough to make a few people look our way. “Then what do you need? I’m running out of time.”

I slowly slide my hand over the top of hers and squeeze. “If I’m going to help you, I need you to trust me.”

She stares down at my hand, and I shift my fingers so they’re laced into hers. “Can you do that? Can you trust me?”

She flinches, but nods as her voice comes out almost a whisper. “Okay. But don’t make me regret it,” she says.

***

Stella

I’m so relieved he’s agreed and doesn’t seem to think I’m crazy that I stay quiet as we use the back entrance to follow him back to his truck.

No longer caring about being submissive or appearing weak, I let him take charge and load my gear into his backseat while he keeps a lookout.

I’m so exhausted, and he’s making it evident he knows what he’s doing when he chooses a backroad to leave town, I fall asleep.

I wake with a start, rubbing my eyes, and staring at a Welcome to Clackamas County sign.

I glance at Jagger and find him staring at a map on his phone. “Why did you stop?”

He rolls his shoulders back and takes a swig of his water bottle. “You aren’t the only one who didn’t sleep last night. And I’m looking for alternative routes.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I can drive the rest of the way. But you’ll have to tell me where we’re going first.”

He rubs the bridge of his nose. “I’m taking you back to Seattle with me.”

I inhale sharply. “To where in Seattle?”

He glances at me and frowns. “My dad’s place. Where I grew up. It’s a big house, and you’ll be safe there.”

My stomach knots. When I asked for help this was not what I was hoping for. “And that will be okay with him?”

Jagger nods, but a yawn escapes as he peers out at the sign. “He’ll be fine with it. He knows I wouldn’t ask unless it was important.”

“But who are you going to say I am, exactly?”

His eyebrow cocks. “Someone I care about who needs my help.”

I swallow, throat suddenly closing up as I consider how sweet that is. I open my mouth to try to say something back, but I can’t seem to find anything that comes close to expressing how much this means to me.

He doesn’t seem to be bothered, and when he looks back at me, he asks a question I’ve spent my life avoiding.

“Since you’re going to get to know my family, how about you tell me about yours.”

I release a breath and lean back on the headrest. “Is that really necessary?”

“Yeah. It is. Trust goes both ways.”

I roll my neck to look at him, and at the frown, I carefully choose what I say. “I don’t know my dad. He left when I was two and I haven’t heard from him since.”

When he just sits waiting, I carry on even though it’s like ripping barbed wire through my chest.

“My mom worked at a top level in counter-intelligence for the CIA. They recruited her in college. She walked away after she accidentally got pregnant with me and started her own underground network. Up until about seven years ago, I was her best hacker.”

Jagger’s eyes near pop out of his head. “Fuck. I did not see that one coming.”

I give him a wry smile. “Yeah. Well, you wanted to know why I don’t trust people. She’s why. By the time I was thirteen, I’d seen more shit than anyone should see in a lifetime. But I learned a lot. Enough to know that lifestyle wasn’t what I wanted. I cut ties with her, changed my last name, and moved to Ellensburg to start over. She sent me a text yesterday to warn me I popped up as a target.”

I don’t tell him I had to find inventive ways to explain the size of my bank account and bend the truth about my employment history since graduating from MIT.

He shakes his head. “So what makes you think this isn’t about your mother?”

I shrug even though I have thought about it. “What do you mean?”

He nods. “I mean, she must have made a lot of enemies. And they must have known she’d contact you and warn you. How do you know she isn’t the real target, and you aren’t just bait?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Then why trash the motel room?”

“Maybe they wanted you to call her? Maybe they were covering their bases just in case she didn’t call you?”

It’s another thing I can’t know for sure just yet. “It doesn’t matter. Either way we made contact. And there is still a contract out on me. And the specifics make it seem like this is personal.”

His disbelief is evident as he pulls a face. “Your mom told you the specifics?”

I think of all the horrific things I’ve been privy to and grimace. “She always did love sharing the gory details.”

A dark look crosses over his face. “She sounds like a fucking psychopath.”

I’m too tired to even pretend I care enough to disagree with him. “She’s what the CIA trained her to be. She’s cold and ruthless. She doesn’t know how to be anything else and she doesn’t want to be. She taught me never to apologize or to trust. She says both are a sign of weakness.”

If I expected pity, I see none of it, but I am a little surprised at how angry he sounds until he speaks. “You asked her for help then?”

I blow out a breath as I try to explain why she wouldn’t. “It’s complicated. She warned me what would happen if I left her employment.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not complicated. You aren’t her employee, you’re her daughter. She had a responsibility to protect you then and now. As far as I’m concerned, she’s to blame for your life being in danger.”

I don’t know why but when he slams the gear into drive and tells me he’ll drive the rest of the way; I feel stupidly comforted.

I’ve never had anyone get angry on my behalf.

And as much as I hate to admit it, it is less painful than I expected knowing he cares enough to.