"Stop." Stone held up his hand, but the man didn't register the direction because he wore earbuds. Stone pulled his weapon and aimed. "Drop the weapon. Get on the ground."
Higgins cat-sprung over me and shoved me into the carpet. My heart was pumping double-time.
"No me duele, no me duele," called the man, his arms high as he shuffled backwards.
Don't hurt me
. "Soy un empleado." He pointed a finger toward the dish room.
"He works here," I called through two layers of Kevlar.
"Tell him to back off," said Stone.
"Escapa ahora," I yelled.
Run away
. "Mi amigo es enojado."
The man bolted and shut himself inside a walk-in fridge. Stone pivoted, his gun aimed on the man the entire time. He chuckled.
"Bet he pissed his pants," said Stone, holstering his Glock before he waved us onto the service elevator, where Daniels awaited our arrival with the doors open.
I hesitated to be within touching distance of Stone when we boarded and positioned myself along the back wall. Daniels adjusted his stance, shifting his shoulder between me and Stone. Now I definitely wanted to know what Sam had whispered to him.
When we arrived at our suite on the fifth floor, another agent stood post.
"Room's been swept," Higgins reported to Stone after speaking with the agent.
"Check it again," said Stone, brushing past them.
Higgins and Daniels glanced at each other, then Daniels followed Stone's lead, darting in and out of rooms to look for monsters while I waited with Higgins in the foyer. The suite had two bedrooms with private bathrooms, a galley kitchen, a small dining area and a modern-sized living room. A spacious floor plan, but a bit cramped for five agents and a witness.
"Clear," Stone called. Daniels echoed him. Holstering his gun, Stone took my arm and led me inside. "Let's take a look at the dinner menu and see if there's anything that sounds worthwhile."
I nodded. My nerves at the hospital had killed my appetite, so I hadn't eaten in hours.
Pulling off his coat, Stone exposed his white starched shirt with a lavender tie, as well as a shoulder harness that glided down his chest muscles and wrapped around his back.
"I'll open a bottle of wine. We'll celebrate," he said, loosening the tie.
I started to speak, but Stone was already searching kitchen drawers for a corkscrew. Daniels led me to a bedroom, where he threw the duffel on the bed, unplugged the phone from the wall jack and pocketed the cord, and gave a quick nod upon exiting.
Alone, I flipped through the hotel book, presumably for the menu, but actually reading the safety pages, the fire escape plans, the building exits. Experience told me to be prepared. Sam taught me to be paranoid.
I dug into the duffel for the clothes and toiletries Reynolds had promised. Even once I possessed my new ID and credit cards, I didn't have the freedom to go shopping like a normal person. And I'd never see my camera equipment again or be allowed to return to my office. My new life was still being decided, Reynolds had explained. "You should be grateful for safe passage and a secure place to sleep," he'd said, contempt lacing his voice.
With a slow, steady hand I unzipped the bag, Sam's mistrust running through my veins.
"They searched it already." Stone entered with two glasses of wine. "I wouldn't unpack if I were you. Keep everything ready to go." When he offered me the glass, I hesitated. "I'm not going to judge you for one glass, Julie. I'll even be your designated driver." His smile seemed genuine for a man who'd lectured me about mixing meds and alcohol.
I chewed my lower lip. I hadn't taken my next dose of pills yet, so I figured a few sips were okay. Besides, I wanted to celebrate getting out of the hospital. Alive. And I was still anxious about leaving Sam and Max.
"Live a little. Besides, it's on us. Okay, it's on the taxpayers, but you'll repay them with your testimony and put a cop killer behind bars." He clinked my glass.
My smile waned. "I understood from Reynolds that Troy posted bail."
"Ah, that." He nodded and crossed the room to the edge of the window, checking the street view, then drawing the curtain. "Not everyone agreed with how that played out."
"Delicious," I said after a sip. "Orange juice was the best I got at the hospital."
He splayed his hands. "Should've called me. I would have brought you dinner from Monte's in the Village, or from Centro on Seventh. The right food with the right wine would make anyone heal faster."
"Sounds like a business plan."
"My next career: catering for protected witnesses." His eyes lingered on me, and I remembered our lighthearted conversation at the bistro and actually enjoying myself.
I handed him the hotel book. "You pick dinner this time."
"You always know what you'll get with me." His face lit up. "Pasta. That reminds me." He leaned to my ear. "You still owe me a date."
I took in the fresh citrus cologne as he hovered, but I drew back first. That smell was heaven compared to hospital ammonia.
Another clink to my glass, and Stone headed down the hall, menu in hand. Soon he was bellowing into the kitchen phone for the house specialties. Another couple gulps of wine steadied my nerves as I dug inside the duffel. Under blue jeans and T-shirts was a bra and panty set in cream. Lace, in my size. Not stuffy Playtex or saucy Frederick's, but Le Mystère. Classy without audacity, and terribly romantic. Not exactly government issue. I thought of Stone's expensive tastes, his excitement to see me, the second date we never had, and whether he'd been in possession of my duffel bag.
Tucked between the short stack of white shirts and blue jeans—my old uniform as Sam called it—was a silk blouse in robin's egg blue. Not the one I'd worn the night Sam came home to me, which had been destroyed in the bombing, but nearly identical. Silk slid between my fingers, resurrecting memories I needed buried. Sam. He'd held back my bag on purpose. My skin rippled with goose bumps. I'd yet to mourn the loss of my belongings, the family home I'd grown up in, and here Sam had brought their memories back to me. Then again, I'd lost a cage and its toys, not my life.
At the bottom of the bag was Sam's Cougar sweatshirt. I pressed the thick cotton to my face, inhaling him, his warmth, his boyish grin. I laughed, recalling his feeding Max under the table when he thought I wasn't looking, and the incessant Jell-O treats at the hospital. The man was a perpetual ten-year-old.
Without thinking, I'd nearly emptied my wine glass. Jazz echoed from the stereo in the main room, and I found myself swaying to the music. Stone was preparing an atmosphere, but I was lost in memories of surrendering to Sam's arms.
Then I noticed underneath the bag's bottom flap a manila envelope with "Jules" scrolled in sloppy handwriting I didn't recognize. I'd never seen Sam's script. A wave of disappointment hit me. That was the type of detail lovers knew about each other. The envelope was heavy, stiff, and puckered in the middle.
"Better not be a phone or computer," said Stone, coming up behind me. "No communication devices allowed." He pulled the desk chair to the window and propped up his foot as he wrenched a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tapped out a smoke. "You don't mind, do you?" He held up the cigarette.
Not daring to express displeasure with him, nor excitement over the envelope from Sam, I kept my head down. "Not at all."
I pulled out a framed photo of Max standing on the arm of the Buckleys' leather couch. Knowing Max kept Sam from being alone in the world gave me peace.
Stone cleared his throat. "You know, I called your office a few weeks ago, tidying up details on the case while you were in the hospital. Your assistant, Howard, said you didn't have a cell phone."
The pink phone at the restaurant. "Only my boss had the number. Howard would never leave me alone if he could call me anywhere, anytime."
"Funny we didn't find any cell phone in your apartment's debris." He blew a long thread of smoke across the glass. "I don't assume it was on your person, since it wasn't listed in the items on you at the hospital."
"Must have been lost when Troy jumped me." At least that much was true.
A black square slid from the envelope into my palm. An iPod. I scrolled to find two albums: Johnny Cash and Coldplay.
Stone was at my shoulder. "No phones. But MP3 players are allowed if they've been checked."
"My two favorites," I said, though the latter album I didn't recognize. "For my workouts. I guess Reynolds approved my request. Girl needs to stay in shape."
He grunted, but I wasn't sure if that was good or bad. "As long as FBI cleared the device, we're good."
A note was attached to the back of the iPod. I palmed this into my pocket.
"Read it to me." Stone took a long drag on his cigarette as he strode back to his perch at the window. "I want to hear what he has to say. We go way back, Sam and I."
I swallowed. "I don't know who it's from."
"Sure you do." Stone's rock-solid stare wasn't buying excuses from an amateur liar. If I denied his request, my time here might get uncomfortable. Like any prisoner, I needed to stay on the warden's good side. "I understand your desire for privacy, Julie, but I need to know what's in that letter. This is a security issue, not just curiosity. Please, read it. Aloud."
Hesitating, I took the last sip of wine. Then,
"Don't hate me for the lack of music. Sorry for the amateur photo.
Trust me. I'm no DJ or photographer—you're first in those lines.
Stone will have your back. Not good to stray, so stay closep to him."
The typo made me skip a beat, but Stone nodded for me to continue.
"I'll rest knowing you'll play it safe. There is a new life awaiting you.
Find hope in small things, Jules. Miss nothing, and get lost when you need to.
You have a lot to offer this world. You should know that by now.
Soon you'll have a new life to choose. Already I know you'll make it. – S"
"Even his poetry is second rate." Stone took the paper from my hand and reread the poem before crumpling the paper and tossing it into the wicker trash container. "Sam's right. You have a lot to offer. And he'll siphon every bit out of you."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I followed him to the kitchen.
"That means he's been using you like he uses everyone." Stone poured more wine for himself. "Good old Sam. Vice could barely keep him off the girls. Narcotics couldn't keep him off the booze. Now we have to clean up after his mistakes. When I found out Sam was on the FBI's team for this case, I suggested he be removed from your detail. You're my witness, not just the DA's, and I don't let anyone endanger my case or my people."
Stone stepped toward me, as if prompting my reply. Unsure what Sam had or hadn't revealed about his involvement with the witness, I kept my mouth shut.
The smell of his cigarette made me nauseous and I scrunched my nose when another waft hit me. I'd never seen him smoke, nor smelled ash on his clothes or breath, nor tasted tobacco on his lips. Recalling his kiss only further stiffened me.
Noting my displeasure, he snuffed the cigarette in the porcelain sink. "Let me hang up your jacket, so you can relax," he said.
My hand grasped the iPod in my pocket. "I'm still a little cold."
"You've lost weight. Lost muscle, too. We need to feed you, get you warm burning some calories." He filled a new glass for me. To the top. "This will help. By the way, I'm not counting this as our date because I made a promise to take you to my favorite digs. You deserve to be treated well, Julie, with dignity. I'll take you to a restaurant that lives up to your tastes, a place you won't forget. And, of course, somewhere authorized by the Feds. Cheers."
Another clink to my glass. My head felt woozy already. The lack of food, too much excitement, the remnant of drugs from the hospital, and the wine were catching up with me. I headed for the couch, but I couldn't get the note or Sam out of my head.
Find hope in small things.
The line stood out in neon. Again, my fingers rubbed the iPod in my pocket.
When Stone left the suite to speak to the other agents, I scrambled to the bedroom and fished the note from the trash. Sam's words succeeded only in increasing the ache in my chest and the pounding in my head.
I took up the corner seat on the couch by the time Stone returned to recline in a sling back chair, turning his glass in the air, his stern face softening under the amber lighting. Or was the buzz of wine softening my view of him? He was innocent, after all. And I had to stop thinking about Sam and start thinking about my future. Stone had only ever been officious and earnest. A little brash at times, but I liked boldness in a man.
He was also handsome and sexy as hell the way he spread his arms onto the armrests, which pulled his shirt open slightly. Maybe his kissing would improve with wine, too.
"Think I'll take a bath," I said, needing to escape his allure. "I can't seem to warm up."
"Do anything you want, as long as it's safe and within these walls. Food should be up in…" He checked his watch. "About twenty minutes. Take your wine with you and I'll call when dinner arrives. But leave the door unlocked. Just precautionary, of course."
***
The bathroom steamed as hot water pumped into a two-person tub. The hotel supplied the soaps, the FBI my toiletries. How could I want for more in my fancy prison?
The mirror squeaked under my fingers as I rubbed a spot clear. A disgusted smile stared back at me, my red eyes and dark circles revealing years of aging in a single month.
All this because I went jogging.
I stripped off the clothes that smelled of hospital soap and cold tile floors and bitchy nurses and sick people. Then set to rereading Sam's odd poem. If that's what the note could be called. The lines were ordered, like poetry, yet the writing had no rhythm. Sam had expressed himself so awkwardly in the letter, when I'd only ever heard him speak plainly with his street talk.