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Authors: Evelyn Glass
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frustration over Stella, and agitation that she had shared their nighttime details with her partner. It was a volatile cocktail and this man – the man Stella had gone on her lackluster date with – had lit Bishop's thoughts on fire. The biker's fist came flying across Stan's jaw, knuckles connecting with a loud crack. With a grunt of pain, the man crumpled to the concrete, groaning and holding his jaw.
From a yard and a half away, Agent Holmes spun on her heel. Her eyes widened as she took note of Bishop's aggressive posture, his clenched fist, and Stan's body on the ground. No one moved. It seemed like everything, from the garage to the police radios, went on mute.
“What happened?” she demanded, storming over to the two men.
Bishop threw her a detached glance that slid immediately off her. He absolutely couldn't care what Stella said or did at this point. She got two of his men arrested. He shrugged a single shoulder and listed his head toward Stan, “Your buddy here got stung by a bee.”
“On his jaw?” Stella's tone deadpanned, unable to swallow the biker's story.
“You heard me, this man got stung by a bee,” Bishop nodded, but didn't bring his gaze to Stella's face. He nodded to a nearby officer, “Ain't that right, officer?”
The young woman seemed to be a bundle of nervous energy. Sweat slicked her face as she glanced from the biker to the female agent. Finally, after a forceful swallow and a setting of her shoulders, she brought her eyes to Stella's questioning leer. With a curt nod, the woman said, “Mr. Bishop is telling the truth. Stung by a bee, ma'am.”
Stella's eyebrows crept up her forehead. Incredulity was tickling her thoughts. Not even a police officer would stand up to a man who had just assaulted a federal agent. Either terror was in the air or the thick blanket of community was suffocating the witnesses. “So, no one saw Mr. Bishop strike Agent Jackson?”
Variations of “no, ma'am” lilted from both cops and civilians. Stan's murderous glare didn't go unnoticed by Stella nor did Bishop's blatant act of the cold shoulder toward other man. She had no doubt the biker had struck her fellow agent. No one, not even Stan, moved to corroborate the presumption, though.
Pursuing the issue would only cause headaches. No one wanted to talk, and she couldn’t pressure them. Stella sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, “Agent Jackson, go get an ice pack on that,” she paused, lips pursing unhappily, “Bee sting.”
The man scrabbled to his feet, his gaze never parting from Bishop. Grudgingly, he stormed off toward the cruiser, where a first aid kit would offer assistance. Stella watched the man stomp off for a beat, before she turned to Bishop. The man couldn't bring his eyes to face her, either.
Painfully aware of all the curious eyes, Stella bit down the urge to touch the man. Even placing her hand on his shoulder could stir up unsavory rumors, especially if anyone was present at the bar last night. Coupled with the fact the man had driven her home last night and was possibly seen leaving her room this morning, Stella could be ran ragged through the rumor mill.
Instead, the woman shifted her footing and withdrew a card from her breast pocket. She held it out to Bishop and said, “Mr. Bishop, I will be in touch. Until then, here's my contact information.”
The man's grey gaze gave her a side-long glare. He reached out and plucked the card from between her forefinger and middle finger. As soon as the transaction occurred, Stella nodded and climbed back into her cruiser as officers swarmed over the repair garage. Bishop watched her drive off, a sour taste poisoning his tongue. He glanced down at the business card, before crumpling it in a fist and shoving it into his pocket.
CHAPTER TEN
Stella paused outside the questioning room. It was the same room she had met Arthur Bishop in. This time, she would be facing Richard
From a yard and a half away, Agent Holmes spun on her heel. Her eyes widened as she took note of Bishop's aggressive posture, his clenched fist, and Stan's body on the ground. No one moved. It seemed like everything, from the garage to the police radios, went on mute.
“What happened?” she demanded, storming over to the two men.
Bishop threw her a detached glance that slid immediately off her. He absolutely couldn't care what Stella said or did at this point. She got two of his men arrested. He shrugged a single shoulder and listed his head toward Stan, “Your buddy here got stung by a bee.”
“On his jaw?” Stella's tone deadpanned, unable to swallow the biker's story.
“You heard me, this man got stung by a bee,” Bishop nodded, but didn't bring his gaze to Stella's face. He nodded to a nearby officer, “Ain't that right, officer?”
The young woman seemed to be a bundle of nervous energy. Sweat slicked her face as she glanced from the biker to the female agent. Finally, after a forceful swallow and a setting of her shoulders, she brought her eyes to Stella's questioning leer. With a curt nod, the woman said, “Mr. Bishop is telling the truth. Stung by a bee, ma'am.”
Stella's eyebrows crept up her forehead. Incredulity was tickling her thoughts. Not even a police officer would stand up to a man who had just assaulted a federal agent. Either terror was in the air or the thick blanket of community was suffocating the witnesses. “So, no one saw Mr. Bishop strike Agent Jackson?”
Variations of “no, ma'am” lilted from both cops and civilians. Stan's murderous glare didn't go unnoticed by Stella nor did Bishop's blatant act of the cold shoulder toward other man. She had no doubt the biker had struck her fellow agent. No one, not even Stan, moved to corroborate the presumption, though.
Pursuing the issue would only cause headaches. No one wanted to talk, and she couldn’t pressure them. Stella sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, “Agent Jackson, go get an ice pack on that,” she paused, lips pursing unhappily, “Bee sting.”
The man scrabbled to his feet, his gaze never parting from Bishop. Grudgingly, he stormed off toward the cruiser, where a first aid kit would offer assistance. Stella watched the man stomp off for a beat, before she turned to Bishop. The man couldn't bring his eyes to face her, either.
Painfully aware of all the curious eyes, Stella bit down the urge to touch the man. Even placing her hand on his shoulder could stir up unsavory rumors, especially if anyone was present at the bar last night. Coupled with the fact the man had driven her home last night and was possibly seen leaving her room this morning, Stella could be ran ragged through the rumor mill.
Instead, the woman shifted her footing and withdrew a card from her breast pocket. She held it out to Bishop and said, “Mr. Bishop, I will be in touch. Until then, here's my contact information.”
The man's grey gaze gave her a side-long glare. He reached out and plucked the card from between her forefinger and middle finger. As soon as the transaction occurred, Stella nodded and climbed back into her cruiser as officers swarmed over the repair garage. Bishop watched her drive off, a sour taste poisoning his tongue. He glanced down at the business card, before crumpling it in a fist and shoving it into his pocket.
CHAPTER TEN
Stella paused outside the questioning room. It was the same room she had met Arthur Bishop in. This time, she would be facing Richard
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