The Silence That Speaks. Andrea Kane
“Job candidate Emma Stirling,” Yoda supplied. “Twenty-two years old. Currently unemployed and available immediately. Have a seat at the table, Ms. Stirling.”
“Yes, sir,” Emma replied, looking around to see where the voice was coming from. It was the same voice that had greeted her in the doorway.
She placed her tote bag in the empty chair next to Patrick, but remained standing.
With self-taught courtesy, she proceeded to walk around the conference room table, shaking hands with each team member. First, she squatted down to stroke Hero’s ears. “He’s great. What’s his name?” she asked.
“Hero,” Patrick responded. He helped her to her feet and shook her hand. “I’m Patrick Lynch. Nice to meet you.”
“Same here.” She moved on to Marc and Ryan, who were sizing her up as they greeted her. She made sure to touch each man’s arm with her left hand. Men appreciated that in business introductions.
As she approached Claire and Casey, she tripped and toppled forward, struggling to right herself as they caught her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her face turning bright red. “I get clumsy when I’m nervous. And I’ll never get used to high heels.”
“We hear you,” Casey said with a chuckle. There wasn’t a woman alive who didn’t understand the battle between fashion and comfort.
“We certainly do,” Claire echoed, intent on putting the poor girl at ease. “Men don’t have to juggle looking great and professional without limping home. It’s one of the hardships of being a modern woman.”
“Thank you for understanding.” The color was fading from Emma’s cheeks as she regained some of her composure. Sheepishly, she made her way back to her seat and gratefully sank into it.
Once she was settled, Yoda continued. “Application and résumé displayed on the main screen.”
As he spoke, the large middle screen lit up, and Emma’s paperwork appeared, the pages arranged side by side.
“That’s just the good stuff,” she told them, having glanced up at the information displayed. “I’m sure you know the rest.”
“We do.” Casey leaned forward and studied the young woman. “We’ve all read every word. The bottom line—you were a juvie. According to our research, you were guilty of a lot more than you were convicted of. You were incredibly good at getting off.”
Emma startled. “What?”
“Not the reaction you were expecting?” Casey asked. “Sorry. We’re nothing if not thorough. We’re also not easily shocked. Or were you hoping we would be and that we’d bounce you out of here so you could feel vindicated and like you’d put one over on us?”
“I...” Emma was visibly taken aback.
“I like the wide-eyed innocent thing,” Ryan commented. “You’ve got a great combo going there—a disarming exterior and an iron core.”
“You’re smart, too,” Marc added. “You did research on each one of us.” He read the surprised widening of her eyes that she fought to conceal. “The way you studied each of us as you walked around—which you made sure to do,” he explained, answering her unspoken question. “Like you were making mental connections. That was your tell.”
“Wow, you people are just like the articles say.” For the first time, Emma looked impressed. “So let’s say I came here to mess with your minds, and you figured me out. You also guessed I was a lot guiltier than my record shows. Then why are you interviewing me?”
“Why wouldn’t we be?” Casey asked.
“You just said so yourself. I’m a criminal.”
“A former criminal,” Patrick qualified.
“And a good one,” Ryan said, ignoring Patrick’s scowl. “Here at Forensic Instincts, we not only admire excellence, we demand it. Also, you’ve got guts. Guts are a requirement for working here.”
“True,” Casey said.
“Plus your background piqued our interest,” Claire couldn’t help but interject. She pointed at herself. “And before you size me up further, yes, I am the soft touch of the team. I felt a pang of compassion when I read your history. That’s the upside. The downside is that none of my team members is as squishy as I am. So you’ll have some convincing to do.”
Emma acknowledged that with a nod. “I figured as much.”
Casey raised her chin. “Do you want this job?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it sounds way cooler than the other jobs I was applying for.”
“But you didn’t think you’d get it.”
“Truthfully? No.”
“Honesty. Another refreshing virtue.” Casey glanced around the table, making eye contact with each team member and reading their reactions.
Emma used that time to look around again, puzzled as her gaze searched the room. “I don’t know where it’s based, but I like your virtual intelligence system. How come you didn’t make that your assistant?”
“Smart girl,” Ryan muttered.
“Because Yoda is overworked,” Marc answered for the group.
“Yoda?” Emma grinned. “Great name.”
“Really smart girl,” Ryan muttered again.
Only half listening to Ryan’s wisecracks, Casey was eyeing Emma as their job applicant kept asking questions. What was going on in that cunning little blond head?
The girl was sharp. She was a walking contradiction. And she had a curious mind. She had the brains and the balls to fit right in.
But was she trustworthy? Loyal? Those were key requirements in Casey’s hiring practice.
Only one way to find out.
At that moment, Emma pushed back her chair and rose. “I want this job. What do I have to do to get it?”
“Prove yourself,” Casey responded.
“How?”
“A probationary period. Say, three months. Minimum wage. Show me unwavering loyalty to Forensic Instincts—the company and the team. Hard work. Good work. No bullshit. No games. Up front all the way. Then we’ll talk.”
“Fair enough.” Emma paused, chewing her lip. “In that case, I guess I should start out on the right foot, boss.” She reached into her tote bag and groped around for a minute. “Here you go.” She pulled out Patrick’s wallet, Claire’s bangle bracelet, Marc’s switchblade, Casey’s day planner and Ryan’s iPhone, placing each item in front of its respective owner. “No bullshit. No games. Up front all the way.”
You could have heard a pin drop as the team members each stared at their just-confiscated belongings.
“And who knows?” Emma added with an impish grin. “I might even teach you guys a thing or two.”
EMMA WAS STILL getting used to the coolness of having her own desk and swivel chair in an alcove right off the front hall of the renowned Forensic Instincts.
Maybe if she played her cards right, she’d get business cards, too.
The doorbell rang, and she snapped to attention, grabbing her new scheduling book.
“Our nine-thirty prospective client has arrived,” Yoda announced. “Ms. Madeline