Andrea Kane - The Silence That Speaks

“Has everyone reviewed this candidate’s application?” Casey asked.

“Yup.” Marc was his usual straightforward self. “She sounds like a juvenile delinquent who never did hard time.”

“She sounds like a kid who needs a chance,” Claire chimed in. “She was bounced from foster home to foster home and spent a lot of time on the streets.”

“I have to agree,” Patrick said. “I know she’s got a juvie record, and that would normally turn me right off. But in this case—her parents died in a plane crash when she was eight. There were no relatives to take her in. So she spent ten years in the system. That’s tough.”

“And we’re not exactly squeaky clean ourselves,” Marc commented drily. He glanced at Patrick. “Other than you, Special Agent Lynch.”

“Not so much anymore,” Patrick retorted. “You’ve corrupted me.”

The whole group chuckled.

“Yeah, we’re the maverick investigators,” Ryan said, coining a phrase from an article written about them. “So, if this girl has a brain, I’m willing to cut her some slack.”

“Some slack?” Casey repeated, shooting Ryan a look. “I’m hoping you’ll do more than that.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. I still think a virtual assistant would be the best choice.” Ryan held up both palms to ward off oncoming arguments. “But I’ve accepted that I’ve been overruled. So let’s get this show on the road.”

Right on cue, the doorbell sounded.

“Applicant number twenty-seven has arrived,” Yoda announced.

“Punctual.” Casey glanced at her watch. “Okay, Yoda, go ahead and let her in.” She interlaced her fingers on the table in front of her. “Oh, and, Yoda? Leave out the applicant number when you announce her. Just stick to her name. Applicant twenty-six nearly took off when you made that reference. Let’s not scare off applicant twenty-seven. It’s starting to sound like we’re scraping the bottom of the barrel and each one of them is it. Either that, or we’re looking for perfection and can’t find it.”

“That would be accurate,” Yoda pointed out.

“True, but we don’t want to intimidate the girl before she even gets upstairs.”

“Very well, Casey. Name only.”

Yoda’s words were punctuated by the beeping sound of the alarm system as he disarmed it.

* * *

A loud thunk resounded in the FI hallway as the large steel bolt retracted, unlocking the front door.

“Please enter the building and proceed to the second floor,” Yoda instructed the young woman at the door. “Make a right turn into the main conference room. Your interview will be conducted there.”

“Thanks.” Without so much as a flinch, Emma Stirling walked through the foyer as the door bolt reengaged behind her. She climbed up the winding staircase, and paused on the landing to run her fingers through her hair and adjust her tote bag on her shoulder. Then she entered the conference room.

She fought back a smile as she saw the all-too-familiar startled reaction from the team at large. It was the same as everyone who’d read her history. They were expecting a scraggly looking brat from the streets. Instead, they were getting the equivalent of a prep school cheerleader—all blonde, blue-eyed and composed, with a fashionable short skirt and a formfitting top.

She’d worked hard to perfect that image.

“I clean up nice,” she said, putting aside the looks of surprise and assessing the challenge she was about to face.

Emma had done her homework.

The pretty, authoritative redhead at the head of the table was Casey Woods, the president of Forensic Instincts and a brilliant analyst of human behavior. On either side of her were two hot guys—one dark and brooding, the other sexy and charismatic—Marc Devereaux and Ryan McKay, respectively. Marc was Casey’s right hand, a former navy SEAL and former FBI agent in the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia. Quite simply, there was nothing Marc couldn’t do or couldn’t make happen. Ryan was nothing short of a techno-wizard and a strategy genius.

The willowy blonde who looked like a fairy princess was Claire Hedgleigh. Emma didn’t quite get what it meant, but Claire was a claircognizant and had an amazing psychic gift that took her into scary but productive places to help solve cases. The older conservative-looking guy was Patrick Lynch, a retired FBI agent with over three decades of law enforcement experience, and who grounded the team when they pushed the boundaries a little too far. Oh, yeah, and the cool bloodhound sitting up tall, ears erect, was Hero—an FBI-trained human-scent evidence dog whose olfactory sense was second to none.

Pretty thorough, Emma thought with an internal grin.

“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.”