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Jutting my thumb behind my shoulder, I refer to the triangle on the board again. “Something fun, something safe, and someone great. Don’t overthink it guys. Just make it personal, okay?” After clapping my hands together, I make a shooing motion, asking everyone to get to it. I ignore the sea of grumbles. This part is expected. Whenever I was working with giant conglomerates, full of employees begrudgingly yanked from their cubicles, everyone always resists…at first. I tend to have a magic touch, so let’s see if I can get these robot agents to be a little more cooperative.
Surprisingly, Linc is finished first. He sets his pen down, folds his hands, and sits stoically in his seat. Vesper’s eyes hit the ceiling multiple times. Okay, she’s an overthinker, that’s for certain. Judging by the expression on Cricket’s face, I imagine her note is going to read something along the lines of, “Seymore Butts,” or “Hugh Girection.”
Lance looks like there is smoke coming out of his ears…but at least he’s thinking. That’s a win, I suppose.
This activity is supposed to identify leaders and I have a feeling Callen and I have our work cut out for us.
“Aren’t you going to do one?” Linc asks me in a low undertone, as he swivels in his chair to face me at the board.
“Me?”
He nods as his lips twitch with almost a smile. Is he teasing me? Linc reaches toward the middle of the table where there are extra papers and pens, and he collects one of each for me. In the dozens of times that I’ve conducted this activity in the past, never once have I been asked to participate.
“Okay, sure.” Taking two steps forward, I close the space between Linc and I. I’m standing, and he’s seated, so when my eyes drop to his belt area, it most definitely looks like I’m staring at his crotch. Much to my horror, he notices. His eyes go from mine to his lap, and when they return, his smile isn’t a twitch. It’s a wide mocking smirk that says, “Caught.”
Clasping both hands over my face, I groan. “I am so sorry, that wasn’t—”
“Mhm, sure,” he says with a chuckle. For such a scary, cold-blooded killer, he’s definitely playful when he wants to be.
I part my hands, letting my palms press against my cheek. I’m beyond humiliated but I can’t go unexplained. “When I’m around agents, I find myself always looking for where their guns are hidden. I wasn’t checking out your…” I roll my wrist, unable to even verbalize the words. “Guns just make me—”
“Nervous,” he finishes for me. Linc glances down to where his holstered pistol is in clear view, hanging beneath his belt.
I don’t know what possesses me to respond with vulnerable honesty to this stranger, who already proved himself to be dishonest, but before I can stop myself the words spill out, “I tend to be afraid of people who aren’t afraid of guns.”
Rising, Linc removes his pistol from his holster. I’m not sure of the mechanics, but based on the clicking I hear, I’m assuming he’s disarming it. He exits the meeting room without another word and is back just as fast. Settling back in his seat in front of me, he gives me a soft smile as he taps his empty holster.
“There. Better?”
Looking over Linc’s shoulder, I see Cricket and Lance with their jaws dropped. Even Vesper is gawking in utter surprise.
I hold out my hand and Linc hands over the pen and piece of paper he gathered for me. When my fingers graze his, I lose my breath. My heartbeat jumps like a skipping stone. I’m catapulted back to grade school, when the nervous butterflies from a new crush were the most energizing feeling in the world. Girl likes boy—boy likes girl. It was so straightforward, even in the messy midst of raging hormones and puberty. People weren’t so layered. Right wasn’t so muddled with wrong. Back when things were so much simpler…
I glance at Linc’s empty holster one more time.
“Thank you. Much better.”
EIGHT
LINC
I might as well unzip and put my cock on display. That’s how naked I feel without my gun. The last time I was unarmed was at Mom’s funeral. The time before that was the night Suzanne was murdered.
I try to ignore my extreme discomfort and focus on the piece of paper in front of me.
Something fun? I don’t think I’ve had fun in a while…but I’d sound like an ass if I said that, so I write down model ships. I liked building those as a kid whenever I could get my hands on them.
Someone I want to talk to? Mom, of course. But I’m not getting that personal. So, I wrote down Ted Bundy—but mostly just to bring him back so I could kill him this time. I don’t think the electric chair was painful enough. Usually, I’m apathetic about my assignments. There’s nothing glamorous about what I do. Sometimes bad people, who can’t stop tormenting others, need to move on from this life, but women abusers boil my blood like nothing else. I normally like to keep my jobs clean—one bullet is all I need—but I’ll admit, the last serial rapist I killed was begging me for death by the time I was done with him.
Something that makes me feel safe? I regret writing down my .22 pistol for two reasons—one, now I know Eden has a distaste for guns, it seems insensitive. Two, it’s another lie. There’s not a goddamn thing in this world that makes me feel safe. But I wrote in pen, and I refuse to scribble anything out.
“Is everyone done?” Eden asks, smiling and looking around the room at everyone, except me. “Great! So, here’s the twist.” She flashes a wicked smile. “Push your papers, face down, into the middle of the table, please. Then choose one that’s not your own.”
She’s met with some complaining and gripes, but everyone obliges. Once we all have a new piece of paper in front of us, Eden continues with her instructions.
“We tend to make a lot of assumptions about people based on first impressions, but more often than not, our first impressions are wildly incorrect. So, the purpose of this little activity is to test that theory. Read the paper in front of you and take one guess as to whose it is. Let’s see if you’re right. Any volunteers to go first?”
Lance reaches for another donut, but otherwise, the room is still. Flipping my paper over, I see only two answers in neat penmanship that match the words on the whiteboard. War and Peace. Jorey Abbott.
