Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
CRICKET
The entire core team is gathered around the PALADIN headquarters meeting room. We’re all clustered on one side of the long table, waiting for our guest of honor to arrive with Vesper. We’ve been waiting around for half an hour. None of us are amused at the theatrics of a fashionably late arrival.
Callen sits beside me. Linc, with his arm around Eden’s shoulders, is sitting across from me. And Lance is sitting at the end of the table, alone. He’s closer than I’d like him to be. I can smell him—that sinfully delectable cologne that now reminds me of his muscular, naked body pressed into mine.
Admittedly, I might’ve gone too far. I didn’t actually mean to threaten Lance’s life a moment ago in the break room. Him grabbing me like that triggered something in me. Not fear.
Just rebellion.
I am so sick of being handled…lied to…manipulated. I just want everyone to stop talking so I can hear myself think. Vesper gave me a choice. If I want to, I can leave. I’ve been offered a brand-new life outside of PALADIN.
But what the hell would that look like? Somehow, I’ll have to support myself. Even if I don’t have to forfeit my robust bank account, what would I fill my days with? Lion taming seems up my alley. Maneuvering around a dangerous beast three times my size, waiting for the moment it might lunge for the jugular, seems like something I’d excel at. Then again, the fact that lion taming is the first job that comes to mind makes me think I’ve lost touch with reality.
Maybe a barista…
But lattes seem tedious, and I’ve heard coffeehouses are like a watering hole for Karens. Hmm… I wonder what kind of degree I’d have to forge to get into lion taming?
“Cricket?” Eden asks from across the table. “Did you hear me?”
I glance up, meeting Eden’s big brown eyes and her expectant expression. “Sorry, I was lost in thought.”
“Thinking about where you left your knife?” Lance asks. He holds up the hunting knife I wedged into the door right by his lips.
“No, but now that you mention it…” I hold my palm out, expecting him to slide it down the table.
“Nuh-uh.” His smile is obnoxiously mischievous as he balances the knife over two fingers. “I think I’ll keep it as a souvenir. Something to mark the memory of my girl momentarily losing her mind.”
“I’m not your girl,” I snark. “Give it back.”
He raises his brows and leans into the table as his fist closes around the knife’s handle. “Let’s see if you can take it from me.”
I know he’s provoking me, so I’ll interact with him. The one thing that drives Lance crazy more than anything is silence. It’s why I’ve been torturing him with it. His teasing is bait, but I still respond. “Keep taunting me, and you’re going to find yourself on the wrong side of that blade.”
“ Okay! Enough ,” Eden barks out, smacking her open palms on the table. “Callen, straighten your damn shirt. It’s so wrinkly you look like you’re wearing a crumpled piece of paper.” She turns her head to the side to look at Linc. “Babe, you need to loosen your grip. I’m not going anywhere. You’ve been so uptight all morning.” Eden taps Linc’s arm. “You’re borderline hurting me.”
Linc immediately unclenches his hand, then gently strokes Eden’s shoulder where he was squeezing. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s like dating a wild gorilla, huh?” Lance asks with a smirk.
Eden narrows her eyes at Lance. “And you two ”—she points at Lance, then me—“whatever is going on between you, table it. Right now. In about two minutes, Vesper will be entering with the First Lady of the United States. She doesn’t have security with her, and she’s walking into a room of armed assassins. The less animalistic we can seem, the better. Capisce?”
We all gawk at Eden.
“Well, I’m just going to say it… That was very ‘Vesper’ of you,” Callen mumbles as he tries to smooth the wrinkles in his button-down shirt. “Kind of gave me chills.”
“Right?” Lance asks. He tucks the knife inside his pants pocket.
Fine. I’ll get it back later.
“Vesper told you the First Lady was coming?” I ask.
Eden nods. “She asked me not to tell you all until it was necessary. You and Lance going at each other’s throats made it necessary. Vienne Baker requested a private audience with PALADIN. Don’t ask me about what, Vesper didn’t tell me that part.”
I’ll never forget President Baker’s campaign slogan. Baker, Dream Maker. Dumb as can be. For some reason the visual of an Easy Bake Oven always came to my mind. But it worked. He won two elections with that stupid, catchy saying.
Lance rubs his jaw. “Wait… Isn’t Vienne the one we nicknamed—”
“Yes,” Eden says, pairing it with a loud groan. “Jailbait as you so eloquently describe her. Which is wildly inaccurate, by the way. She was of age when she and the current president became…entangled.”
“What?” I ask, not understanding.
“Our current president and his wife have over a twenty-five-year age difference. He’s sixty-six, she’s forty,” Callen explains. “His campaign competition really dug into that as a point of contention. But they couldn’t find anything scandalous. They’ve been married for thirteen years and seem genuinely happy.”
Odd. “Any children?” I ask.
“No. But they have a couple of pugs that they are obnoxiously affectionate with,” Eden explains. “Mr. Puggles and Lady Puggleton. They dress them up for photo shoots.” She grimaces. “In my humble opinion, it’s like their one flaw. Pugs in little suits, like in Men in Black, are pretty cute, but the frilly French collars? Eh…swing and a miss if you ask me.”
“This is what happens when rich people get bored,” Callen adds.
“They dress dogs up in Men in Black? ” I ask.
Lance lets out a loud grumble. “Again, it’s on the list, Cricket. Watch the damn movies. Laugh a bit. Take the stick out of your ass.”
“Are you still talking?” I shoot him a dark glance.
“Hush,” Eden hisses as the door handle turns. My eyes snap to the door and the two figures who enter the room.
Vienne Baker is at least a head taller than Vesper. She’s wearing a sleek, red dress that hugs her body from the neckline down to her ankles. Her long, dark hair is pulled to one side. Outside of her maroon-colored lipstick, she isn’t wearing any makeup. She doesn’t need it. Vienne Baker is a showstopper. Completely flawless. She belongs in old Hollywood, not perched in the White House. Apparently, forty is the new sexy.
“Vienne,” Vesper says, gesturing to us. “This is PALADIN. My team…my family.”
Vienne makes her way to the head of the table. “Good morning.” Her voice is about an octave deeper than I anticipated. She makes eye contact with each of us individually, seeing us…studying us. “I’m so grateful for you all meeting me on short notice like this. I’ll get straight to the point because we don’t have much time. I believe the White House is compromised. My husband is in grave danger, and we need protection.”
“Don’t you have Secret Service for that?” Linc asks.
The First Lady shows him a curt smile. “I don’t need security, Mr. Lincoln,” she says, making a point that she already knows Linc’s name. “What I need is an assassin.”