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 Westfield. She’s listed in your appointment book on the left page, third column.”
“Yes, Yoda, I see that.” Emma grimaced. “Cut me some slack. I’m trying to learn. At least give me thirty seconds before you jump in.”
A brief pause. “That seems fair and acceptable. I’ll program my database accordingly.”
“You do that.” Emma rose and walked to the door, punching in the dummy alarm code Ryan had assigned her. Only the inner circle got the real code. Not the newbies on probation.
She opened the door and automatically ran through the physical assessment she’d learned during her pickpocket days, when she’d sized up her potential marks.
Madeline Westfield was pretty in a haunting kind of way. Mid-thirties. Chestnut-brown hair, classily styled and just grazing her shoulders. Fair skin. Deep, dark eyes. Medium height. Cute figure. Casually but expensively dressed in a cashmere coat, from beneath which peeked a sweater and pants that screamed designer. A badly bruised forehead—from a bad bang, not physical abuse—and an anxious look in her eyes.
The ideal client—rich and needy.
“Good morning,” Emma said brightly, extending her hand. “You must be Ms. Westfield. I’m Emma Stirling. Welcome to Forensic Instincts.”
“Thank you.” Madeline clasped her hand briefly. Her palm was icy. She was peering around. She was nervous. Emma wondered what that was about—the upcoming meeting or whatever had brought her here.
“The team is waiting for you right in there.” Emma gestured at the cozy meeting room down the hall. “I’ll take your coat. Can I get you something—coffee, tea, water?”
“Coffee would be lovely, thank you,” Madeline said, shrugging out of her coat and handing it to Emma. “Just black.”
“No problem. I’ll show you in and then bring it to you.”
Emma led the way, escorting Madeline straight to the open door. With a brief knock, she glanced at the team. “Ms. Madeline Westfield is here for her appointment.” She noted the steaming pot of coffee on a trivet in the middle of the center table. “Should I pour?” she asked Casey.
“No, thank you, Emma. We’ve got it. Just shut the door on your way out.”
“Okay. Let me know if you need me.” Emma left the room, closing the door to give them their privacy and heading back to her desk—and to Yoda’s tutoring.
* * *
Madeline stood just inside the meeting room, tightly clutching her handbag. She looked stiff, as if she was in pain, and there was a bad bruise on her forehead.
Casey was about to open her mouth when she caught the odd, strained expression on Madeline’s face. She was staring at Marc. And Marc had a look on his face that Casey had never seen before—a look of stark, raw emotion.
“Maddy?” He rose slowly to his feet.
“Hello, Marc.” She attempted a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It occurred to me that you might not realize I was the one who was coming here today.”
“No. I didn’t.” Marc’s emotions shut down and his usual unreadable expression snapped back into place. “The appointment didn’t list you as Madeline Stanton.”
“Westfield is my married name.”
“I see.”
The silence was so awkward that even Casey was hard-pressed to break it.
But break it she did.
Coming swiftly to her feet, she stepped forward and extended her hand. “I’m Casey Woods. I see that you and Marc already know each other, so I’ll introduce the rest of the team.”
No questions. No observations. No belaboring the all-too-blatant reality.
Madeline’s relief was visible. “I’m so happy to meet you,” she said, shaking Casey’s hand. Her gaze shifted to the area rug, where Hero was lying beside Casey’s chair. “What a beautiful bloodhound.”
“Hero is a human-scent evidence dog,” Casey explained. “He’s part of the Forensic Instincts team.”
