Page 51 of Tattletale

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 bankaccount, 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 wrinklyyou 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. “Andyou 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.

---