Page 60 of Tattletale

“Your accent,” I say, digressing. “Irish?”

“Oh, you hear it?” she asks.

“Very much so.”

“I’ve been watching YouTube videos since I got to the States, trying to lose my accent. It makes me stick out like a sore thumb on a job. Not that I’ll get any jobs until I can clear a room like this.” Again, she gestures to the target boards surrounding us.

“I hope you don’t,” I say.

“Clear the room?”

I grin at her. “Lose your accent.”

I swear she flushes. Just slightly, but it was there—I saw it.

“What’s your name?”

“Levi,” I answer.

She holds out her free hand. “Nice to meet you, Levi. I’m Cricket.”

Shaking her hand delicately, I show her a little smirk. “Your parents named youCricket? They must’ve hated you.”

She gives me a dangerous look, but then her face relaxes into a clipped smile. “You really just open your mouth and let whatever roll on out, don’t you?”

I laugh, still holding her cool hand in mine, unwilling to let go just yet. “My underappreciated superpower.”

She must be getting uncomfortable with the way we’re eyes-locked, like we’re trying to fall in love or something, because she rips her hand out of mine. “Fiona,” she says. “My real name is Fiona.”

“Ah, Fiona. Irish princess, destined to fall in love with an ogre.”

“Huh?”

“Shrek?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “What is that?”

“A movie.”

She gives me an odd stare. “Oh… I’m not a big movie person.”

“Oh, you’re into books?”

“Eh…”

“Sports?”

She shakes her head.

“So, then what do you do?” I ask.

Fiona wiggles her wrist, twisting her pistol. “This.”

Now, my brain is spinning. What the hell is PALADIN? I thought this was a group of off-beat cops, trying to be secret vigilantes. They seem more elite than that, though.

“What’s wrong with my grip?” She holds out her arm, showing me the way her fingers are wrapped around the textured handle.

“What kind of Glock is this? A 19M?”

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