The sound of the elevator ding alerted the woman seated before a myriad of monitors beside her desk. She glanced at one to see a man in a dark grey suit step out. She watched him walk toward the door to the file room, which had been referred to as a vault in the building’s early years.
Her eyes scrutinized every inch of him, her thumb and forefinger rolling around a small paintbrush as she deliberated whether she’d open the door.
When she heard him try to open it, she pressed a button to a speaker located to the right of door frame.
“Identification, please,” she requested.
Garrett was taken aback by the new door as he neared the room. When he tried to turn the handle, he was surprised to find it locked. The voice requiring his credentials irritated him further.
He looked up toward a camera he’d noticed upon his approach. It was pointed downward from above the door. He shook his head slightly in recollection of Doug’s warning about new security measures throughout the building. He wasn’t angry about this one, although a bit perturbed it hadn’t been implemented sooner under his suggestions the year prior.
Pulling off his office badge attached to his front pocket, he raised it so the person on the other side of the camera could clearly see.
As soon as he heard a bolt loosen, he pressed down on the handle and found it unlocked. He looked around the room as he entered and noticed the plaster walls had been replaced with metal sheeting.
He walked directly to the door that would lead into the large storage area containing all the company’s case files, past and present. When he attempted to turn the handle, he found it locked, as well.
His shoulders slumped and he shook his head. He was still exhausted from the trip and swore at himself for not heeding Doug’s advice about taking a day off. All he wanted was to file away what he brought down, get the files he was after, and get back to his office. Perhaps he’d take a catnap at his desk.
“I need to get inside,” he said wearily, his hand ready on the handle.
“I need to see your security badge,” was the response.
“Excuse me?” he replied in both surprise and annoyance.
He looked toward his left, where the wall ended halfway up. From that point above it was a thick sheet of glass or acrylic that provided an approximate three feet tall, four feet long window. Looking back at him from a seat at a desk on the other side was a younger woman.
“No one comes back here without approval. I need to see your ID,” she insisted again, her attention returning partially to her paintbrush that she began to dip into a cup of water.
“You need a separate ID to see the files,” she explained. “Not everyone has security clearance to all the files back here. You’ll need an ID specifically for that.”
As he listened, he looked around at the new design of the vault. There had always been a clerk for those who needed assistance in finding files. This new arrangement was much like a guard station, and the guard was a smug-faced woman with an equally smug tone.
“You’re new, I get that,” he said, undaunted by her abrasive demeanor, “but I don’t need ID to look at my case files.”
“Then I’ll get what you need, but you must show me your ID first,” she argued. “I can put those back, as well,” she offered with a nod to the files in his hands. “Just slip them into this box and close the door.”
He watched as she pointed to a compartment that had a door on his side and from what he could see at his angle, a door on her side.
“Are you serious?” he replied, his patience nearly drained.
“Is there a problem with your ID? Did you forget it at your desk? In your car? At home? Go get it and bring it back, then I can help you.”
He watched in awe as she returned her attention to a small canvas she was painting, thoughts of him apparently gone.
“Look, lady…” he angrily blurted.
“This isn’t a Renaissance Faire,” she replied, never taking her eyes away from her artwork, her tone becoming neither angry nor kind. “Unless your intention was to say, ‘my lady,’ don’t refer to me as such. You may call me Fawn or Miss Conall.”
Just as he was about to lose his temper and give her a piece of his mind in the unfriendliest of words, Doug rushed into the vault lobby.
“Garrett! I see you’ve met Miss Fawn,” he said nearly out of breath, as though he’d run the whole way.
“Doug, what in the hell is going on?” Garrett angrily replied.
“New security measures,” Doug answered as he sighed deeply to calm his breathing.
“I can see that. I want my damned file,” fumed Garrett. “And how did you get in when I had to be buzzed in?”
“There’s a concealed keypad that you’ll need to be programmed into. Just do as she says,” Doug advised. “She’s the one who suggested the security changes and has Mr. Pinkerton’s backing.”
Garrett glared at Doug for what he perceived was his unhelpful intrusion, then back at Fawn. His eyes wandered over her in contemplation of her relationship with their CEO. Was she some sort of bedroom toy? The man had a reputation for favoring young women from what he liked to call “exotic locations.” Garrett could see straight away Fawn was Chinese.
Due to the nature of Garrett’s own recruitment, he knew very well Lucas Pinkerton never chose recruits lightly. Because of Garrett’s skills and instincts, the head of the agency always relied upon him to vet everyone who applied. Bringing in the intern Trevor was a shock to Garrett, but he supposed hiring a regular investigator could be done without his initial oversight.
Bringing in someone who seemed to have full reign over the security of the agency building, which in turn meant security over certain closely guarded secrets, surprised Garrett the most.
Giving her another gaze, he wondered if she had somehow seduced Mr. Pinkerton. She was the old man’s type of woman simply being of Asian descent. She was quite beautiful, in Garrett’s opinion, though he rarely took the time to notice such things.
Her hair spilled around her shoulders and on to her waist as if it were ink from the bottle into which she was dipping her brush. Long, elegant lashes stretched out at an almost impossible length, framing oval-shaped eyes the color of fresh cut onyx. Her lips looked faintly tinted in a soft pink melon and pursed delicately from time to time as she concentrated on the fine lines flowing from the soft bristles.
As he heard the main door to the vault open, he realized she was wearing authentic Chinese robes. He couldn’t help but smile a little before his lips fell into another disapproving frown. She looked like something out of a modern movie to appease stereotypes, and he found himself wondering once more if she were simply a decorative plaything for old man Pinkerton.
“Garrett! Good to see you’ve returned to us safely!” called out a loud, strong voice. He didn’t look away from her as the newcomer continued. “I see you’ve met our wonderful Fawn.
Good morning, Fawn.”
Fawn looked up with a broad smile as the elderly, white-haired man walked up to her desk, a wooden cane used more for show than necessity. He gripped the golden tiger head at its crook and straightened his grey pinstriped suit jacket over his age-defying frame.
“Good morning, Mr. Pinkerton, sir,” she said in a more welcoming tone than she’d used on Garrett.
Her smile and pleasant attitude only seemed to give weight to Garrett’s unflattering assumption, and a new intolerance began to swiftly cloud his opinion of her.
“Fawn, our Mr. Fagan has complete, explicit approval to enter the file room at any time,” Mr. Pinkerton instructed.
“Yes, Mr. Pinkerton,” Fawn replied.
She reached beneath the desk to her right and pressed a button, releasing the mechanism locking the door shut.
Garrett gave her a quick, sharp glare as he passed her desk on the way to the shelves and filing cabinets.
“What are you working on today, my dear?” Mr. Pinkerton asked, leaning forward to get a look at her art.
“A garden,” she replied.
“How lovely!” he exclaimed with a joyful smile. “Garrett, you must have a look at Fawn’s wonderful paintings. She’s quite skilled. I can almost smell the flowers she paints. She paints animals, too, and she once painted the Portland skyline for an ad the main office ran while you were on assignment.
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