Fighting by Cat Phoenix Read Free Book Online Page B

Actually, unless
I was looking for a mark to steal from, if I was waiting in line or something,
I'd pick someone and watch them.  Just for kicks, not because I was being
creepy," I amended.
    His
lips twitched.  "What about if you were at work?"
    "At
the book shop?  I'd do what I did that first day you came.  I did my job and
read in my downtime.  I scanned the shop every now and then, just keeping tabs
on the people in the store.  I was usually alone or at least in charge when I
worked, so I wanted to . . . be ready for anything, I guess."
    "Like
attempted robberies?" he asked with a smirk.
    "Apparently,"
I said in a dry voice.
    "What
made you take notice of me on that first day?"
    "At
first, I saw you because you bought a cup of coffee, obviously.  So I took in
your appearance, like I did with everyone who walked in, and found that instead
of pinpointing quirks like crazy hair or bad taste in shoes, you were almost
completely average, commonplace.  Average hair, average build, average posture,
average drink choice.  Neutral colored clothes and shoes.  You were utterly
normal."
    "So
what made you pay closer attention to me?" he asked.
    "It
wasn't your sparkling personality, if you're fishing for a compliment." 
He smiled.  "I can't really put my finger on it, but I felt it in my gut
so I didn't dismiss you like I usually would have.  I watched your body
language."
    "And?"
he encouraged me.
    I
sat back in my chair and said, "First, your posture, like I said, was
average.  You weren't stick straight but you weren't slouched like a teenager,
either.  You looked comfortable.  You were smiling pleasantly while reading the
paper, and that was the first red flag.  It'd be understandable if you were
reading the comics or the lifestyle section, but you were on the headlines and
then onto the second and third pages.  I didn't have to read the paper to know
it wasn't good news.  So if you were engrossed in it like you wanted us to
think, you would probably have a small frown on your face from concentration,
if not from reacting to bad news.
    "Second
red flag was when I caught you scanning your surroundings intently every thirty
seconds or so, which is way above average.  Last red flag before I made a move
toward you was when I saw you moving slightly every time I moved around the
store.  Not when someone else coughed or got up for a sugar packet, but when I,
the only employee in the store, moved.  I even tested it out a few times and
you never failed to react.  I realized you were watching me, and I wondered if
you knew I was watching you in return."
    "That's
very good," he said, nodding his head in approval.  "Did you know how
many people were in the store when the gunman came?"
    "Yes,"
I said, feeling an interesting little zing of happiness knowing Brooks was
proud of me.
    "I
was right about you, you know.  You're cut out for this work."
    "Is
this a lesson or a pep talk?"
    "Lesson
time.  There are several things you need to scan for when you enter any room. 
The exits, if you don't already know where they are.  The people, how many and
what the atmosphere of the place is so you can blend in better.  And weapons
and potential threats, if there are any, what they are and how many.  Like you
said earlier, you watched people while waiting in line, etc.  You zoned
out?" he asked.
    "Pretty
much."
    "Right. 
Don't do that anymore," he said simply.  "In public or on assignment,
your mind should be constantly on guard, so even if you appear to be reading
the paper, you're actually keeping tabs on everything around you so you can be,
as you said, ready for anything."
    "What
about when I'm home?"
    "Go
crazy with it.  Doubt Spencer would tolerate it too much, though."
    I
blinked at him.  Then I blinked again. 
    I
meant home as in, not in public.  Brooks meant home as in, the compound.  With
these people.  Home.   I pushed the word around, testing out how it
felt.  My mouth felt dry and my hands became a