Ranger snorted rudely. “Of course, she would.”
Weston held up a palm, and Reese continued: “Coming at her with too much too soon would likely result in her dismissing Cadet Davenport altogether as too worldly and amoral for her to bond with sufficiently. I-I think that was partly where Ryan went wrong,” she added in an aside. “In addition, the strong bond she has with her brothers would take longer than a couple of weeks to weaken. As you can see from my report, she’s not interested in being free of the burden of raising her brothers. It has actually become the most important thing in her life since the passing of her mother. I also agree with Cadet Davenport’s assessment that she doesn’t follow what is considered to be normal civilian behaviors.”
Ranger interrupted again. “I respectfully disagree with Cadets Caruthers and Davenport. I’ve met the girl, and she struck me on both occasions as . . . I’ll use layman’s terms here—a clueless country bimbo. You should’ve seen the way she was dressed and out prancing around on the night we picked her up. In a trashy neighborhood no less.”
My chest burned at the way he was spinning this. And I still couldn’t make sense of the way he became irate every time he talked about her.
Realizing, or reading my mind, Ranger’s eyes cut to mine before composing himself. “And just for the record, I’ve never met a civilian girl I couldn’t nail in a week. Morals or no morals—I’ve hooked up with plenty of church-going girls on Saturday night who just turn right around and wake up a little extra early for church on Sunday morning.”
“May I interject, sir?” I asked.
“By all means, son . . . shed the light upon us,” Weston said with no small amount of irony—religion had no place in this scientific institution.
“Officer Nealson jumped to conclusions on the night he is referring. Civilian Connelly was most likely coerced into wearing something . . . out of the ordinary for the special occasion of her birthday. I’ve never seen her in anything other than demure skirts and jeans, except for that one exception.”
Ranger huffed out an incredulous throat noise to convey how his opinion differed from mine.
“I can corroborate Cadet Davenport’s intel,” Reese joined in. “At the camp, she was the only one not wearing shorts, despite the heat. Knowing her socioeconomic status and wanting to bond with her over clothes, I suggested she could borrow some of mine. She declined, citing her father as the reason. Apparently, he adheres to very strict, old-fashioned ideas of what is appropriate attire and behavior for young ladies.”
“Pish-posh!” Ranger slapped the table. “What is this?—a ladies’ tea party? Are we here to ascertain the exact measure of length of that skank’s skirt or whether or not her brother is really a gifted civilian?”
Commander Davies spoke up for the first time: “Ranger is right here— this is all irrelevant information.”
Ranger leaned back, his arms folding across his chest. Reese colored slightly. I continued to look impassive though I wanted to reach across the table and choke fathead until he deflated.
“Do you have anything new to add in regards to the Potentially Gifted Civilian in question that is not currently in the report?” Weston chided.
I loosened my jaw (and fist under the table) to answer Weston. “The Connelly boy is very advanced academically as is indicated by the preliminary test results highlighted in the report. He’s also physically superior—both in appearance and athletically—in relation to his peers.”
“How did he score on that stress test again?”
“He scored a 74.25,” I supplied, then paused to let Weston mull this over. Civilians were required to score in the ninety-ninth percentile across the board to be considered. Unless they were gifted.
Weston stared out the window at a cloud formation, drifting across his California sun.
“Unfortunately,” I continued, “I’ve yet to see any definitive evidence that points to giftedness above and beyond the indicators I’ve mentioned.”
“That’s for our team to decide,” Weston growled. “It’s your job to deliver him to us. Sometimes these gifts are hidden, or the subjects themselves are even unaware of their unique capabilities. Being born that way, it simply becomes their norm. Or they may even try to suppress their specialness to fit in. You mentioned the boy was deliberately missing test questions; he may also be hiding other aspects of his talents.”
I nodded, allowing this.
“Have they committed to sending the boy to headquarters for the physical?”
“It’s in the works.”
“It’d better be.” Weston eyeballed me straight. “Or I may have to send in reinforcements—I have high hopes for this particular boy.”
“The father has proven to be almost as hard to pin down as his daughter,” I emphasized, trying to move some heat off Kate. “I believe he’s more unwilling to part with his trophy kid than initially thought. I just received a verbal commitment from him two days ago regarding the physical. He was willing to agree to it . . . provided that he be present during the screening.”
Weston looked aggravated by this bit of news. “You let us handle the father—you concentrate on the daughter.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We need her too preoccupied with Prince Charming to have the time, or the inclination, to whisper in Daddy’s ear about sending little brother away.”
“She’s very upset with me at the moment—”
“If you can’t handle this girl, Davenport, maybe it’s time to step down and allow Nealson to resume control!” Weston warned.
Ranger lifted his brows, his palms rubbing together greedily. He followed up with his signature one-side-up lip curl.
My stomach clenched. Could not have that. “With all due respect to Officer Nealson’s proven record, I believe that would work against The Academy’s objectives in this case.”
“Why is that exactly? I was under the impression Mr. Connelly is a big fan.”
“I believe his daughter has a different opinion . . . and it’s a strong one.”
Weston looked aggravated again. “What makes you say that?”
I shifted in my seat, slanting a look at Ranger before ratting him out. “I didn’t mention it in the report earlier, believing I could easily get around it, but Officer Nealson was most unprofessional in our initial encounters with Civilian Connelly.”
Ranger’s face burst into the shade of someone about to commit murder. He lunged across the table, a finger-stab aimed at my face. “You’re the one being unprofessional by allowing a seventeen-year-old girl to get one over on The Academy!—kind of like the tail wagging the dog, don’t you think?” My face remained placid as bathwater. Attempt to turn tables on me was a fail, so he redirected to Weston: “I guarantee the results you want within a week, or . . . you can demote me!”
“That might be hard to accomplish when Kate absolutely loathes you, and Andy loves me,” I replied serenely.
“Oh, so now it’s Kate and Andy, is it?” Ranger’s voice got all nasally. “Now who’s being unprofessional? You’re allowing your personal feelings to get in the way of your mission!”