Whistleblower (PALADIN Book 1)
Whistleblower: Chapter 9

I lost all the coffee in my stomach. But it wasn’t enough for my stomach to be completely empty, I dry-heaved for another ten minutes. By the time it’s over, I’m sweaty and nauseous, reveling in the cool relief of the cold tile on my hands and knees as I crawl to the opposite wall of the toilet. Never have I been more appreciative of private bathrooms with a lock.

How the hell am I going to recover from this?

How do I save face and go back to that meeting room?

Do I even want to?

Leaning against the wall, I tuck my knees to my chest. I wish I had my timer. I’d give myself an entire hour to fall apart. I’ve never seen something so gruesome in my life. Blood is one thing…but…those were headless bodies.

It’s not real, Eden.

I shake my head at my subconscious which is trying to protect me. “Shut up,” I shoot back in a whisper to my own thoughts. “I saw it. It’s very real.”

The gore was enough to twist up my stomach and make me damn well lose consciousness, but it was the prisoner in the photo that was still alive who will give me nightmares for the rest of my life. He was looking up at the camera, his eyes full of fear. He had it worst of all. He witnessed the deplorable brutality unleashed upon the first two victims and knew exactly what was coming for him.

People are monsters.

And I’m starting to understand the need for monster slayers.

There’s a soft knock on the door but before I can answer, the lock turns. Someone has keys. Please, please for the love of God don’t let it be—

“Hey,” Cricket says, poking her head through the door.

Thank God. Just Cricket.

“Sorry for the privacy invasion but I had to make sure you were safe.”

I paw at my face, trying to mop up the evidence of my meltdown. “Oh, I’m fine. Thank you. I think it’s just…food poisoning.”

Cricket raises her brows and nods her head. She doesn’t believe a word I’m saying, but she doesn’t call me out. Instead, she sinks onto the floor, her back resting on the opposite wall from where I’m sitting. She tucks in her legs as well, letting her forearm dangle off her knee. We’re in almost identical sitting positions except Cricket looks collected and cool, and I know I must look like a withered mess.

“It freaks me out when bathroom floors are dark like this.” She pats the dark green tile next to her. “It’s gross because you can’t see what’s on them. We could be sitting in jizz, and you’d never know.”

Small talk—lovely.

“Everything you say sounds like a song because of your accent. It’s pretty…even when you say stuff like ‘jizz.’”

She snorts in laughter and I chuckle along with her for a brief moment before the gruesome image slips back into the forefront of my mind.

“Can you please leave?” I ask suddenly.

She yanks a fastener off her wrist and pulls her thick long blonde hair into a ponytail. “Why, love?”

“Because I don’t like when people see me cry and I don’t think I can hold it in right now.”

“Aw, come on now.”

Cricket scoots across the bathroom floor and wraps her arm around my shoulder. Stroking my hair, she all but forces me to lean my head against her shoulder. She may look feminine, but every inch of her body outside of her breasts is hard and toned. Her embrace is a little uncomfortable, like trying to hug a punching bag, but I lean in anyway.

“I’m not people, I’m just Cricket,” she says soothingly. “Go ahead and cry, I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

I’m not sure if it’s timing or her gentle encouragement, but the floodgates break right back open. I cry for the victims and their families. I wail because of the horrid brutality. I sob because this is reality, and I’ve had the privilege of being blind to it…until now. Are these the secrets Dad was holding on to? How do you see this kind of thing and not break into a million pieces? Is this what Empress could’ve caused if I didn’t stop them?

Cricket holds me for a long time. Her arms must be tired, but she doesn’t move. She just continues to stroke my hair and coo in my ear. In less than three hours of meeting her, this beautiful, far-too-forward stranger has become my sounding board—keeping me sane.

Finally straightening up, I wiggle out of her grip. Everything is a little damp—from my tears and sweat. I pull myself off the ground and wet a few paper towels in the sink before pressing them against my forehead. I’m still too hot so I resort to splashing the sink water all over my face.

“There you go, love. Feel better?” Cricket asks from the floor.

“I hope no one is waiting on me.” I have no idea how long I’ve been locked in the bathroom, but it’s definitely long enough to indicate I’m not okay.

“No. Linc and Lance are already gone, and Vesper is ripping Callen a new one for putting you in that situation.”

“It wasn’t Callen’s fault—”

“Ah,” Cricket interrupts. “Rule of thumb around here—one way or the other, it’s always Callen’s fault.” She winks playfully, but when I don’t match her humor, she continues more seriously. “You’re a civilian. You shouldn’t have to see all that.”

My throat is scratchy and sore, partly from the sobbing, but mostly from the retching. I collect a small pool of sink water in my hand and drink. The cool liquid immediately calms my throat. Sweet relief. At the moment, I don’t even care that it’s from a bathroom faucet, I’m desperate.

“Thank you,” I mumble. “Is that what you guys deal with daily?”

She shakes her head but doesn’t explicitly answer. “I take it you’ve never worked with the FBI before?” Cricket asks, tilting her head.

“I’m not technically with the FBI.”

“Law enforcement? Military?”

Gripping the ledge of the sink, I look at myself in the mirror. My hair is in disarray—frayed, and frizzy. My mascara and eyeliner are smudged to the point I look like Harley Quinn on a bad day. There’s no salvaging this. I need a makeup wipe and to start over.

In fact, that’s a profound statement. I need to start all the way the fuck over.

“Never. I used to work in Silicon Valley, mostly for tech companies. The most serious crimes I’ve ever dealt with are sexual harassment accusations and fudging numbers on company reimbursement claims. Bottom line”—I turn to face Cricket—“where I come from, nobody bleeds.” Or loses their head.

“Not to sound rude, love, but what the fuck are you doing here? Does Callen know all this?”

Glancing around the bathroom, I can’t help but notice how new everything looks. The fixture lights are fresh and bright. The dark tile floor hasn’t had a chance to become grimy. Even the toilet looked sparkly clean when my head was half-ducked into it. Come to think of it, the faint musky smell of piss and rusty pipes is nonexistent. This place smells lemony-fresh.

“I did the FBI a pretty big favor a little over a year ago. In helping them, I basically ruined my life. I guess… Maybe they felt they owed me a favor. They offered me this job for some financial stability.”

“Okay.” Cricket’s eyes are filled with lots of questions, but she settles for only one. “Am I supposed to call you ‘boss’ now?”

“Only if you want me not to answer.”

She chuckles. “I think we’re going to be fast friends, Bambi.”

My face twists. “Bambi?”

“Oh, yes. Everyone gets an ops name. Vesper loves a good James Bond movie. Lance is because he’s Linc’s first recruit—he’s the Lancelot to Linc’s King Arthur. One day Linc will give you his annoyingly dramatic speech on Abraham Lincoln and accidental heroism. And last but not least—”

“Yeah…why do they call you Cricket?”

“I used to keep pet crickets.” Her light green eyes glaze over and for the briefest moment, they look eerily dark and cold. But she composes herself just as fast. “They were the closest thing I had to companionship for a long time… Until Vesper found me.”

“Oh, well that’s sweet.”

“Well, that’s my version anyway,” Cricket says as she rises, brushing off her hands against her hips. “Lance will tell you it’s because I’m chirpy in the sack.”

Huh? “Wait, so are you guys?”

“Nah.” She shakes her head, but she winks playfully, casting doubt on my prior philosophy. “Come on, love, let’s get out of here. Maybe replace some of the breakfast you lost.”

I wait until her hand is on the bathroom door handle before I’m brave enough to ask. “Cricket, why did you guys all freak out when Linc took off his gun earlier?”

Planting her hand on her hip, she pinches one eye shut and gives me an impish smile. “Why?”

“No reason,” I mutter.

“The last time Linc put his gun away was for his mother…at her funeral. That’s the only time in my life I’ve seen Linc unarmed.”

“Oh.” The nervous butterflies return to my stomach, but it’s not nausea this time. I close my eyes briefly and am relieved when it’s Linc’s light blue eyes and that piercing stare that takes center stage over that awful image. “Well then, that was awfully considerate of him this morning.”

“Sure was,” Cricket says with a smirk on her face. “You know, I’m sure Callen has already filled your head with stories, but I promise you, Linc is more man than beast. He’s the angriest out of all of us because he has the biggest heart. It’s just been broken by this world…a lot.”

“Oh, Callen didn’t…” I trail off, shaking my head—mortified that Cricket can read me so easily.

“Course not.” She shrugs with an innocent smile. “Well come on, Bambi, let’s get you some water at least. There are cold bottles in the break room.”

I actually already feel better. Is this friendship? It’s been a while since I’ve had a friend. This is nice. I walked in here in ruins, and now I’m leaving the bathroom with only two thoughts in my head…

Big, bad, beautiful wolf, Linc, has been broken by this world… A lot.

And also, I really hope the nickname Bambi doesn’t stick.