Whistleblower (PALADIN Book 1)
Whistleblower: Chapter 11

After two weeks with PALADIN, my brain is a puddle.

Callen warned me to slow down—I should’ve listened. I’ve done the interview approach at every company I’ve consulted for. At one point, I conducted fifty employee interviews in a week’s span and didn’t fatigue. Then again, most of the complaints were about favoritism, lunches and breaks, and promotion opportunities.

All PALADIN wants to talk about is targets. And by targets, I mean human beings. The agents want more high-profile cases and they hate the hoops they have to jump through to pull the trigger. I thought they feared the assassins—turns out they envy them. Apparently there are a lot of evil criminals in this world who deserve to die, and they want to operate as lawlessly as Vesper’s operatives do. That’s why these agents volunteered to join PALADIN.

The only, somewhat valid, requests I’ve received so far are a few recommendations for better snacks for the break room and for flat-screen TVs in every office, equipped with HBO.

I’ll only be obliging one of those requests. I am happy to have Callen order both Nacho Cheese and Cool Ranch Doritos for the break room. HBO, however, is not a hill I’m willing to climb.

Knock, knock.

Looking up from my dual monitors, I see Callen in the doorway of my office with a big smile on his face.

“Hey.” I roll away from my desk. “Come on in.”

He enters my office and closes the door behind him. After taking in a panoramic view of my space, Callen looks at me curiously. “Do you need anything, Eden?”

“Pardon?”

“This office looks a little bland.”

He’s not wrong. It’s a smaller office than I’m used to, with one large oak desk in the center of the room, and then a small sitting area crammed into the opposite corner. All the furniture is pleather and generic—which is honestly preferable in case of spills. I eat most of my lunches here, sometimes on the floor, legs tucked under the coffee table. My metal wastebasket is probably the shiniest item in my entire office. My office looks more like the inside of a police precinct than anything else, but what do you expect when your workplace is literally underground?

“It’s fine,” I say, leaning against my desk and stretching my legs. I’ve been sitting for way too long.

“You sure? You’re welcome to order some stuff on the FBI’s dime if you want to spruce this place up.”

I point to the left side of my desk where there is a mini sandbox and an itty-bitty rake. “I brought my Zen Garden.”

“What is this?” Callen saunters over to my little box of stress relief. “A tiny cat box?”

“No… It’s for…” I scrunch up my face, trying to figure out how to explain how arranging mini rocks, trees, and bushes, and drawing words in a miniature sandbox can be very therapeutic. “It’s just for fun. Anyway, what’s up Callen? Something I can help you with?”

He drops the small Zen Garden rake and makes his way over to the pleather sofa. It squeaks then wheezes when he slumps down.

“Two things. One—the new doctor is officially here, per your request.”

“Ah, good. I’ll need to make a personnel file for her.” I’ve taken on the administrative burden of PALADIN as well, but I don’t mind too much. Honestly, I am more than relieved that there is a dedicated doctor for the compound now. After the third time, in two weeks, that Lance busted into my office, asking me to please check out something that was itchy on his ass or ball sack, and then me kindly explaining I am not that kind of doctor, I insisted Callen bring a general doctor on board. The team needs easy access to medical attention. It seems these people only see doctors if they are near death. I had to explain the importance of preventative medicine and routine physicals.

“And what’s the other thing?” I ask.

“Right,” Callen says, clasping his hands together and pointing them at me. “A very intelligent organizational leadership consultant once told me that it is important to tell team members when they are doing a stellar job. So, this is me…following orders.” He winks.

I blink at him, confused. He responds by rolling his eyes.

“You, Eden. You are doing a great job. Oddly enough, this place is running smoothly. Lance called me ‘Sir’ the other day. Cricket is doing her paperwork. Even Linc greeted me in the hallway today. He said, ‘Good morning.’” Callen holds up two fingers and widens his eyes for dramatic effect. “That’s two words,” he reiterates.

“Linc’s back?” I ask. I haven’t seen him since my embarrassing meltdown during the team meeting two weeks ago when I ran out, ready to puke. The same one where I found out that my little janitor crush was actually a killer. He missed his scheduled interview but Callen informed me he was still out on yet another job.

“He got back this morning.”

“Oh, okay. Well, overall, it’s an easy team to work with.” As long as I ignore what they really do for work. “My prior leadership theory is defunct though.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t need to develop new leadership, Callen. There’s only one leader the operatives will listen to, and luckily for you, she has the agents’ respect too.”

“Vesper,” Callen says.

“Yes—none of this works without Vesper. But in my opinion, it can work. Everyone just needs to start working together on projects. Maybe start sending the operatives on jobs with a…buddy? Is that the term you use?”

“Like battle buddies?”

“Yeah.”

Callen laughs. “You really were an Army brat.”

“Through and through. But what I’m saying is the agents want to get their hands dirty. They want to feel like contributors, not props. From what I’ve gathered, they’re just as frustrated with the FBI’s policies as the operatives are.”

“I’ll think about it. But I say let’s ride the wave while it’s at its peak. What other team-building magic tricks do you have up your sleeve?”

I lean back against my desk and feel the hard ledge digging into my ass. “Well, I’m assuming company picnics or carnivals are out of the question, so all I can think of is happy hour, but are you guys even allowed to be seen in public together?”

Callen scoffs. “You watch too many movies, Eden. The agents all have very normal lives, and the operatives, well, most of the people who’d recognize them are all in prison or…” He trails off, but I can finish his sentence for him. Dead.

“Okay, then I’d recommend taking everyone out for a happy hour now and again. Nothing too rowdy, try a restaurant or lounge—not a club. And as the boss, only stay for one round, which you’ll need to pay for, and then excuse yourself for the evening. That’s a perfect balance—participate but don’t linger. Give them space to let loose and talk a little shit about you.” I smirk at Callen.

Callen’s laugh is muffled at best. “Okay, happy hour—I like it. How about next Friday? I’m busy this weekend.” He rises.

I shrug noncommittally. “If that works for you.”

He must sense my dismissal. “Oh no, no—you’re coming, Eden.”

I shake my head fervently. The only reason I’ve been somewhat able to function in this role, especially since that awful picture landed in front of my face, is that I’ve kept my work life and personal life separate. When I leave this compound, I leave all of my worried, gruesome thoughts here. I only ask for details that I specifically need—I don’t want to get too close. Hanging out with a bunch of killers and risking a panic attack when they casually start talking about the gory manner in which they end people’s lives doesn’t sound like a party I want to attend.

“No, Callen. I don’t think that’s a good idea. Plus, nobody wants to hang out with HR after hours. Come on,” I say, trying to sound casual, but it comes out pleading.

Callen flattens his stare. “You’re coming. End of story. And I thought you said you weren’t HR. I’m sure everyone would love to hang out with an organizational blah, blah, blah,” he teases as he rolls his wrist and exits my office.

“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble under my breath. “Leave the door open,” I call after him.

Callen’s barely out of sight before Linc appears in the doorway, as if he was patiently waiting for the coast to be clear.

“Hi,” I say, feeling how wide my eyes are. I blink a few times. Shit. It’s like the nerves from our last encounter went dormant…until exactly now.

“Good afternoon,” he says so quietly it’s barely audible. “Am I disturbing you?”

“Not at all. Come on in.” I wave him into my office and gesture toward the couch.

When he enters, a gust of the most pleasant fragrance fills my nose—it’s not cologne, it’s clean and simple, like generic bar soap. When he pauses just a few inches in front of me my knees go weak, so I plant my ass further against the desk ledge.

Linc taps his holster, showing me it’s empty. Again, he’s unarmed…for me.

“You don’t always have to do that for my benefit,” I say as I meet his eyes. I’m relieved when he breaks our gaze and moves toward the couch, releasing me from his spell. His crystal-blue eyes are a vacuum, capable of sucking me right into the unknown.

“It’s fine if it makes you more comfortable,” he says, settling into the pleather couch. It doesn’t wheeze as it did with Callen. Linc doesn’t plop—every single one of his movements is graceful and calculated.

“How was your trip?” I ask.

“Rainy.”

“Is that a good thing or bad?” Linc eyes the empty chair across from him as a subtle request, but I don’t budge. He’s settled deep into the seat and his legs are spread in a wide V. I stay planted by my desk. If his eyes are a vacuum, what’s in his pants might as well be a black hole, ready to swallow me whole. It’s best I keep a safe distance.

“I don’t mind the rain,” Linc says.

Why does everything that comes out of his mouth seem to have a double meaning? What are you actually saying? I allow the quiet moment between us to soak up the jolts of energy caused not only by my attraction to Linc but also by my intuition that’s raising every single red flag.

I’ve been around Cricket and Lance for the past couple of weeks and I never feel this jumpy. Even Vesper, who is far more on the serious side, comes off as comforting and maternal—maybe because she’s about a decade older than I am. But even still, Linc has an air about him, one that is captivating and unnerving at the same time.

When I’ve decided the silence has gone on too long I ask, “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I missed my interview. I was working. Is now a good time?”

“Oh.” I was not expecting that. “You know I’ve gotten the majority of information I need. Unless there’s something in particular you want to tell me, you don’t have to do all that.”

“I don’t mind.” He squints in my direction, seeming a little offended. “Lance said he did one.”

“Well, yes, but that’s because Lance loves to talk about himself. I didn’t actually write anything down. He basically just used me as a shrink for an hour.”

To my great surprise, Linc snorts in laughter—genuine laughter. So much so that I notice he has dimples. I thought Linc was good-looking before, but after seeing his wide smile for the first time…

This man is fucking gorgeous.

His eyes dance up and down my body in the most shameless way, as he cradles his chin, his forefinger hooking above his upper lip. He’s studying me again. I cross one leg over the other as if I can shield myself from his hungry stare.

“Feel free to close the door and interview me,” he says, causing a chill to come over me at the idea of Linc and I, alone, behind a closed door. “I’m feeling generous today. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”