Whistleblower (PALADIN Book 1)
Whistleblower: Chapter 36

The day after Linc’s abrupt departure, I asked Callen to meet me for breakfast. Watching him eat waffles is like watching a hippo smash a whole watermelon in its jaws… It’s not graceful. He’s eating like it’s a competition and the clock is ticking down.

“Callen do you always eat like you’re—”

“Starving?” he asks with his mouth full.

I cringe. What’s worse, is this time we’re not at a backwoods diner on the outskirts of town. This is a fancy brunch restaurant, the kind where they lay a cloth napkin in your lap.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “My wife used to complain about it all the time. Residuals from the military. I’m used to eating in a hurry.”

“You’re married?”

“Sorry—ex-wife. We were married very briefly,” he grumbles, wiping his mouth with the napkin.

“Good to know,” I say, sipping my second blood orange mimosa. These things are so tasty, I’m relieved my apartment is within walking distance from this downtown restaurant.

“Why is that good to know? Is this supposed to be a date that you’ve asked me on?”

I raise my brows at him. “Seriously? A date? Would you like Linc to actually break your hand this time?” Or worse. I don’t get the impression Linc would be comfortable with me dating anyone else behind his back. I also don’t think I’d be the one to pay the consequences.

Callen chuckles before taking a long sip from his orange juice. “I’m kidding, Eden. I’m almost ten years your senior. I didn’t think you were asking me out. But since we’re on the subject, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company this lovely Saturday morning?”

“Ah, yes—well, Director Ravi emailed me like she said she would,” I explain.

“I’m not surprised. She’s one to follow through with her word.”

“She offered me an interview. Something akin to an organizational strategist…at Pennsylvania Avenue.”

“I see,” Callen says, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair. “You’d get a badge and everything.’ There’s something peculiar about his expression.

“What’s that look for? Tell me, what’s your honest impression of her?”

He shrugs noncommittally. “She’s a very powerful person.”

“Callen.” I flatten a stare. “Come on. I’m asking you as a friend. I’d be working for her, directly. What’s she like as a boss? As a person?”

He lets out an exasperated breath. “She’s got better stats than anyone in the bureau. She’s a legend. The first in the office, the last to leave. Nobody is dedicated like Ravi is. She’s a tough boss, but you can learn a lot.”

“And as a person?”

He pops his empty fork back into his mouth and shrugs. “She’s a mean bitch. I avoid her like the plague.”

I cross my arms and scowl. “Whenever a woman holds a powerful position and has expectations for her subordinates, she’s always marked as a bitch. It’s not right.”

“I agree, it’s not right. But this isn’t sexism. There are plenty of respectable women in the FBI who don’t breathe fire when they speak. Director Ravi is mean because she wants to be. She was on her best behavior with you the other day. She must’ve really wanted you to take this interview.”

“Oh, I see.” I figured Ravi’s clipped tone in her email was because she was busy, not because she was less than friendly.

“Are you going to take it?”

Tilting my glass to the ceiling, I steal a moment to debate internally. “I’m used to being a bit nomadic with my work. PALADIN never really needed me to begin with. You certainly don’t need me now. I’m not trying to be self-important here, but once upon a time, I was doing big things. I used to make a significant difference in a lot of powerful companies. I miss…mattering.”

“Eden,” Callen says, clicking his tongue. “You matter. Maybe not in the way you expected. But you’re making a huge difference, here. With us.”

I squint one eye. “Because I’m sleeping with Linc and he’s being nice to you now?”

“I wouldn’t say he’s being nice,” Callen says with a nervous chuckle. “He’s tolerating me at best. But no, what I mean is you are bringing a sense of normalcy to PALADIN. Think about your past roles, how did people feel if they were treated like shit because they were feared and hated? Even assassins have feelings. You’re the first person to treat them with kindness and not because you’re afraid or have a hidden agenda. You’re a good person, Eden. Never underestimate what a big difference a good person can make.”

Warmth spreads from the top of my head all the way to my toes as Callen smiles at me. It reminds me of how Dad used to smile at me when he was proud and I’m lost in the past, remembering what having a family feels like—it’s the best feeling in the world. The best people I’ve ever known, even if Callen inhales waffles and eggs like a ravenous hyena.

I think about Lance’s cackle when he nudges my shoulder after laughing at his own pervy jokes. The afghan in my office always smells like Cricket these days from her daily couch naps and our daily chats. Even Vesper’s been kind to me at every turn. Every time she looks my way, there’s a comforting smile or an assuring shoulder squeeze. And Linc…

Linc lit my world up, so bright, so fast, I feel blinded by it all. But didn’t I pray for a new beginning? A fresh start. And didn’t I get it? Why am I so eager to start over, again, when this place is starting to feel a whole lot like home?

“Thank you, Callen.”

“You’re welcome,” he says. “But for what?”

“For helping me decide. I’m with PALADIN as long as you guys will have me. I won’t bother with that interview.”

Callen lifts his glass to me. “Good girl. Glad to hear it.”

I flinch slightly and wrinkle my nose in discomfort. Oh no. No, no. Good girl? That only sounds good when Linc says it.

Thanks to the brisk walk home, my mimosa buzz has dissipated. They were by far the best mimosas I’ve ever had. Callen talked me into the chicken and waffles, and for that alone he will go down as a hero in my book. They were divine. The drinks, the food, the atmosphere… It was all superb and I really wanted to share it with Linc. Mark my words, if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll replace a way to make him love breakfast foods again.

I lackadaisically tap my fob against the sensor to unlock my door, still in such a blissful mood. So blissful in fact I almost miss the hairs rising on the back of my neck when I enter my apartment.

I’m like a bloodhound as I sniff the air, catching a whiff of something foreign. It’s not a bad smell, just…new? Like a man’s deodorant or aftershave, mixed with a musk that is definitely not Linc’s. I mentally rack my brain for the housekeeping and maintenance schedule this week as I shut my front door and begin flipping on my apartment lights.

The smell is all throughout the apartment. I set my purse on the kitchen island and fish out my phone. Someone was definitely here—

I hear the gun cock the very same second that I register the cool metal brushing against my temple.

No, Eden, someone is still here.

“I’m going to need you to put that down.” The smell is stronger than ever as the bone-chilling, crackly voice of my intruder sounds from behind me. His hand, covered in a leather glove, wraps around my throat, but he doesn’t squeeze. It’s a warning.

I’m completely still as the terror washes through me. The fear is like taking a straight shot of whiskey. The burn begins on my tongue then slips down my throat. It brews a fire in my chest cavity before melting in my stomach. All I can do is wait it out. Wait for the bitter swell of agonizing dread to slowly permeate into my blood.

Just when I feel like my knees could give out, she enters the scene—my rational brain. I step back to whimper in the corner while she takes the reins.

Calm down, Eden. Calm is what will get you through. Breathe. Deep breaths. If he wanted you dead, you’d already be dead.

Ignoring my hammering heartbeat, I follow directions and speak as calmly as possible. “I’m putting it down.” I place my phone on my kitchen island face down and slowly put my hands in the air.

He lowers the gun from my temple and takes a step back. I turn around slowly, so slowly, like I’m trying not to provoke an agitated blood-thirsty bear. My heart drops another floor when I see his tall, thick frame. There’s no chance I’d survive a physical struggle. He’s literally twice my size. I’m not fast enough either. He could shoot me at least three times before I got to my lipstick taser in my purse.

But what’s encouraging is that he’s in a ski mask. All I can see are his dark brown eyes.

A mask is good, Eden. He doesn’t want you to see what he looks like. He doesn’t plan on killing you.

Trying to control my shaky breath, I say slowly, “I have to pee.”

“What?” he grunts out.

“I just had several drinks and you have a gun pointed at my face. I’m scared,” I explain. “Unless you want us both to be standing in my urine, you need to let me use the bathroom.”

I press my lips together so they don’t tremble.

“Fine,” he grumbles and then points toward the bathroom with his gun.

I take the ten paces down the hallway, hyperaware that his gun is pointed at my spine. He doesn’t have to kill me to paralyze me. After following me into the bathroom, he closes the door, cutting off my escape. “Be quick about it,” he barks.

Fuck.

“I need privacy. I can’t pee with you—”

He turns and glares at me. “I’m not leaving you alone, so figure it out.” I clasp my hands together to control the shaking.

Breathe, Eden. Calm. Calm is survival.

He looks me up and down. “I’m not here for any funny business, so just piss already. I won’t watch.” At the very least he turns around and faces the door.

“Talk me through this,” I plead silently to my rational brain. I beg the strong, logical side of my mind to get me through this.

Sit down on the toilet and just try. He has to hear the trickle so he doesn’t suspect a trick. He’s not looking at you, he doesn’t want anything of that sort. But you do have something he wants. You wouldn’t be alive if you didn’t. So be smart.

One step at a time.

Just pee, Eden.

And push the motherfucking panic button.

It’s incredibly hard to pee with an audience, but not impossible. His eyes are still fixed on the door, but, like a skilled actor, I pull the toilet paper down slowly, ensuring my warm finger touches the black flat sticker beneath the roll. Linc said it’d only take one second. I hold it for at least five.

I don’t know if I was expecting an alarm of some sort, but nothing happens. I have no choice except to stand, flush, and be escorted by a pistol back into my living room.

I wish I could see the time. Surely I’ve been held at gunpoint for several days and nights at this point. Or at least, that’s how it feels. Time stops for fear, so it can slowly swallow you whole while you futilely try to paddle against its powerful current.

“Sit down.”

I slump onto my couch obediently as he rummages through a black duffel bag on the ground with one hand. I nearly puke in my mouth when I see zip ties in his hands.

“What do you want?” I whisper.

“To talk.”

“Are those really necessary?” I nod at the ties in his hand. “Please.”

He smiles at me cruelly. “There’s a lot in this bag that isn’t necessary until it’s necessary. It depends on how quickly you’re willing to talk.”

“About what?”

“Empress.”

Of course, this is about Empress. Of course. It brings me great relief and another layer of panic. “What about Empress?”

“Don’t play stupid. Where is it?” he snarls.

“Where is what?”

Now, for the first time, I suspect I’ve pissed him off.

“Fucking stupid girl,” he bellows. “Let’s do this the hard way then.” Pointing his gun at my head again he tells me to hold out my wrists and I have no choice but to oblige. He loops the tie over both of my wrists and pulls so tight the plastic nearly cuts into my skin. He does the same with another set around my ankles, and once he is satisfied with his handiwork—

Slap!

I whimper as his palm collides hard with my cheek, disorienting me. The room spins as I see blurry specs against my watering eyes. The entire left side of my face is burning.

“Porky says it’s with you. So where is it?” he barks at me again.

I have no fucking clue what he’s talking about, but I’m scared to admit it.

Keep him talking. Say whatever you need to. Help is on the way.

“It’s not here, with me. It’s…back home. My home in California.”

“Where?”

How can I tell him where when I don’t even know what it is we’re talking about? I take my best guess.

“My office. My home office, in my desk.”

He blinks at me for a moment that feels like a century. “Be careful with your words. I have someone who can corroborate that right now. If you’re lying to me, I will pull out everything in that bag. Do you understand?”

I nod as my body goes numb. I’m suddenly tired and worn, like I could lie down to nap. It’s odd, I always thought adrenaline would keep me alert in a situation like this, but instead it has wiped me out entirely. Everything is foggy and hazy. I’m using every last shred of energy to not fall apart into a bumbling, panicked mess.

With me tied up and helpless, he pulls his phone out of the menacing black duffel bag and dials a number. Something must go wrong because he squints his eyes and dials again, but apparently to no avail.

Suddenly, the lights start shutting off, room by room. The power goes dead in my apartment. With the blackout shades drawn, even in the middle of the day, my apartment is pitch dark.

“What the fuck did you do?” I hear him hiss right before I hear the front door open. So quick that I can’t comprehend the sequence of events, there’s the sound of multiple footsteps, something cracking, and then a loud howl of agony.

“He’s down. Get the lights, Lance. She’s scared.” I’d recognize that Irish accent anywhere. Cricket’s voice rings through like a fucking angelic symphony.

You did it, Eden. You survived.

One by one, the overhead lighting and the lamps flicker back to life and I see Cricket standing over the intruder with his pistol in her hand. He’s writhing on the floor in agony and I notice his hands are displaced. All of his fingers are pointing in different directions. The cracking I heard…

It was bones breaking.

Lance is kneeling in front of me in an instant. “Oh, Bambi.” He strokes my face with the back of his knuckle where it’s still hot and tender. “He hit you.”

I suck in a breath, trying to hold back my tears. “Just once. I’m okay.”

“I’m so sorry. We got here as soon as we could.”

“Thank you. I’m okay,” I reiterate. The momentary sense of relief is fading and my voice begins to crack and squeak. Burning tears begin to coat my face.

Lance checks his pockets for something and comes up short. He scours the black duffel bag the intruder brought with him.

“Do you know this arsehole, love?” Cricket asks me.

I shake my head, but my eyes are fixed on the bag as Lance pulls out items one by one. A wrench. Handcuffs. A bottle of clear liquid that I’m positive isn’t water. A hammer. Pliers. Duct tape. What looks like a cattle prod.

“He’s the perfect serial killer but doesn’t have a pocketknife?” Lance mutters to himself. “Hang on, Bambi. I’ll get you free.”

“I have kitchen shears,” I say. “In the island drawer to the left.”

“Fuck!” Lance suddenly shouts, making me jump. “Cuff him, Cricket. Don’t kill him. We need to talk to Vesper.”

“Oh, I’m going to hurt him a lot more before I kill him,” she says with a sinister smile on her face.

Lance tosses a black leather wallet her way before he retrieves my kitchen shears and returns to me. “There you go,” he says as he frees my wrists. I instantly rub them together, flinching where the ties dug into my skin and broke the surface. He frees my ankles next, right before Cricket rips the intruder’s ski mask off.

He looks so…normal. A fresh military-style haircut with a clean-shaven face. His eyes are cinched closed as he tries to stomach the pain from his disfigured hands.

“You filthy fucking piece of shit,” Cricket growls. “There’s nothing I hate more than a dirty cop.”

“Cop?” I ask, looking into Lance’s light eyes.

“The dumbass brought his badge.” Lance pulls me into a tight hug and when his body starts to jostle, I realize it’s me who is shaking out of control. “He’s FBI.”

The news upends me, even more than the pliers and the hammer. There’s nothing scarier than the people you’re supposed to trust, hunting you, stalking you, waiting for the perfect moment until you’re alone and most vulnerable…

FBI? But then what does this have to do with Porky?

“Shut up,” I silently scold my rational brain. I’m tired. I’ve done enough. I survived. Now leave me alone. I don’t want to think any more.

“Eden,” Lance says, as he snaps his finger in my face. “Don’t pass out. Stay with me, okay? Linc is on the way.” My ears begin to ring, and Lance’s words sound distant and distorted. “Do you hear me? Linc is coming.”

The wooziness is too strong…

I’m far too warm and nauseous…

My vision goes blurry…

The world goes black.