Whistleblower (PALADIN Book 1)

I’ve been looking forward to Vesper’s interview the most, so I purposely saved her for last. Of all the operatives, she’s been the most amenable to this change, but I’m still surprised when she shows up on Wednesday morning, on time, with a smile on her face and two takeout coffees in her hands.

“Good morning,” I say, gesturing to the sitting area of my office as I grab my clipboard.

“I’m hoping you haven’t already had coffee,” she says as she sits. She offers me the cup in her left hand. “This is from the bakery you recommended. They also make delicious lattes.”

I’ve had my morning coffee. Two cups in fact. But I was a doctoral student, I worked in Silicon Valley, and I was a young woman trying to become a pioneer in a man’s world. It’s not blood that runs through my veins…it’s coffee. I drink so much of it, at this point, I’m sure I’m immune.

“That was really kind. Thank you.”

I take the cup and sit down in my usual interview chair. She’s quiet as she studies my face with the most peculiar expression—mostly intrigued…just a tiny bit creepy.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I instinctively run my tongue over my front teeth and touch my cheek, trying to find evidence of what she’s staring at.

“I always imagined what it’d be like if I had a daughter. Sometimes I dream about what she’d look like. I swear, it’s a lot like you.” Vesper laughs. “I’m sorry, by the time you are near forty, you just say whatever the hell you want without worrying about how uncomfortable it makes people.”

I laugh. “I’m not uncomfortable. I take it as a compliment, and if I’m being honest, you have a likeness to my own mother.”

“Passed?” She tilts her chin just a tad.

How did she know? I nod. “When I was very young—right before my third birthday.”

She tuts her tongue. “That doesn’t leave a lot of memories.”

I shake my head. “No, not really. But I distinctly remember how she smelled.”

My mom always smelt like her lavender lotion and baked goods. Apparently Mom thought cookies were therapy, and didn’t wait for birthdays to bake a cake. Dad told me that my mom used to bake and frost a cake for every random occasion: National Penny Day, Pi Day, Zookeeper Appreciation Day, and sometimes just Thursday afternoons. He’d only let himself have one tiny sliver, but he always said he and Mom vowed to get obnoxiously fat off her baking once he retired from the military…

They never got a chance. Both of my parents died lean.

I change the subject before I have an opportunity to get too lost on memory lane. That path usually ends in tears. “So, logistically speaking, I have a lot of information about the FBI agents, but I still don’t know much about the origin of PALADIN. I was hoping you could fill in some blanks for me. But I’m not sure what I’m allowed to ask and allowed to know.”

Vesper nods, encouragingly. “I’ll walk you through what I can. We trust you, we can be transparent.” Trust. I love that word. I miss that word. I used to be considered trustworthy before I became a whistleblower.

“Thank you for trusting me. What we say here, stays here. I just want to understand so I can help.” I take a sip of my coffee, detecting a hint of butterscotch. I give Vesper my most impressed look—this is delicious.

“Fire away,” Vesper says.

“Okay, so—why does Operation PALADIN exist? How did you get involved with it?”

She scrunches her face and I get the impression I’ve already stepped too far. “Can I tell you a story?”

“Please.” I set my clipboard aside and take another sip of my butterscotch latte.

“Most recruits join the FBI right at twenty-three. They finish their bachelors, have a squeaky clean record, and are prepared to dedicate their lives to the code.”

“Fidelity. Bravery. Integrity.” That much I understand at least.

“Indeed.” Vesper winks at me. “The motto sounds far more glamorous than the reality.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “My indoctrination into the FBI was a little different…”

“Meaning?” I ask the question but judging by the menacing look in Vesper’s eyes, I don’t think I really want the details.

“This is the part where I need to omit a few details, to protect you. But, bottom line, I had uncommon knowledge, and a specific skill set so the FBI asked me for help. I was offered a very clear choice.” She sighs. “Once I made a decision, the FBI forged a clean record for me. I can’t tell you how many names I’ve had in my life, Eden.”

What choice? It’s the only question on my mind, but I’m sure if Vesper was willing to answer it, she would’ve already offered.

“For a while, it was quiet. I was considered more of a consultant”—she gestures to me—“in a way, like you. I was to watch, observe, and assist when they needed me. But eventually, a case came across the FBI’s desk—this real piece of shit, Tanner. They called him SGK—the Super Glue Killer. He would glue his victims to…” She trails off, seeming to remember who she’s talking to, and probably envisioning my reaction to the gory photo in the meeting room a few weeks ago.

“Anyway, he was a really bad guy. I bet he and The Night Stalker are sharing a prison cell in hell.”

I bob my head in understanding. I know of Ramirez, I used to watch true crime when my dad was alive. Not lately though, because hearing stories about serial killers is not a good idea when you live alone, have basically no friends or family, and your paranoia is through the roof.

“But he was so fucking smart. I hate to say anything positive about that shit stain of a human being, but he was highly intelligent. A real sociopath through and through. He was always one step ahead of the FBI. He was slaying people left and right, right under their noses, but he knew exactly what he was doing. Half of his entertainment was watching the FBI spin their wheels, the other half was mutilating his victims. The evidence was shaky at best, there was enough to tie him to the cases, but not enough to make an arrest or hold in court—no witnesses, no slip-ups…he was the cleanest killer they’d ever seen.”

I blow out a long breath and just pretend Vesper is telling me fictitious ghost stories.

“Did you get him, eventually?”

“I got a call from… Well, that part I can’t say, but let’s call this person someone who is allowed to make big decisions. My role with the FBI was to help them understand a killer’s mindset and understand their patterns of behavior. This caller asked me what the FBI should do. They had no other leads and were no closer to cracking Tanner, so I told him—they need to handle it. Tanner is hurting people, he’s enjoying it, he won’t stop, he doesn’t deserve justice… He needs to die.”

“What’d the caller say?”

“Do it,” Vesper says, turning her lips down. “He told me I had permission to handle it. I left my badge behind and hunted him down at his squeaky-clean home—which the FBI raided twice, and came up short. I sniped him through his bedroom window. It was so quick. All the future victims we feared for were safe in an instant. So, on the official record, the FBI let the SGK cases go cold, but after Tanner died, the slayings stopped. No more signature super glue kills. If there was any doubt in my mind about his culpability, it went away when we finally had peace.”

“So the FBI started Operation PALADIN?”

Vesper shakes her head. “No. Tanner was the tip of the iceberg. If you think a serial killer is bad, try terrorists, suicide bombers, human traffickers, warlords, mafias, cults… There are a lot of bad people in this world who don’t deserve fair trials and the due process of law. So, a few days after Tanner goes down, I get a call from that person I mentioned, and he asked me if I’d be willing to leave the FBI and join a special operation.” An odd smile creeps across Vesper’s face. “From there, Operation PALADIN was born. The FBI was a holding pen for me, with PALADIN, I can actually make a difference.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. All this story has done is kick up more questions in my mind, and I try to sift through what is professional and what is personal.

“So why go back to the FBI, now?”

“I’m struggling with recruits. I bring new operatives in, and they let me down. It’s becoming harder to find people I can trust.”

“You trust Linc,” I say, mentally cringing.

It’s been almost a week since we kissed. We’ve been cordial but I think we’re both disappointed.

That kiss was everything…

But the blood…

I don’t know, I’m having trouble discerning between the feelings I get around Linc. It’s not about him, per se. Oddly enough, I feel quite safe around him. I just don’t feel morally safe around what he does. But as Cricket explained, the operatives and PALADIN are one and the same. There is no Linc outside of killing, and from what I understand, there’s no PALADIN without Linc.

“Linc, Lance, and Cricket are a little different. For lack of a better explanation, they are my children. I collected them as teenagers, all from bad situations. I thought maybe PALADIN could protect them where their own families failed. Linc was the youngest—I recruited him at sixteen. Cricket was barely any older, and Linc found Lance around the same time.” She smiles as her eyes shift. “They’re the family I never let myself have. I worry about them, love them, and would die for them. But I don’t want any more of them. I robbed them of their youth. From now on, recruits need to be adults who understand what they are giving up. PALADIN has to figure out a way to stabilize—we’re low in numbers and overworked. That’s where Callen stepped in.”

“Callen’s…a good guy.”

Vesper raises a brow. “Are you two–”

“Oh, no.” She laughs as I shake my head aggressively. “No, no. Callen is… I think the first person to care about what will happen to me in a long time. That’s all. Plus, we have the military in common, so it’s easy to talk to him.”

“You served?”

“My dad. Delta Force—twenty years. I was a dependent.”

“He must be impressed you’re working with the FBI now,” Vesper says, taking a sip from her cup and leaning back into my office sofa. She crosses her legs.

“He passed. Three years ago. Heart failure,” I add quickly so I don’t have to explain that he wasn’t killed in combat.

“Oh, Eden. You’ve been through a lot.”

“No more than you guys.”

She teeters her head. “We chose this life. And my dad is alive, actually.” A peculiar expression crosses her face, like pain mixed with comfort. “I still visit him on occasion. He’s blind now, but he can sense when I’m in the room.”

I stare at the wall above Vesper’s head, getting lost in a memory. My dad used to say the same. Toward the end, when he was so weak he could barely lift his head, he said he could sense when I was near. I used to bring my work into his bedroom when he was sleeping, just to keep him company. He said his dreams would change when I was close—to something more pleasant.

“Are you okay?” Vesper asks.

“Hm? Oh, yes. I’m fine.” I flash her a half-baked smile as I take another sip of my latte. I realize we’ve been talking for a while because the hot drink has cooled to warm.

“Callen said you’ve had a rough year. He said everything with Empress was a mess. How are you doing?”

I almost tell her I’m fine, but I decide to try honesty instead. “How much do you know about what Empress really did?”

She ducks her head. “Enough to know you’re a hero.”

“No one back home sees it that way. It’s still odd to me that I did the right thing, yet I’m so hated for it. It was to the point that companies were too afraid to give me a job. Why does doing the right thing make people fear you so much?”

“Ignorance often shows up as fear,” Vesper wisely adds.

“I think the most difficult part of the whole ordeal is not being able to tell my side of the story. I wasn’t trying to be self-righteous, and I didn’t want to see Empress fall. But what was I supposed to do? Turn a blind eye? If I would’ve done nothing, when I had the power to stop it, then I’d have blood on my hands. I hate being seen as some sort of monster when I was only trying to protect people—”

I stop mid-sentence as I taste the hypocrisy on my lips. People have been treating me the same way I’ve been treating Linc. Scared of what I don’t understand. If Linc has the power to stop bad things from happening… Who am I to judge the methods? My dad took lives and I never questioned that. He got his orders from the military. Linc gets his orders from Vesper and now, the FBI. Different handlers, but isn’t the war the same? Good versus evil. Right versus wrong.

I eye the book that’s still on my desk.

I never got a chance to thank Linc for War and Peace. I was distracted when we kissed, and we seemed to keep missing each other—or avoiding each other—ever since. Still, I keep the book on my desk like a souvenir.

I should thank him… Now. Or, insert whatever other thinly-veiled excuse I need to go and speak to him. Of course I want a second kiss. A third. A hundred more. I need to tell him.

When I hastily rise, Vesper looks at me, concerned.

“I’m sorry,” I explain. “Do you mind if we cut this short? I just remembered…”

“Of course, no problem,” she replies.

“Um… Is Linc in today?”

Her neat, dark brows raise for just a moment before she neutralizes her expression. “I believe so. I passed Callen on the way to your office and he said he sent Linc to the doctor—his hand is bothering him.”

“Okay.” I nod and head to the door, already feeling the butterflies in my stomach and the declaration I’ve prepared myself to make. Linc…I can do this. I’ll stop running and be brave enough to want you.

But right before I make my exit, another gnawing question creeps to the forefront of my mind and I can’t help but pivot at the door and unleash my question from earlier.

“Vesper…off the record. You said the FBI gave you a choice, it was help them, or what?”

When her face flattens, I immediately regret opening my big mouth. I try to tell her to ignore me, but she must read my mind because she holds up her palm.

“It’s okay, Eden. I’m sure you still have a lot of questions. Most I can’t answer, but this one… I can trust you, right?”

I nod fervently. “Yes.”

“Death row,” she says simply, watching my jaw fall open. “I was only eighteen years old, and it was either join the FBI or face my crimes.”

“Vesper… I…” I am lost for words. Crimes? I thought you were the good guy.

She juts her chin toward the door. “I can see myself out. Go ahead. Whatever you just remembered sounds important,” she says with a sly smile.

I rarely venture down the hallway that holds the medical clinic. The word “clinic” may be an exaggeration—it’s just two rooms side by side. One sterile room for procedures, and one basic exam room. Our new in-house doctor is a bit of a unicorn. The FBI must be dolling out serious cash for her employment…and discretion. From what I understand, she’s versatile enough to stitch up a bullet wound but can also perform a gynecological exam. She’s a gas station convenience store—a little bit of all the random things you may need.

As I make my way down the hallway, I hear a commotion in the room to the right. Linc must be in the exam room. At any other hospital in the world, interrupting an exam would be completely inappropriate—a sin against HIPAA. But I don’t know when I’ll run into him again, and right now, I’m desperate to talk to him.

I hold my hand up to knock on the door but the sound of a whimper stops me.

Then, a loud crash.

I’m tempted to barge in. A crash and then a cry means someone needs help—someone’s in danger. But as I place my hand on the doorknob, the doctor’s voice sings through clear as day.

“Oh, God. Yes! Just like that. Don’t fucking stop.”

Another crash, and now the rhythmic banging I’m hearing makes perfect sense. It’s the exam table knocking against the wall.

I’m paralyzed as the gnawing discomfort in my stomach expands. The growing pressure of embarrassment renders my whole body immobile, so I have to endure at least another ten seconds of the moaning before my legs are no longer jelly. Once I can feel my legs again, I all but fly back down the hallway.

By the time I return to my office, Vesper is gone, so I sit quietly in my rolling office chair. If I had it, I’d pull out my productivity timer. Ten minutes ought to do it. Ten minutes should be just enough time to curse myself for standing in my own fucking way. One week. That’s it. One week is all it took to push away the only man I’ve noticed in the past year of my life. There was something special about Linc, about the way I felt around him…

I blew it.

Apparently, Doctor Hartley did not.

I met her once and I genuinely liked her. Despite the fact that her business clothes were a little promiscuous, she’s professional, kind, and intelligent. Funny how quickly she’s become my least favorite person at the compound.

I rehearse the truth in my mind over and over: Linc owes me nothing. We kissed and he moved on when I basically told him we could never be.

It’s probably better this way anyway. I’m day, he’s night. I’m rules, he’s anarchy. I work with teams, he works alone. We would never make sense together. I don’t even know if we’d have the same definition of “together.”

I position my metal wastebasket by the side of my desk and casually as ever, I scoot War and Peace to the very edge, hoping gravity causes it to topple right into the trash. But it doesn’t budge.

I rub my hand all over my face and think of my dad and this damn book… How I never got to talk to him about it. I should’ve read it when I had the chance. Picking up the heavy hardback book, I decide against the wastebasket and instead, tuck it into my top drawer.

Sorry, Dad. I’ll get to it eventually, I promise.