Whistleblower (PALADIN Book 1)

After the second strike he topples, and both he and the chair land with a hard thud on the tile floor.

“Fuck!” I roar in frustration. “Just talk! Do you think I’m enjoying this?”

Our guest whimpers as I grab the chair and set it upright. His wrists, handcuffed behind his back, are chafed and raw. His lip is cut from the impact of my fist. I’m pulling punches but he’s still bruising like a peach. How much more of this can he take?

I squat down so I’m eye level with him. “When all this shit goes down, they will help you.” Pointing to the two-way glass, I continue, “Right outside that window is a very high director in the FBI. He has the authority to relocate you and put you in the witness protection program. They will call you a hero.”

I mean to call him by his name but come to think of it, I don’t know it. I didn’t grab it when Lance and I hauled his ass across state lines in the trunk of a car. I never thought I’d see him again. Callen summoned Lance and me into the compound tonight, saying he needed an interrogation accelerated. While he was chugging coffee, he gave me simple instructions: “We need an address as soon as possible. A lot of lives are at stake. Use force.”

He’s still silent, so I try a different angle. “You don’t need to endure any more pain. It’s so simple. Just give us the information.”

The young man levels a stare and gives me a wicked smile. Even with his face half-swollen, he still looks arrogant as fuck. “Listen,” he says, his voice hoarse. He’s so worn out, I have hope—maybe he’s ready to cave. But the moment is fleeting. He spits in my face. “Fuck you. Kill me if you must, I’m no snitch.”

Oh, fucker, I’m tempted.

I wipe his spit from my face before clocking him in the gut, holding nothing back this time. I’ll admit that one was out of spite. He groans in agony.

“Don’t go anywhere,” I say with cruel sarcasm, eyeing his cuffed hands and legs tied to the chair. “I’ll be back.”

The exit door buzzes allowing me through to the viewing room and I’m met with Callen’s unimpressed glare.

“You’re less than effective in there,” he snarks.

“He’s not going to talk. I’m just wailing on him at this point. He needs a break.”

“We don’t have time for a break,” Callen says while rubbing his temples. “Our intel says we’re likely a few hours out.”

“How much ammunition do you guys think they have?”

Callen hangs his head. “Enough to level a city.”

Callen and his team aren’t sure if it’s a bombing or a mass shooting, but all we know is there is an organization planning a massacre in a few hours and the fucker behind the glass knows who, what, when, and where. The only problem is he won’t talk. The FBI tried pleasant tactics over the past few weeks, offering him a pardon for his crimes, giving him the royal—aka humane—treatment. I think they even offered him mental health counseling. A lot of good that did them. After a couple of weeks of getting nowhere, they dumped him back in PALADIN’s lap and told us to do whatever was needed, behind closed doors, to get answers.

Stretching out my hand that’s still on the mend, I notice his blood on my knuckles. Should I even bother wiping it off? I’m supposed to get right back in there.

“If I beat him to death, he can’t talk. What do you want me to do?”

“What the hell is going on?” A small voice behind me sends a shiver up my spine.

We didn’t hear her come in—the door is supposed to be locked. Callen and I both whip around to see Eden at the entrance of the viewing room, her eyes locked on the man through the glass. Her long, dark hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, but she’s still wearing her clothes from earlier this evening. The pants I pulled off of her, not four hours ago, are a little wrinkled now.

“What are you doing here?” Callen asks, still pressing against his temples. I think he drank at least three of those stupid fruity martinis. In his defense, we didn’t expect an emergency tonight. Then again, it’s our job to always expect emergencies.

“I couldn’t find Cricket…” Eden trails off as she takes a few steps forward, making sense of the scene in front of her. As if on cue, the man grumbles in distress as he coughs, a dribble of blood coming out of his mouth. Eden snaps her head to the side and looks at me accusingly. “You did this to him?”

“Eden, this is a private interrogation,” Callen grumbles. “You need to leave. You shouldn’t see this.”

“You shouldn’t see this. You shouldn’t be doing this,” she hisses, glaring at me. I’m frozen at the moment. For some reason, I feel like I got caught cheating… I’ve never been so worried about a woman’s opinion of me in my life.

Eden turns on her heel without another word and storms out of the room. It takes me just a few minutes to decide whether or not to follow her, but by the time I make up my mind, she’s back, carrying a plastic bag of snacks from the break room and a few bottles of water.

“What do you need from him?” she asks.

Now I understand where this is going. “Eden, absolutely not—”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” she shoots haughtily at me. “I don’t work for you.” Turning to Callen, she asks again, “What do you need from him?”

I’m shocked when Callen takes another sip from the Styrofoam cup of coffee and then actually answers Eden’s question. “An address of where he and his buddies are hiding a bunker of explosives and assault weapons. I sent Lance out to chase down more leads, but this asshole is our best chance at stopping this.”

Eden clutches the plastic bag close to her chest. “Okay.” She draws in a deep breath. “Push the unlock button thingy—I’m ready.”

I burst out in laughter which is met with her seething scowl. “Are you out of your goddamn mind? You think I’m going to allow you in there?” I ask incredulously.

“Allow me?” she asks, eerily calm, but her normally sparkling eyes are darker and more dangerous than I’ve ever seen them before.

Fuck. I soften my voice, trying to reason with her. “Eden, I already told you, you’re”—I glance awkwardly at Callen, then just bite the bullet—“too precious to me,” I finish in a hushed tone. “He’s dangerous.”

Callen screws up his face at my admission, but Eden relaxes hers. She runs her fingers over my bloodied knuckles as Callen mumbles something I can’t hear under his breath.

“You have your superpower…and I have mine,” she says. “Trust me.”

“We can’t do any worse,” Callen finally says. “She pretty much has a doctorate in human behavior. In a way, she’s qualified as an interrogator.”

I don’t like this. But I’m going to lose this battle. “Fine,” I grunt.

“May I have the key to his cuffs?” Eden asks.

I lose my temper again. In the most intimidating tone I can muster, I inform her, “No. Non-negotiable.” I turn to Callen. “Fight me on this and you lose your best operative right now.”

Callen looks between the two of us. He pushes a button and the interrogation room door unlocks. “No key. Don’t give him your name, and no personal details about you, PALADIN, or the FBI. Remember that he’s violent and—”

“A human being?” Eden interrupts. “Or did we forget that somewhere along the line?”

The nervous energy builds in my veins as she walks through the door. I have to stop myself from ripping her backward and taking her out of the compound.

I don’t fucking like this… What is this? Worry? I used to never worry…

I might as well be cuffed myself, helplessly watching her walk right into the lion’s den that I already rattled. Mostly, I’m pissed, but also a little frightened. Then again, there’s a part of me that’s excited because it’s Eden…

And I know I’m about to be impressed.