Whistleblower (PALADIN Book 1)

My shower is drafty. The giant glass box is too big for the single shower head above me. The water pressure is powerful. I feel like I’m caught in the prelude of a hurricane, but the amount of space in here could accommodate a small orgy. That’s not my taste. Lance, however, would make good use of this oversized shower…although it’d have nothing to do with getting clean.

Come to think of it, my whole house is too big, uncomfortable, and drafty. Four-thousand-square-feet is way too much space for one person, but what else was I doing with my money? Until a couple months ago, I’d never owned a home.

This is too much change, too fast.

I normally don’t spend more than two weeks in one place, and now I need to purchase a lawn mower to tend to my backyard. Backyard. I have a deed and a title, a mailbox, and a place of work that I’m expected to report to Monday through Friday…

Way too much, far too fast.

I wouldn’t be going along with all this change if I wasn’t witnessing the mental demise of Vesper. She saved me twelve years ago, giving me a life and a reason to wake up in the morning. It’s my turn to help her and shit, does she need help right now. Heavy is the crown. Every day she wakes up and makes impossible decisions—who lives, who dies, who pulls the trigger. Those are heavy puppet strings to pull. And, not that I’d say it out loud, but lately she looks tired.

We’re all tired.

I wonder if she closes her lids and sees ghosts too. I wonder if she lies awake at night counting the number of bodies like I do, wondering how high I have to count until the world is at peace.

I just want some motherfucking rest.

But it’s midnight, and even in the comfort of my home, I can’t sleep. The hot shower didn’t help. My head is still spinning and my legs are restless.

I need to get out of here.

After twisting the shower handle to “Off” and wrapping a towel around my waist, I find my phone. I call the only other person I’m certain is up this late.

“What’s up?” Lance answers, sounding winded, like he’s on the treadmill.

“Are you back in town, yet?”

“No,” he says breathily, “are you?”

“I’ve been in town…with Vesper.”

“How is she holding up after Frankie?”

“Fine. She just needs time—”

I stop talking when I notice the loud rhythmic banging in the background of his line.

“Are you busy?” I ask.

“No… I mean, yeah. But I have a minute.” He blows out a sharp breath. “So, what time do we have to be there for this meeting on Monday? Have you talked to Cricket?”

I hear a woman moaning in the background as the rhythmic banging picks up, and I realize what he’s busy with.

“Jesus. Eight,” I grumble right before I end the call.

I debate calling Cricket, but I know she’s probably still on a flight. She was out of the country, lingering too long after a job. When I called her two days ago and told her PALADIN officially had a home base and her ass needed to be in an office chair on Monday, she panicked. No one likes to piss off Vesper. She’s mostly maternal but absolutely ruthless when she needs to be…like when Cricket lies to her about where she is and what she’s doing.

Pausing in front of my dresser, I drop my towel. Standing in the dark, alone and naked, I momentarily debate heading to a bar and getting into the same kind of trouble as Lance. But if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not craving a fuck at the moment… Just a conversation.

Once I’ve thrown on a pair of sweatpants, I grab my keys and head out the door. I have no clue where I’m going, but anywhere is better than here…

Alone with all the ghosts.

After driving around aimlessly for an hour, I end up at the new compound. Vesper showed me around yesterday, but I still don’t feel acquainted. It’s bizarre. The closest PALADIN has ever had to headquarters was a seedy dive bar in the slums of D.C. I miss that place. It reminds me of Suzanne’s. I even ordered a round of Macallan last time Vesper, Cricket, Lance and I were together, in honor of my old friend.

The lobby entry is locked at this time of night, so I have to enter through the emergency stairwell. It’s a little less complicated than the elevator entry. At the emergency exit door that clearly says: Do Not Enter, I scan my badge, let the retina scanner all but blind my left eye, and in we go.

The compound is spacious and there are more offices than we know what to do with. I’m worried that Callen has plans to fill them all. PALADIN is best as a lean team. Admittedly, with only four operatives we’re leaner than desirable at the moment, but I don’t know why he thinks his weak-willed special agents can keep up with us. Vesper and I recruit. We train. We just need some time.

Walking past the main entry, the first thing I notice is the smell of coffee. That’s odd. Overnight security for the compound is completed through surveillance. There should be no one here at this time of night. If someone broke in, Callen would’ve been alerted and I probably would’ve gotten a call to go handle it.

No one is supposed to be here, and yet I see a light spilling through an open office door at the end of the main hallway. I’m suddenly tired as I pace down the hall, fingers in the pocket of my athletic sweats, tapping my finger against the trigger guard of my .22.

I’m really not in the mood to kill anyone tonight, but when duty calls…

Except when I get to the doorway, I halt in place. Standing frozen in the doorway, I examine someone that I am certain, without a doubt, that I will never pull a gun on.

Not now.

Not ever.

Not only because she’s a woman, but because she’s…

I don’t quite know how to put my finger on it. Innocent looking? Vulnerable? Very pretty indeed, but that’s not the word I’m looking for…

Precious. That’s the one.

She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor of the office, surrounded by at least a dozen blue folders, sprawled into a tidy rainbow arch in front of her. I’ve been standing here for at least a minute now, and she still hasn’t noticed me. The white earbuds wedged in her ears tell me her music must be too loud to hear me approach. She’s sucking on a pen cap and reading a document, a pained expression on her face which is half shielded by her long dark hair.

There’s a steaming mug on her desk, the culprit of the smell of coffee.

It’s another thirty seconds at least before she finally looks up and notices me hovering in the doorway. She yanks her headphones out, then freezes. Her expression is one I recognize well—unmasked fear.

I can literally hear her try to swallow the lump in her throat. All I want to do is put her mind at ease, so I force myself to speak.

“Good evening,” I say, immediately regretting the words that sound like a vampire’s greeting. “I mean, hi.”

“Good evening…and hi.” Her steady tone is a contradiction to the panicked expression on her face. “Are you—”

“Building maintenance.” I lie with ease. “Sorry to disturb you. I saw your light on.”

“Oh?” She looks me up and down, examining my casual attire, full of skepticism.

“Can you keep a secret?” I ask. She scrunches her face, almost wincing at my words for some reason but I continue without her reply. “I sneak in here sometimes for the gym. Technically, I’m not working at the moment.”

“Oh,” she says, satisfied with the elaboration of my lie. She rises, tucking the pen behind her ear. “Well, you are in good company because technically, I should’ve left a while ago too.” Her cheeks bunch as she smiles, making perfect half-spheres. She’s elegant, even in her yoga pants and plain white t-shirt, but her cheeks are round, like a child’s, making her an odd contradiction.

With her hand outreached, she closes the space between us and takes my hand in hers. Her handshake is surprisingly firm for such a little thing.

“I’m Eden Abbott,” she says, looking straight into my eyes, the worry lines on her face slowly dissolving. “I’m the new resident of this office and I feel like I need to apologize ahead of time.”

“For what?”

“I’m a sticky note user.” She grimaces.

“Oh no.”

“Yeah.” She nods, her face growing serious. “It’s an addiction. When I’ve doodled on at least twenty, I scrunch them into little balls and play recycling bin basketball. I am not good. My aim is terrible. You’re going to hate cleaning this office.” Her chuckle is warm.

I can’t help but smile in return.

“What are you doing here so late? Are you an agent?” I ask, but I already know the answer.

“No,” she scoffs in laughter. “I’m not that cool. I’m a civilian. A contractor…like you, I’m assuming?”

I don’t respond and let her draw her own conclusions. I’m not even sure if we have maintenance in this building.

“My official first day is Monday, but my boss let me sneak in early. I’m trying to prepare.”

I nod to the folders behind her. “Doing research?”

“Personnel files for every agent in the compound,” she says, then lets out a heavy sigh. “But I don’t think I’m allowed to say more than that. I still don’t understand what’s a secret around here and what’s not. Have you been doing maintenance here long? My boss said agents have been in and out for a couple of weeks now?”

“Something like that,” I mumble. I only saw the compound yesterday, but from what I gather, Callen’s FBI agents have already been crawling all over the place.

“Hm.” She nods pensively, some odd thought filling her head.

“Why?”

“I just…if people are working here already…it should be livelier. This place feels”—she rolls her wrist—“a little like the haunted house on the hill.”

My lips twitch into a half smile. “Well, you’re in an underground bunker, well past midnight, so—”

“What?” She checks her wrist, but there’s no watch. I show her mine that reads one-thirty in the morning. “Oh my God, I got here at six! I didn’t even realize. I should…”

She immediately begins stacking folders on the ground, and I instinctively fall to my knees to help her.

“Time flies when you’re reading something really interesting,” I offer as I gather stacks of papers and push them in her direction.

“I’m not usually one to confess my secrets to strangers, but seeing as you’re the only other civilian I’ve talked to in…God, I don’t even know how long…”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” I assure her, my curiosity rising.

“Good, because I’ll totally rat you out about the gym.” She winks. “Honestly, I’m in so far over my head. I’m trying to prepare myself by reading up on the agents and their case files. A huge part of my job is finding a way to relate and connect…” She lets out a deep sigh. “But I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here. I’m so far out of my element. The stuff these agents encounter daily is basically all source material for the Oxygen channel.” She finds my eyes again and tilts her head. “That’s a broadcasting station that mostly has—”

“True crime. Serial killer documentaries.”

“Exactly.” She shudders.

“So you’re uncomfortable around that stuff?”

“Downright disturbed. Guns in particular. I hate guns.”

At the moment, I’m grateful for my loose sweats and deep pockets, so she can’t see I’m armed. I’m always armed.

“Which is why it’s pretty apparent I took the wrong job,” she continues.

“What job?”

“I have no idea what Callen is telling people, but I’m basically here to identify organizational issues, help with recruiting, pacify some interoffice animosity…and other obscure business initiatives that you probably don’t care about.”

My stomach sinks like lead when I realize who I just lied to. I thought she was simply a paperwork girl I wouldn’t see again. “You’re the new HR person?”

“Dammit.” Tossing her head back, she half grumbles, half laughs. “I hate that title, but I suppose. Oh hey, I think HR applies to contractors too—so, I will be setting up a comment box outside of my office. Feel free to complain if my sticky-note basketballs ever become a major nuisance.”

“You’re already forgiven.” My lips continue to curl, I can’t help it.

“Is it also a good time to mention that I spilled the coffee grounds in the break room?” She cringes, showing me her teeth as she curls her hands and cups them together. “I made a little pile but I couldn’t find a broom. I’m sorry.”

My face is a little uncomfortable at the moment, I don’t usually smile this much. “You’re good at this.” I rise, turning my hips to ensure my gun stays unnoticeable.

“Good at what?”

“Conversation.”

“Thank you,” she says with a curious smile. “That’s an odd compliment…but a nice one.”

“I just mean, when you first saw me you looked scared, I felt like you were going to try and run or something.”

She lets out a deep breath. “Well for a moment I thought you were an operative.” She taps the pile of folders. I flinch, wondering if I have a file she’s reviewed. Whatever the FBI has claimed I’ve done probably isn’t even the half of it.

I lick my lips as I glance at hers—cherry-colored. Bright and full, but she’s not wearing any makeup. “Would that have been bad?”

“How much do you know about PALADIN?”

“Outside of the fact that it’s comprised of secret assassins that are now commissioned by the FBI, not much.” I shoot her a knowing look.

“Some of the things these people have seen and done…” She shakes her head solemnly. “It’s hard to stomach.”

“You were scared because you thought I was one of those murderous monsters?”

Her face flattens and it’s obvious I offended her. “I don’t see them as murderous monsters.”

“Well, that’s what they do, right? Kill people.”

“It seems more complicated than that.” She taps the stack of folders again. “Callen says there’s a rhyme and reason for PALADIN. I just need a little extra time to digest all of this.” She waves her hand around the room. “When I meet the operatives next week, I don’t want to look so much like a fish out of water.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine. You have a presence. They’ll like you.” The words fall right out of my mouth like someone else spoke them for me.

“That’s two.” She holds up two fingers.

“Two what?”

“Two odd compliments that have nothing to do with looks, it’s quite refreshing.” Her eyes crinkle as her cheeks bunch again.

“Would you like a compliment about your looks?” I have a few at the forefront of my mind.

She flushes instantly. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just…” She shakes her head a little, deciding against whatever she was about to say. “It’s been a little while since I’ve talked to someone normal. It’s nice.”

Normal? Maybe it’s good I lied about who I am. I’m a lot of things…normal is not one of them.

She buries her hands in her face. “I’m sorry,” she adds when I don’t respond. “I meant that as a compliment.”

“Well, two to one. You owe me one more.”

She laughs. “Fair enough,” she says, but she doesn’t offer one. Instead, she continues, “Um, do you usually work in the evenings?”

“Most of the time.” Technically, that’s not a lie.

“I’m sort of notorious for working late. And my office door is always open. Maybe we could have another conversation.”

Shit… Except she’ll know exactly who I am by Monday.

“Definitely,” I say.

“Oh hey, I didn’t get your name.”

Dammit. What to say next? I don’t want to lie to her anymore, but I’m pretty sure Linc is one of the names in those files. I’m not sure how I’d explain myself right now…

“Chandler.”

“Ah, well, it’s very nice to meet you, Chandler.” Eden collects her purse off of the desk, then brushes by me as she exits through the door. I catch a whiff of her light perfume and it heightens my senses. I spin around, wanting to chase that scent a while longer. “I look forward to seeing you…soon?”

I nod. “Soon.”

I try not to watch her walk away, but I can’t help it. Attraction has taken over now, and I really like the way her hips sway with each step.

Little does she know, when she sees me again, she probably won’t be so eager to chat. She doesn’t seem like the kind of person who wants to have a conversation with a killer.