Whistleblower (PALADIN Book 1)

It’s been a while since Vesper, Cricket, Lance, and I have been together in the same room. A few months to be more specific—in Italy. We don’t normally work as a team, but it took all four of us to infiltrate Moretti’s lair. We left a hell of a lot of dead bodies behind. Moretti had more security than a U.S. President, and his henchmen were willing to die for him.

So they did.

They died for an arrogant terrorist and rapist who thought he was invincible. Shameful.

At any rate, it’s odd enough for us all to be together, like sitting ducks, and in a break room no less. It’s almost comical.

Cricket finds a seat next to Lance at the small break room table and rolls her eyes. She points accusingly at Lance. “It’s the best way to get caught—get us all caught—dumbass.”

When Vesper enters the room, I point to the pot of coffee that’s brewing next to me. “Five more minutes,” I say, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

She nods and stands right beside me. She’s a little antsy today. We all are. We’re meeting Callen’s team today and it’s uncomfortable, to say the least. I’m still not certain if he’s trying to turn his agents into PALADIN operatives, or he’s trying to turn me, Cricket, Lance, and Vesper into agents. Honestly, I’m not sure which of those two scenarios infuriates me more.

“Does someone want to tell me what’s the best way to get caught?” Vesper asks, looking between Cricket and Lance, who look startled. See? Ears like a bat. She’s always listening.

“Dumb fuck over here has secured a reputation as ‘The Pancake Killer,’” Cricket snarks.

Vesper’s brows cinch in utter confusion. “What?”

I chime in, “Lance keeps taking out targets in the exact same manner. One bullet between the eyes, then he flips them over and plants another bullet in the back of the head. It’s very…distinctive.”

Vesper’s eyes narrow at Lance, causing him to shrink in his chair. “Tell me you’re not that stupid,” she seethes.

“It was three dudes,” Lance squalls. “Three. Everybody calm the fuck down.”

“Seriously Vesper, google ‘Pancake Killer.’ There are people convinced he’s the next Batman—a secret vigilante taking out gangbangers and mob bosses. He’s a goddamn hashtag.” Cricket slides her phone over to Vesper, but it’s pointless. There’s next to no cellular service in this basement bunker.

“No one saw me,” Lance says, rolling his eyes. “Let it be a rumor.”

“We’ve talked about this,” Vesper says through a clenched jaw. “It’s not just the lack of subtlety. You can’t provoke the public. That’s not what we do. We don’t exist. We don’t leave behind footprints…or rumors. Do not make me explain this to you again, Lancelot, because it will not be a pleasant conversation.”

Lance shrugs her threat off like a rebellious teenager, but it’s obvious he’s intimidated by Vesper’s menacing tone. “Fine, sorry,” he concedes, wisely. “No one appreciates a professional anymore. It’s a brilliantly fresh take on a double-tap, but if you want me to make hits seem like a fucking sloppy gang retaliation, from now on, I’ll blow through these fuckers like a target board. Happy?”

“Thank you,” Vesper replies. “And stop pouting. Where’s your tie?”

“Where the hell do you think?” Lance sasses. But I see him bite his lip before he can add, “Up your ass.” Vesper has slapped him a time or two for his snarky remarks. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t thoroughly enjoy it. It’s like watching your mischievous little brother getting in trouble with Mom. “Since when do I need to own a fucking tie?”

“Okay, let me be clear everyone,” Vesper growls. She makes eye contact with us one by one as her eyes go glacial. “We’re all that’s left of the old team—the four of us. I’m done saying goodbye to my family, and this is how I’m keeping us safe. We’re fighting for the same cause anyway, the only difference now is Callen is providing the resources. So, dress up in the monkey suits, show up where you’re supposed to, on time, find a way to work with the other agents, and keep your fucking noses clean. End of discussion.”

We may not like Callen, but Vesper has saved all of our lives, and we’re in her debt, so we collectively duck our heads and nod in agreement.

Because that’s what you do when the real commander gives an order.

I almost missed her at first.

I figured Eden would be at this oh-so-important mandatory team meeting Callen called for, but when I didn’t see her at the table as Lance, Cricket, Vesper, and I shuffled into the empty seats at the far end of the table, I was relieved. It gives me a little more time to figure out how to explain myself.

But while I’m watching in disgust as Lance takes down a donut like a starved boar, I feel eyes on me. Not agent eyes—those are always on me when I’m anywhere near the FBI. I can almost hear the whispers: He’s a sociopath. I heard he keeps their teeth as souvenirs. He’s cold-blooded, with eyes like the devil. Is he really on our side?

Most of that is rumors… Most. Am I on the FBI’s side? I don’t know… I’m on Vesper’s side.

Looking past the squirmy agents who refuse to make eye contact, I see her in the back corner, staring right at me. She waits for me to look at her, and raises her brows, conveying her message with just a look, “What the fuck?” Then, she goes back to scribbling on the notepad in her lap.

Shit. I could’ve handled surprise, anger, fear, but the look she just gave me is the same one people get when they’ve been betrayed. Why do I get the impression that Eden doesn’t forgive liars very easily?

The meeting was supposed to start at eight o’clock, but it’s well past 8:15 a.m. when Eden finally rises from her covert seat in the corner of the room and begins introducing herself to everyone, individually. Callen shadows her like an eager puppy, adding his unnecessary commentary. I tap my fingers nervously against the table as she nears. Cricket, sitting right next to me, notices and shoots me an odd look.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks in a hushed whisper.

“Nothing, I—”

“Guys, thanks for coming,” Callen says, clasping Eden’s shoulders with both hands from behind. My jaw clenches in jealousy…but not because of the obvious. They are clearly chummy—she looks relaxed around him, which is probably a way she’ll never feel around me. “I want to introduce you to Doctor Eden Abbott.”

“Ph.D.,” she clarifies. “Doctor makes me sound way more sophisticated than I am.”

Impossible. I don’t ever think I’ve seen a more graceful creature. Even in yoga pants the other day, she looked regal. But now, dressed in flattering gray slacks, and a form fitting, navy button-down blouse, it’s extremely apparent she’s way out of our league. Her hair is twisted neatly at the nape of her neck, and her makeup is clean and minimal. She looks like she should be running meetings at Merrill Lynch or Goldman Sachs. What the hell is she doing slumming it with a bunch of hitmen?

“I have a few friends who got their Ph.D.’s,” Vesper says and we all shoot her a quizzical look. Vesper doesn’t have friends. Does she? “It’s a lot of work, a lot of school, and takes a lot of drive. It’s very impressive, please don’t sell yourself short.”

Eden blushes, just slightly, but I see it. “Thank you. I appreciate that,” she says, a sheepish smile claiming her face as her shoulders relax.

Now, it’s obvious. Vesper doesn’t have friends who have Ph.D.’s, but she did just find a way to connect with Eden. Clever.

“This is Vesper, Cricket, Lance, and that tall, cold drink of water over there is Linc.” Callen makes a finger gun and points it at me with a stupid grin. I want to reach across this table and smack the shit out of him. I think he’s still pissy about the time I nearly broke his hand off, but don’t fucking sneak up on a man who could kill you with his thumb and forefinger. That’s just goddamn common sense.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” She makes a point to shake everyone’s hand, making eye contact as she does. She pauses when she gets to my chair, almost like she’s savoring the moment.

“It’s nice to meet you, Linc. Or do you prefer Lincoln?” Her gaze fixes tightly on mine, but it’s like the doors have shut. I can’t make sense of the look she’s giving me.

I take her small hand in mine, feeling the same little jolt from when I shook her hand the other night. “Whatever you prefer.”

She gestures over her shoulder at the half-empty tray of breakfast foods. “You didn’t try anything?”

“I’m not hungry.”

She grabs a muffin from the platter and holds it out to me. “This bakery is incredible. It’s the kind of stuff you eat, even when you’re not hungry.”

Reluctantly, I hold out my palm. I don’t like breakfast foods of any type. I’m less enthused about taking food from a community platter. It’s an easy way to poison someone. That’s not paranoia… I’ve seen it.

I’ve done it.

“That good, huh?” I mumble as I grudgingly peel back the paper wrapping and take a large bite out of pure masochism.

“Of course,” she says, her eyes flickering with contempt. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

My chewing slows, then stops, but before I can say anything in reply, she turns on her heel to take her place at the front of the table. Immediately, the chatter settles and she peers down the long meeting table, a composed smile on her face.

“Okay, now that there is some food in your stomachs, how about a game?”

Without a doubt, this woman has worked at a corporate company. Probably in a fancy office on the top floor. She has a presenter’s voice and a boss’s bravado. I force my eyes to rest on my half-eaten muffin so I don’t look like I’m leering.

“I like games,” Lance says through a mouthful of food, crumbs flying everywhere, making him look like a mannerless Neanderthal. But Eden smiles anyway.

“Glad to hear it. Everyone if you would grab your pen and the paper in front of you. I think we should start by getting to know each other a little better.”