Page 105 of Whistleblower
The wooziness is too strong…
I’m far too warm and nauseous…
My vision goes blurry…
The world goes black.
THIRTY-SEVEN
LINC
I don’t like Callen in my home. Right now, I don’t want anyone in my home. And I certainly don’t want anyone within a stone’s throw of my girlfriend.
Callen’s watching the surveillance footage on my laptop at my kitchen counter while I glare at him as if he’s culpable. He shares the same badge as that piece of shit, so right now, in my mind—he is.
I sip the neat whiskey in my hand. A slight buzz has been the only thing keeping me somewhat calm over the past few days. My head hurts from all the unwelcome emotions flooding my body, and the thoughts bouncing around in my head.
I’m mad at myself that I wasn’t there and Cricket and Lance had to rescue my girl.
I’m frustrated that I was so busy chasing some thug that I left her vulnerable. I wanted the kill, and therefore I nearly got her killed.
I’m seething to the point I want to rip that fucker’s heart out and feed it to him. I saw what was in that bag. He was going to torture her.
I’m so angry, but I’m also confused.
Eden is…fine. Cheery. Chirpy as usual. No tears. No trauma. Nothing. Lance said she passed out when they rescued her three days ago. I drove one hundred and twenty miles an hour home while Vesper hung on to the passenger handle for her dear life. But she knew better than to protest. I expected to come home to a fear-stricken Eden who’d be clinging on to me, begging me never to leave her again.
Not even close.
She didn’t argue when I told her she’d be staying with me, she wouldn’t be returning to work for a while, and I wouldn’t be letting her out of my sight. She told me if it made me feel better, she understood. Only Eden. Only this unicorn of a woman could go through a violent hostage situation and be concerned about what makes me feel safe.
“Christ,” Callen grumbles. “He slipped in literally the moment she left to meet me.”
“Meet you? On a Saturday? For what?”
“May I have one of those?” He nods toward the drink in my hand.
I fetch a crystal glass and pour him a generous drink. When he reaches for the cup, I pull back my hand. “Met you for what?”
“Breakfast,” he snaps and snatches the glass from my hand before taking a hearty sip. “Will you please stop treating me like the enemy? I am just as disturbed by this as you are.”
Not likely. Are you fantasizing about ripping his limbs off one by one until he’s just a torso I can use as a punching bag?
“Did you find out who he is?” I try to warm up my icy demeanor. Everyone has been tiptoeing around me lately. Even Cricket has been jumpy when she’s come by to check on Eden. My moodiness may be a little out of control.
“He’s ex-FBI, but the badge is legitimate. I’m thinking he brought it in case he could use it to coax her into a confession, or information, or whatever it is he wanted. He still won’t talk. Have you asked her what he was after?”
“I have. She doesn’t know. She said it’s related to her old boss. If you would just let me—”
“No.”
I’m not allowed to know where they are holding the intruder. I had Lance check the compound for me. He’s not there, or Lance was instructed to lie to me. I can’t check myself because I refuse to leave Eden’s side, and she’s not leaving my home until this is sorted out. It’s probably best. If I saw him, I don’t know if I could control my outrage, and dead men can’t give up information.
Callen takes another swig of his whiskey. “That’s the thing. This Porky guy—Pierre Corky—he was the CEO of Empress. He’s in a minimum-security prison.”
“You think he could’ve slipped out?”
“No.” Callen shakes his head, looking at me like I’m missing something. “I’ve already had local law enforcement check into it. He’s a textbook prisoner. Compliant. He works in the chapel for god sake. They are able to account for every single one of his eye blinks over the past year. He didn’t send any notes, he didn’t make any calls, his only visitors are his wife and daughter, who are both squeaky clean. His name is being used, but he didn’t do this.”