Page 13 of Whistleblower
“Shit, Eden, I’m sorry.” Running his hands through his hair he grumbles, “Do you have any family left?”
“I have one aunt who is still alive. But her Alzheimer’s is so severe, she doesn’t recognize me anymore. I used to visit her at the care facility, but it started to scare her, so I stopped.”
“Friends? A pet?”
My cheeks puff before I blow out a big breath. I’m reluctant to admit, out loud, what’s extremely apparent. Sure, I’ve prioritized my education and my career, but I’m only twenty-nine. I thought I had plenty of time for everything else. My dad taught me to work hard and I never imagined that could be a bad thing…until now.
I’m at the most difficult point of my life, and there’s no one here standing beside me.
“I’m missing one photo,” Callen says, changing the subject. Perhaps my depressing origin story is making him uncomfortable. Well, Callen, be careful what you ask then.
“Pardon?”
He taps an empty space on the table with his pointer finger. “There’s one more. Vesper’s guard dog—Lincoln.”
There’s something in the way Callen says his name that causes goosebumps to rise on the back of my neck. “Why don’t you have a picture?”
“Because he nearly broke my hand when I tried to take one for his file. Vesper, Lance, and Cricket all act like normal human beings for the most part. But Linc is a ghost on his best day, and on his worst—a cold-blooded killer.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat. “A cold-blooded killer that you employ?”
“Sort of. But that’s the problem. That’s why I need you.”
Nodding, I finally meet Callen’s eyes. Good. Let’s get to it. “Help me make sense of this. You want me to help you do what with these people? Do performance reviews? Formulate a team mission statement?” I ask sarcastically.
“Operation PALADIN was originally commissioned by…” He trails off, trying to strategically hold back information. “Let’s just say there are probably secret files in the Oval Office that explain everything. Get what I’m saying?” He cocks one eyebrow.
“Sure.” So clearly PALADIN can’t get in trouble with the authorities if they were created by the authorities.
“Vesper has recruited, developed, and managed this team for over a decade. She’s incredible—far wiser than she should be at her age, but she’s struggling right now. It’s hard to find good recruits, and some of her operatives have been going rogue. They’re accepting jobs that aren’t approved, or just using their skills and resources to exact personal revenge—”
“Are you saying that you have a bunch of armed agents on the loose?” I screw up my face in confusion. Why are you telling me this?
“I have agents. Vesper has what we like to call…operatives.”
“Why?”
He levels a stare. “Because we don’t like using words like assassins, hitmen, or killers in everyday conversation. It draws too much attention.”
I’m frozen as I blink at him, absorbing the blunt truth.
“Over the past year PALADIN has gone from eighteen operatives to four.”
“What? How?”
“They went rogue, got cocky, pissed off the wrong people and made easy targets of themselves. Most of them are dead. Even more concerning, a few of them are unaccounted for. There was one misbehaving in our own backyard. Vesper had to put him down. Or more accurately, had Linc put him down.”
“Put him down as in—”
“A bullet in his brain,” Callen says matter-of-factly.
I push my plate aside and begin to scoot out of the booth. “End of discussion, Callen. I don’t do guns. I don’t do bullets in brains. I don’t do killers. I’m desperate, but not this desperate. I don’t want to peek behind any more curtains. Been there, done that, and it ruined my life—”
“Eden. Eden, wait.” Callen shuffles on his side of the booth, intent on intercepting my retreat. “Hear me out. They aren’t just killers,” he pleads, looking around the diner to reconfirm we haven’t drawn attention to ourselves. “They’re the good guys, I promise you. They are just a little rough around the edges. Please sit back down.”
I settle back into the booth but keep one knee pointed out, prepared for a quick exit.
“Thank you,” Callen says.