Page 17 of Whistleblower
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.”