Page 4 of Whistleblower

“Sounds too good to be true,” I mumble.

“There are requirements. This life I’m giving you, won’t be yours. You’ll be part of my team. When I say chase—you run. When I say jump—you fly. You never take a life unless I give the command.”

“So, you’d basically own my ass?” I let out a short laugh.

Her gaze grows cold, and I have the sudden urge to cower. It’s as if I just taunted a lethal lioness. “I’ll protect you from making the painfully hard decisions I have to make every day, Chandler. It’s not as simple as good versus evil in this world. The good guys do bad things, and sometimes bad guys help others. The world is gray and muddled, but that’s my bullshit to sift through. And you should know—”

“I’m in.” The words are out before I really register them.

“Let me finish,” she warns. “If you’re going to help me police this world, you can’t be part of it. We’re ghosts. We operate in the shadows. We don’t have homes, just places we stay. We don’t get married. We don’t have kids. No blood ties. We stay as detached as we can. Do you really understand what that means?” Her expression is strained. Her forehead crinkles and she looks at me piteously, like she’s debating whether to send a small puppy into a vicious dog fight.

I’m silent as I ponder it for a moment, just to show her I’m taking her seriously. “You can’t miss what you’ve never known.”

“Okay,” she says. “Then it’s time to go. Do you have a wallet on you?” I nod in reply and she continues. “Throw it on the bar, opened, but keep your cash.” I do as she says while she pulls a pocketknife out of an obscure compartment on the inside of her coat. “Are you squeamish about blood?”

My stomach twists as I question my sanity. “Not particularly.”

Vesper extends the blade, then holds it out to me, handle first. “I just need a few drops. Enough for forensics to pick up on.” She taps the heel of her palm to show me where I should cut.

I don’t give myself a chance to think twice. What are my other options here? I can’t go home. Suzanne’s gone. I have no one in the world who’d help me… Except apparently this woman. Taking the knife, I poke the heel of my palm, feeling the sharp sting. I watch the dot of blood grow into a thick drop.

She finishes her drink and tucks the cup into her pocket. “Touch your wallet and then wave your hand around a bit.”

I wipe a red stain on the front of my wallet, before sending blood droplets flying across the bar as I shake my hand violently.

“Perfect,” Vesper says. “Now it looks like there were two victims tonight.”

She pulls a wipe out of her pocket along with a little bottle that has a strong chemical smell. At first, I think it’s to clean my hand, but instead she grabs Suzanne’s gun, collects the bullets, and then proceeds to wipe it down with the solution.

“You’re getting rid of the evidence that you were here?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Do you want my glass too?” I nudge it toward her with the back of my hand.

“Not necessary. You were here, Chandler. I was not.” Grabbing the bottle of whiskey, she slides out from behind the bar. Vesper clasps her free hand against my shoulder and squeezes. Her grasp is firm, but there’s something tender in her touch. It’s reassuring. It’s the only reason I’m willing to hand my life over to a complete stranger.

“I already knew you were something special, but I’m impressed. You are incredibly brave. Far braver than you should have to be.” She smiles at me, but there’s sorrow in her eyes. I wipe the last remnants of blood against my jeans and my hand looks good as new. Vesper knew exactly where to cut, so the wound would close quickly.

“Are you ready?”

Glancing down at the ground, I look at Suzanne one last time. I close my eyes and try to shake the visual. I don’t want to remember her this way. Instead, I picture her in the metal chair in the alleyway, smoking a pack, a stiff drink in her hand, telling me some story or another about how she broke up a bar fight between two bikers twice her size. Suzanne was tough. That’s how I want to remember her… Not like this.

Bye, my friend. I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you. Thank you for everything.

Letting out a deep breath, I nod. “I’m ready. Where are we going?”

“Home,” Vesper says with the warmest tenor—like a mother calling her kid in for dinner, the way mine never did. I like the way it sounds. Home. Vesper moves for the front door and I fall in line behind her. Suddenly, she spins around, stopping me in my tracks.

“By the way,” she says, extending a hand, “welcome, officially, to operation PALADIN.”

ONE

EDEN

“So what exactly did you do at your most recent position?”

Ronnie, the Chief of Human Resources at Redd Tech, questions me with a shit-eating grin. I hate the way he sits on the edge of his desk, one knee hiked up, and the sole of his sneaker scuffing his modern white desk.