Page 62 of Whistleblower
Reaching my door, I pull out my fob and press it against the sensor. Linc reaches over my head and places something above the door frame that I don’t see. He’s too quick. “Don’t ever touch that.”
“Touch what?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he gently presses my back against the hallway wall. “Stay right here. I need two minutes then I’ll come get you.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding. I’ll behave.
With his hand on the handle, he turns to me once more. “Eden, as a general rule, moving forward, if I ever tell you to run, you run. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’m serious,” he says, locking in on me with his light blue eyes that look like ice the way he’s staring at me. “No playing the hero. No trying to be brave to prove a point. You. Run. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Fine, Linc. I hear you.”
“Good girl,” he says, causing a tingly little twitch well beneath my navel. I wish he’d stop saying that. I’m starting to develop a bit of a praise kink because of him. With that, he disappears behind the door and I begin to count to one hundred and twenty.
* * *
I’m on ninety-nine when Linc returns. He wordlessly pulls me to the bathroom, closes the toilet lid, and sits me down.
“Your apartment is small.”
I stick out my tongue. “Well don’t be a jerk about it.”
He laughs and his all-business demeanor briefly disappears. “I meant it’s ideal. I wasn’t sure I brought enough equipment. Let me show you something.”
He squats down and grabs my hand, guiding my finger to what feels like a small vinyl sticker hidden behind the toilet paper holder. “Do you feel it?” he asks and I nod.
“What is this?”
“It’s a panic button. It’s heat sensitive, so an object brushing against it won’t make it go off, but if you flatten your finger against it for one second, the entirety of PALADIN will get an emergency alert. If someone left a note for you, they likely want information, which means they’d need time. The first thing they’ll do in a hostage situation is collect your phone and scan for any obvious modes of communication. They’ll shut the blinds, cut your internet lines, and threaten you if you scream. Discretion is everything, so, if you find yourself in a precarious situation, first put them at ease by complying. Give up your phone, your wallet, whatever they want. Then make an excuse to use the toilet.”
“It’s so subtle,” I say, examining the tiny black sticker that easily looks like…nothing. Like remnants of packaging that didn’t make it into the trash. I would’ve never noticed it.
He winks at me. “That’s the point, Bambi.”
“Wait—the entirety of PALADIN? I don’t want to worry everybody. Can it just alert you?”
“Vesper, Cricket, and Lance are my family. They care about what I care about—which now includes you. If you are in harm’s way, what matters is who can get here fastest, I don’t care who it is.”
I place my hands on the top of his thighs, then kiss his forehead. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Precious.” Linc fishes in his pants pocket and pulls out what looks like a mini marble cut in half. He holds it in his palm patiently while I examine it. “This is surveillance. I’m going to put these all around your apartment except in the bathroom. I need you to stay here while I place them. You can’t know where they are.”
“What? Why?”
“Because if someone broke in, it’s the very first place your eyes will go. It’s natural for every victim in an intimidating situation. You can’t control it. But you’ll give away the fact that you’re under surveillance. An intruder is far more likely to pull a trigger and cut a loss if they feel they’ve been made.”
“Jesus,” I whisper, my arousal fading and the reality of the break-in settling in. Linc makes me feel so safe, I almost forgot how serious and dangerous this all could be. “Maybe I should—”
“Stay with me?” He cocks his head to the side, trying to find my eyes. “I’d feel better if you did.”
I shake my head. “No, Linc. I don’t want to be babysat. I’m an adult, I should be able to live alone and take care of myself. What I meant to say is, perhaps I should get over my fear of guns. Maybe I should get a firearm and learn how to use it.”
“If that’s what you want, I’ll teach you. But if I’m being honest, I like that you don’t like guns. It’s refreshing that you flinch even when someone else gets hurt. Eden, it’s okay to be tender and soft. I really like that about you.”
When I first met Linc, he was hardly a talker. Fast forward a few weeks, now he’s speaking in poetic soliloquies, telling me what he really likes about me. “I don’t want a gun. I just don’t want to feel so weak.”