Page 42 of Whistleblower

“I’m going to go home and get cleaned up and…um…you have to meet Callen, right?”

He nods, accepting our moment is ruined. I wish I could tell him it’s okay, but it’s not. It’s not okay. I don’t want to be wondering who died while I’m kissing a man.

Linc looks so wounded. His eyes hit the ground like he’s guilty, and I feel terrible that I’m the source. I’m not this man’s judge and jury. This is who he is. I know what he does and why he does it. He’s not the problem—I am.

I’m weak. I’m sensitive. I’m whatever word means that I will never get used to the reality that killing is his job… That killing is anybody’s job.

“Linc… I… I just…”

He glances at Cricket in the car and then back to me. He closes his eyes as he runs his hand through his hair. “Go. It’s okay. But…” He shrugs, lost for words again. “Again…sorry.”

I nod and take a step towards Cricket’s car, but then turn around. I can’t leave it—him—like this.

“Linc?”

“Yeah?”

“You did perfectly. It was a really good first kiss.” The best I’ve ever had, by far. He lets out a humorless laugh—both our minds are too preoccupied to enjoy the inside joke. “But I don’t think there can be a second.”

“I know.” He nods solemnly. “Goodnight, Eden.”

FOURTEEN

EDEN

I’ve been looking forward to Vesper’s interview the most, so I purposely saved her for last. Of all the operatives, she’s been the most amenable to this change, but I’m still surprised when she shows up on Wednesday morning, on time, with a smile on her face and two takeout coffees in her hands.

“Good morning,” I say, gesturing to the sitting area of my office as I grab my clipboard.

“I’m hoping you haven’t already had coffee,” she says as she sits. She offers me the cup in her left hand. “This is from the bakery you recommended. They also make delicious lattes.”

I’ve had my morning coffee. Two cups in fact. But I was a doctoral student, I worked in Silicon Valley, and I was a young woman trying to become a pioneer in a man’s world. It’s not blood that runs through my veins…it’s coffee. I drink so much of it, at this point, I’m sure I’m immune.

“That was really kind. Thank you.”

I take the cup and sit down in my usual interview chair. She’s quiet as she studies my face with the most peculiar expression—mostly intrigued…just a tiny bit creepy.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I instinctively run my tongue over my front teeth and touch my cheek, trying to find evidence of what she’s staring at.

“I always imagined what it’d be like if I had a daughter. Sometimes I dream about what she’d look like. I swear, it’s a lot like you.” Vesper laughs. “I’m sorry, by the time you are near forty, you just say whatever the hell you want without worrying about how uncomfortable it makes people.”

I laugh. “I’m not uncomfortable. I take it as a compliment, and if I’m being honest, you have a likeness to my own mother.”

“Passed?” She tilts her chin just a tad.

How did she know? I nod. “When I was very young—right before my third birthday.”

She tuts her tongue. “That doesn’t leave a lot of memories.”

I shake my head. “No, not really. But I distinctly remember how she smelled.”

My mom always smelt like her lavender lotion and baked goods. Apparently Mom thought cookies were therapy, and didn’t wait for birthdays to bake a cake. Dad told me that my mom used to bake and frost a cake for every random occasion: National Penny Day, Pi Day, Zookeeper Appreciation Day, and sometimes just Thursday afternoons. He’d only let himself have one tiny sliver, but he always said he and Mom vowed to get obnoxiously fat off her baking once he retired from the military…

They never got a chance. Both of my parents died lean.

I change the subject before I have an opportunity to get too lost on memory lane. That path usually ends in tears. “So, logistically speaking, I have a lot of information about the FBI agents, but I still don’t know much about the origin of PALADIN. I was hoping you could fill in some blanks for me. But I’m not sure what I’m allowed to ask and allowed to know.”

Vesper nods, encouragingly. “I’ll walk you through what I can. We trust you, we can be transparent.” Trust. I love that word. I miss that word. I used to be considered trustworthy before I became a whistleblower.

---