Page 41 of Whistleblower

“Now what?” he asks.

I flash him a wicked smile. “How about an odd compliment to set the mood?”

His dimples deepen and I’m glad he likes the games. This is the best part—my favorite part. I love the anticipation, the tickles, the nerves…of falling for someone.

He presses his lips against my forehead. Then my cheek…my other cheek…the tip of my nose. When his lips graze my earlobe, he whispers, “Eden, I like you so much, I think I could make love to you.” I snort in laughter and his eyes pop in surprise. “Was that lame?” he asks.

“No, not at all.” In fact, that might be my favorite sentence of all time now. “I just find it ironic, because I think I like you so much, I’d let you fuck me.” I like the way the words shock him, so I add, “Hard.”

He brushes my hair out my face and secures it behind my ear and then his cool, soft lips are on mine. He’s tender, kissing me like I’m delicate. I nearly lose my head as he trails his tongue over mine and he moans into my mouth like I’m quenching his thirst. He presses his hand against my lower back and wedges it below my jeans, past the waistband of my thong. I feel the bulge in his pants growing as he squeezes my bare ass.

“Let’s get out of here.”

“Okay. Where?” he mumbles into my mouth.

“What if—”

Wait. I feel something cool against my stomach like my shirt has dampened, and I’m horrified when I look down.

My white blouse is smeared with blood. I step back to examine myself. There are red spots and streaks rubbed all across my chest and my stomach.

“Linc, you’re bleeding. Are you hurt?”

He eyes me up and down, his face slowly growing pale.

“Linc!” I clap in his face, concerned that maybe he’s bleeding out and is about to faint. There’s no way I can support his size. Maybe just his head? Don’t let it hit the concrete. “Are you okay?” I ask again.

He shakes his head. “It’s not mine.”

Like a plump grape reduced instantly to a raisin, I shrivel inside when I realize what he’s saying. It’s not his blood. I scour his dark shirt. It’s nearly impossible to make out, but now that I’m searching for it, the damp spots are there.

“Fuck,” he says in a hiss. “Eden.” I take another step back, feeling woozy. “It just happened. I didn’t realize—”

Blinding headlights flash in our direction. At first, I think it’s building security, but then Cricket rolls down her driver’s side window.

“You guys okay?” she calls out from a few yards away.

“What’re you doing here, Cricket?” Linc asks, his eyes still fixed on me.

“Bambi texted me, said she was stuck. Her phone has been going to voicemail.”

They continue to talk but my mind is occupied, deducing the situation. The blood still hadn’t dried, that’s why it seeped into my clothes. That means the amount of time between Linc killing someone to Linc kissing me wasn’t even enough time for the blood on his clothes to dry.

What am I doing? I have a hard time killing spiders. What the fuck am I doing?

“Eden, go straight home and take a long, hot shower. Don’t just rinse. Use soap. I’m…sorry.”

I try to force a smile as I shake my head. “It’s fine. Sorry for what?”

He eyes me up and down. “You look fucking terrified.” Okay, so I’m not fooling anyone.

I try to tell him I’m okay, but I start to feel a little woozy as that image from weeks ago pops back into my head. The pool of blood. The headless bodies. The fear in the prisoner’s eyes. What if… Is Linc capable of decapitating someone? I have to focus on breathing and blinking so the entire parking garage stops spinning.

Just move your feet, Eden.

Just get in Cricket’s car.

I collect my purse and the pieces of my phone before closing my trunk door and locking the vehicle.

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