Page 54 of Whistleblower

“I think I’m going to like everything with you, Linc.”

“Sweet girl,” Linc says, looking at me like a hunter sizing up his prey. “I am going to make you feel so good.” He guides my hand to his hard-on and begins to unbutton his shirt when a heavy pounding at the door makes me jump. Whoever it is tries to push against the locked door to no avail.

Linc presses his finger against my lips. “Ignore it,” he whispers to me as he uses his other hand to slide against my still-wet slit. “We’re not finished.”

But the pounding continues.

“Use the other one,” Linc snarls, now irritated.

“Linc!” Lance shouts through the door. “Spartacus.”

“Fuck,” Linc mumbles before letting out a harsh huff of frustration. He shuts his eyes and hangs his head for a moment before stepping away from me. He retrieves his gun from where he discarded it and collects my pants and panties on the way back to me.

“I’m sorry.” He hands me my clothes before reconfiguring his holster. “I’ll find you when I’m done. Stay with Cricket tonight. Don’t go back to your apartment until I can go with you.” He plants a hurried kiss on my lips.

“Okay. Who is Spartacus?”

“Not who.” Linc shrugs, trying to figure out the best way to explain. “It’s PALADIN’s safe word. I have to go to work.” Linc opens the bathroom door barely wide enough for him to slip through. “Lock this back until you’re dressed.” I nod at him, crossing my legs just in case Lance is in close enough view to see me half-naked. “Eden, I really am sorry.”

I half-smile at him. “Go—go save the world. I’ll be here when you get back.”

He snorts. “Save the world,” he gripes. “I wish that were possible.”

And then he’s gone, leaving me behind…

But for once, I’m not feeling as alone.

NINETEEN

LINC

After the second strike he topples, and both he and the chair land with a hard thud on the tile floor.

“Fuck!” I roar in frustration. “Just talk! Do you think I’m enjoying this?”

Our guest whimpers as I grab the chair and set it upright. His wrists, handcuffed behind his back, are chafed and raw. His lip is cut from the impact of my fist. I’m pulling punches but he’s still bruising like a peach. How much more of this can he take?

I squat down so I’m eye level with him. “When all this shit goes down, they will help you.” Pointing to the two-way glass, I continue, “Right outside that window is a very high director in the FBI. He has the authority to relocate you and put you in the witness protection program. They will call you a hero.”

I mean to call him by his name but come to think of it, I don’t know it. I didn’t grab it when Lance and I hauled his ass across state lines in the trunk of a car. I never thought I’d see him again. Callen summoned Lance and me into the compound tonight, saying he needed an interrogation accelerated. While he was chugging coffee, he gave me simple instructions: “We need an address as soon as possible. A lot of lives are at stake. Use force.”

He’s still silent, so I try a different angle. “You don’t need to endure any more pain. It’s so simple. Just give us the information.”

The young man levels a stare and gives me a wicked smile. Even with his face half-swollen, he still looks arrogant as fuck. “Listen,” he says, his voice hoarse. He’s so worn out, I have hope—maybe he’s ready to cave. But the moment is fleeting. He spits in my face. “Fuck you. Kill me if you must, I’m no snitch.”

Oh, fucker, I’m tempted.

I wipe his spit from my face before clocking him in the gut, holding nothing back this time. I’ll admit that one was out of spite. He groans in agony.

“Don’t go anywhere,” I say with cruel sarcasm, eyeing his cuffed hands and legs tied to the chair. “I’ll be back.”

The exit door buzzes allowing me through to the viewing room and I’m met with Callen’s unimpressed glare.

“You’re less than effective in there,” he snarks.

“He’s not going to talk. I’m just wailing on him at this point. He needs a break.”

“We don’t have time for a break,” Callen says while rubbing his temples. “Our intel says we’re likely a few hours out.”

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