Page 1 of Eden and her Mercenary (Changing of the Guards)

Eden Wade

T he rain pelted against the windshield as I checked my rearview mirror for the fourth time in under a minute. If I were being honest, I was staring at it more than looking at the road.

The same black SUV had been tailing me since I'd left the animal shelter six days ago in Edmonton. It takes a long time in my travels because I have precious cargo to worry about, and most people didn’t have to stop every few hours to let seven dogs out for a pee break and to stretch their legs.

At first, I thought it was just a coincidence. I mean, we were both travelling the same way and there were a ton of black SUVs on the road.

But then I started to pay attention to it when we first crossed into Ontario yesterday in the early evening. I was too tired to notice if it was parked at the truck stop we’d stayed at for the night.

But that big dent in the front bumper was a dead giveaway and the same three letters on the partially visible Ontario plate, brDT 1, confirmed it was the same SUV.

It was keeping a steady distance, close enough to follow, far enough not to seem obvious. But I knew better. Fifteen years of moving rescue dogs across the country had taught me to recognize trouble.

In the modified cargo area behind me, seven dogs rested in their secured crates.

Most were asleep, lulled by the rhythm of the highway and the soft country music playing through the speakers.

But the small trembling fawn colored pit bull mix in the corner crate, with a perfect white star on her chest, hadn't settled since we'd started the journey.

I was tempted to let her sit up front with me but was afraid she would try to climb onto my lap.

"It's okay Stella," I said softly. "We're going to get you somewhere safe."

I hadn't asked questions when the rescue coordinator had called me at 2 AM, with an urgency in her voice I’d never heard before. "This one needs to disappear, Eden. New identity, new province. The paperwork says she's a stray, but she's got an owner who's looking. Bad situation. Very bad."

The SUV behind me suddenly accelerated as we crossed over a river, pulling into the passing lane.

I tensed as it drew alongside my van. The driver was a broad-shouldered man wearing dark sunglasses despite the gloomy weather.

He glanced over, his gaze lingering on my vehicle too long for my liking, before speeding ahead.

My phone buzzed. The text from an unknown number chilled me to the bone.

"Pull over. Just give us the pit mix. The rest can go on their merry way. $5000 cash."

I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. Whoever that was could fuck right off. I took the next exit without signaling, knowing there was a narrow country road I could disappear on. I caught sight of the SUV's brake lights flare in the distance as I took the off ramp.

I swerved hard onto County Road 7, a gravel strip barely visible in the darkening evening.

My headlights carved through sheets of rain until I spotted the familiar turn.

A gap in the trees marked only by a rusted mailbox lying on its side.

I killed the lights and gunned it down the overgrown lane, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The abandoned MacPherson farm materialized from the gloom—a sagging two-story farmhouse, and just behind it, a massive, weathered barn with doors hanging crooked on ancient hinges.

I knew this trail like the back of my hand, steering around fallen branches to the back entrance of the barn.

The van lurched through mud as I eased it inside, the darkness swallowing us whole.

Only then did I cut the engine, sitting in the sudden silence broken only by the pounding of rain on the roof and Stella's soft whining.

"We're okay," I whispered, more to myself than the dogs. "We're okay."

I'd stayed here multiple times over the years, the latest, eight months ago during another transport run when a snowstorm had made the highways impossible to drive on. The house had been abandoned for years, the family long gone after they’d lost it to the bank, but the barn remained sturdy enough. A sanctuary hidden from the main road.

I reached for my phone, the screen illuminating my face. Three more texts from the unknown number:

"Don't be stupid."

"That dog isn't worth your life."

"Last chance."

I switched the phone to airplane mode. Whoever was after Stella had connections—they'd gotten my number somehow. The rescue coordinator's warning echoed in my mind… Very bad situation.

A distant engine growl made me freeze. Headlights swept across the farmhouse windows before disappearing. They were searching the main road for us.

"They’re just passing by," I murmured, but Stella's whimpering intensified .

I climbed into the back of the van, moving between the crates to check on my charges.

The six other dogs—a border collie mix, two lab puppies, a senior beagle, and a pair of bonded shepherds that were going to their new home in Pearl Lake—watched me with curious eyes.

But Stella trembled violently, pressing herself against the back of her crate.

When I unlatched her door, she didn't bolt—she cowered. That told me everything I needed to know about her former owner.

"Come here, sweetheart," I coaxed, offering my hand palm-up. "Nobody's going to hurt you anymore."

The pit mix inched forward, her nose twitching as she sniffed my fingers. Then, surprising me, she crawled into my lap and buried her head against my stomach.

I stroked her velvet-soft ears, feeling her bony spine beneath my fingers. She was so thin. Tears sprang to my eyes when I felt the scars that crisscrossed her flanks—some old, some newer.

"What did they do to you?" I whispered. "What makes you worth five grand to get back?"

A flash of lightning lit up the night sky, visible in the cracks of the barn’s old wooden planks.

“How bout we get you guys out for a bathroom break?” I asked in a soothing voice.

I secured a long lead onto Stella’s harness then carefully opened the rear doors. Instead of taking her out to the tall grass, I led her to a nearby hitching post and looped the leash around it.

“You stay here girl while I close the barn doors,” I said in a soothing voice.

Rain pelted my head as I shoved against the massive doors.

They groaned in protest from lack of use over the years, but somehow, I managed to close them.

I fumbled my way back over to the van, the interior light, guiding me.

One by one I took out the dogs on their leads and once I removed the last one, I gathered all their leashes and led them to the enclosed arena.

I watched as they sniffed out their surroundings, all but Stella.

She stood by my side, watching the other dogs.

I took to my knees beside her and looked her in the eyes. “You don’t know how to play do you?”

The look she gave me tore at my heart.

I unclipped her leash and gave her a gentle nudge toward the others. "Go on, it's okay."

She took a tentative step forward, then another, her nails clicking softly against the packed dirt floor. The border collie mix bounded over, play-bowing with his tail whipping the air. Stella froze, muscles tensed as if expecting punishment.

"He just wants to play," I said quietly. "See?"

The collie circled her, maintaining a respectful distance. After a moment, Stella's tail gave the faintest wag—just a hesitant twitch at first, then a more confident sweep. Something inside me loosened at the sight.

The barn had seen better days, but it would shelter us for the night. Rusty farm equipment lined one wall, and a hayloft loomed overhead, half-filled with ancient, musty hay. A small office tucked in the corner would give me a place to sleep while keeping the dogs secure in the van.

I whistled softly, and six of the seven dogs trotted back, ready for food and water. Stella remained in place, watching the beagle sniff an interesting spot.

"Stella," I called gently. Her ears perked, and she looked at me with surprise, as if she couldn't believe I knew her name.

That's when I heard it—the crunch of tires on the gravel lane outside.

As if they knew what was going on, thankfully not one dog made a sound as I gathered them quickly, rushing them back to the van.

Stella came willingly this time, pressing against my leg as I secured each dog in their crate.

I left her for last, and when I reached for her harness, she licked my hand—a small gesture of trust that made my throat tighten.

"We're going to have to be very quiet now," I whispered, helping her into her crate .

The headlights swept across the barn's wooden slats, sending thin beams of light through the cracks. I ducked down, crawling toward the office space. From a small, grimy window, I could see the black SUV idling in the yard, its engine a low growl in the rain-soaked night.

Two men emerged—the driver I'd seen earlier and a shorter, wiry man with a flashlight. They approached the farmhouse first, their boots squelching in the mud.

"Keep your eyes peeled," the larger man ordered, his voice carrying through the damp air. "There is nowhere else she could be. She’s gotta be somewhere close."

My hand slid to the small of my back, where my father's old .38 special rested in its holster. Fifteen years transporting rescues had taught me more than just how to recognize trouble—it had taught me how to prepare for it.

The wiry man circled toward the barn, his flashlight beam dancing across the exterior. I held my breath as he tested the door, pushing against it. The rusted hinges groaned but held.

"Locked up tight," he called out.

"Check the back," the larger man shouted. "I'll try the side."

My heart raced. The barn had three entrances— front, back, and a narrow side door partially hidden by overgrown bushes. If they split up to search, they'd find us for sure.

I crept back to the van, my mind racing. The dogs sensing my tension, stayed eerily quiet. I grabbed my keys just in case and whispered to them, "Stay quiet. I'll be right back."

The side door's hinges protested with a soft squeal as I eased it open just enough to slip through. Rain immediately plastered my hair to my face as I circled through the shadows to where their SUV was parked. If I could move it, I'd have a straight shot out to the road.

I ducked behind a rusted tractor as the beam of a flashlight swept across the yard. When it passed, I sprinted to the SUV moving it off to the side. The engine's soft purr was masked by the drumming rain.

When I returned through the side door, the barn seemed empty at first. Then a floorboard creaked behind me.

"Found you," came a gravelly voice.

I spun around to face the wiry man, the beam from his flashlight momentarily blinding me. In his other hand gleamed the metallic outline of a handgun.

"Just give us the dog," he said, advancing slowly. "My client pays well for his property."

"She's not property," I hissed, backing toward my van. "And she's not going back to someone who treated her like that."

He scoffed. "Five grand says differently. Now where is she?"

A low growl cut through the tension. Somehow, Stella had escaped her crate. She stood between us, hackles raised, teeth bared— she was a completely different animal from the cowering, trembling dog I'd transported.

"Call your mutt off," the man warned, raising his gun.

Before I could respond, Stella launched herself at him— forty pounds of protective fury. Her jaws clamped around his wrist, and the gun clattered to the ground as he screamed, waving his arm about, trying to release her powerful jaws.

"Stella, back!" I shouted, terrified he would hurt her.

To my amazement, she released immediately, darting back to the open van door and leaping inside. She'd given me the window I needed.

I slammed the back doors of the van shut and scrambled into the driver's seat, jammed the key into the ignition, and tromped on the accelerator. The van lurched forward, crashing through the barn doors in an explosion of splintered wood.

As we burst into the rainy night, the larger man was running toward us, shouting.

I reached for my .38, rolled down the window, and fired twice at the SUV's front driver’s side tire. The shots rang out over the storm, followed by the distinctive hiss of a massive flat tire.

Those boys wouldn’t be following us anymore.

I reached for the phone the rescue coordinator, Margo, gave to me and was relieved to see it had two bars.

“Eden?” she picked up on the first ring. “Where are you? You should have been halfway to Pearl Lake by now.”

“Just outside of Sudbury. Margo, what the fuck did you get me into?”