Page 18 of Eden and her Mercenary (Changing of the Guards)

Royal

T he next morning brought Dr. Reeves with cautiously optimistic news.

Eden's lung function had improved enough to remove the ventilator, though she'd need oxygen support for several more days if not weeks.

I watched nervously as the medical team worked, Eden's eyes never leaving mine as they extracted the breathing tube.

Her first words were barely a whisper: "Stella?"

"Safe," I assured her immediately. "Wren's taking excellent care of her."

"The... the people who..." Her voice was raw, each word an effort.

"Handled," I said simply. "They won't be coming after you anymore."

She studied my face, reading the things I didn't say. After years of living on the margins, transporting rescue dogs through dangerous situations, Eden understood the language of necessary violence.

Dr. Reeves checked her charts, his expression professionally neutral. "Ms. Wade, your recovery has been remarkable. We should have you moved to a regular room by tomorrow."

After he left, Eden struggled to sit up slightly. "His last name," she croaked. "Reeves."

I nodded. “Brother to the head security at Junction and Whitmore's son-in-law," I confirmed quietly. "But he's been treating you properly. Our people have verified everything."

She nodded weakly, then asked, "How long?"

"Five days. You've been unconscious for five days."

Tears gathered in her eyes. "Stella must think I abandoned her."

"Never," I said firmly. "Dogs understand loyalty better than most humans. She knows you're coming back."

Over the next few hours, Eden drifted in and out of sleep, her body demanding rest to heal.

I remained by her side, fielding updates from Ryker and Declan.

Whitmore had made several frantic phone calls but hadn't yet contacted authorities nor called off the hit for Eden and Stella.

His twenty-four hour deadline was approaching.

When Eden woke again that evening, she seemed stronger, more alert.

"Tell me what happened," she said. "All of it. "

I gave her the full story—the sniper, the connection to Whitmore, the human testing program we'd uncovered. Her face grew paler with each revelation.

"Fourteen people," she whispered. "Dead because they wanted to perfect the technology."

"And three survivors turned into weapons," I added grimly. "Remote-controlled human beings."

Eden closed her eyes, processing the horror. "What did you do to Whitmore?"

"Gave him a choice. Call off the hit on you and Stella, turn himself in and shut down the program, or face the consequences."

"And if he doesn't?"

I met her gaze directly. "Then the choice gets taken away from him."

She was quiet for a long moment. "I should feel guilty about that. About wanting him dead."

"But you don't."

"No," she admitted. "I keep thinking about those fourteen people. About what they did to Stella. About what they would have kept doing if we hadn't stopped them."

My phone buzzed. A text from Ryker: "Time's up. Did not call off the hit. No contact with authorities. Moving to Phase Two."

I showed Eden the message. She read it, then looked up at me.

"Go," she said simply.

"I'm not leaving you—"

"Yes, you are." Her voice was stronger now, carrying the determination I'd fallen in love with. "This isn't over until it's over. And I'll be here when you get back."

I kissed her gently, tasting the salt of her tears. "I love you."

"I love you too. Now go finish this."

An hour later, I met Ryker at the safe house. His expression was grim as he handed me a tablet showing surveillance footage.

"Whitmore's making a run for it," he reported. "Private jet filed a flight plan for a non-extradition country. Leaves in three hours."

"Where is he now?"

"Still at the lake house, packing. Security team's been reduced to two—the others left this afternoon."

I studied the feed, watching Whitmore move frantically through his house, stuffing documents and valuables into a suitcase. A coward's exit, abandoning his family and responsibilities.

"New plan," I said. "We intercept him en route to the airport. "

"Risky. More exposure, more variables."

"But final," I countered. "No more chances, no more negotiations."

Ryker nodded, understanding. "I'll get the gear."

We positioned ourselves along the only road leading from Whitmore's property to the regional airport. The route wound through dense forest, with several isolated stretches perfect for our purposes.

"Target vehicle approaching," Ryker reported from his position a quarter-mile ahead. "Black sedan, two occupants."

I stepped into the road, assault rifle visible but not directly threatening. The sedan slowed, then stopped twenty feet away. Through the windshield, I could see Whitmore in the passenger seat, his face going white when he recognized me.

The driver—one of his security men—reached for his weapon. I raised my rifle slightly, shaking my head. The man froze, professional enough to recognize a no-win situation.

"Mr. Whitmore," I called out. "Step out of the vehicle, please."

The security man said something I couldn't hear. Whitmore shook his head frantically, but after a moment of tense discussion, the car door opened.

Whitmore emerged slowly, hands visible but shaking. "You said twenty-four hours. "

"That was yesterday," I replied, moving closer. "Time's up."

"I was going to call the authorities from overseas," he said desperately. "Safer that way, for everyone involved."

"Running away isn't the same as taking responsibility."

"Please," he begged. "I have grandchildren. They'll grow up without—"

"Fourteen people had families too," I interrupted. "Did you think about their grandchildren when you ordered their deaths?"

"It wasn't supposed to happen that way—"

"But it did." I stopped five feet away from him. "And now you have to answer for it."

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice breaking. "Money? Information? I can give you names, locations, everything about the program."

For a moment, I considered it. The information could help expose the entire network, save other potential victims. But then I thought of Eden lying in that hospital bed, machines breathing for her because of this man's greed and I knew it would never truly be over.

He would still hunt her and Stella down.

"I want justice," I said simply.

The shot was clean, professional. Whitmore dropped without a sound, his body crumpling to the asphalt. The security man started to move, then thought better of it as Ryker emerged from the tree line.

"Smart choice," Ryker told him. "Drive away. Forget you saw anything. Find a new line of work."

The man nodded frantically, reversing the sedan and speeding away. He'd keep quiet — men in his profession understood the value of selective amnesia.

We disposed of the body in the deep waters of Pearl Lake, weighted down with chains that would keep it hidden indefinitely. By morning, James Whitmore would simply be a missing person, another wealthy man who'd disappeared under mysterious circumstances.

"Think his people will come looking?" Ryker asked as we cleaned up.

"They'll try to determine what he knew, who he might have talked to," I replied. "But without proof of what happened, they'll eventually write him off as a liability who ran."

"And the program?"

"Will continue under new management. But they'll be more careful now, more paranoid. That's something."

“We need a diversion for this.” I motioned to the plane sitting at the ready .

“On it. You take the boat and get back to Eden.”

I was halfway across the lake when Whitmore’s plane flew overhead with Ryker at the controls.

∞∞∞

I returned to the hospital as dawn broke over Pearl Lake. Eden was awake, sitting up slightly and sipping water through a straw. The improvement in her condition was remarkable.

"It's done," I said simply, settling into the chair beside her bed.

She searched my face, then nodded. "Good."

"The program will continue," I admitted. "There are too many people involved, too much money at stake. But they'll be looking over their shoulders now."

"And us?"

"We go home. Build our sanctuary. Help dogs like Stella heal."

Eden smiled, the first genuine smile I'd seen since the shooting. "Stella. When can I see her?"

"Doctor says you can have visitors tomorrow. Wren's bringing her by."

"She'll be so confused," Eden said softly. "All this time away... "

"She'll understand when she sees you. Dogs forgive everything when you come back to them."

Eden's eyes filled with tears. "Like you came back to me."

I took her hand, lifting it to my lips. "Always. No matter what."

∞∞∞

The next day came with a different kind of anxiety. Wren had texted that she was on her way with Stella, and I couldn't stop checking my watch. Eden kept fidgeting with her hospital gown, smoothing it down despite the wrinkles that refused to disappear.

"Do I look terrible?" she asked.

I chuckled, “I don’t think the dog will care.”

She tried to sit up straighter, wincing as the movement pulled at her stitches. The pain medication made her drowsy, but she'd asked the nurse to delay her next dose. She wanted to be fully present for this.

The click of nails on the floor announced their arrival before Wren's gentle knock on the door frame. I turned to see Stella straining at her leash, nose working overtime as she picked up Eden's scent.

"Someone's eager to see you," Wren said, her voice light, though her eyes were damp .

Stella whined, pulling toward the bed. When Wren unclipped the leash, the dog didn't bound forward as I expected. Instead, she approached cautiously, her tail wagging in slow, uncertain sweeps.

"Hey, sweet girl," Eden whispered, her voice cracking. She extended her hand, palm up.

Stella sniffed her fingers, then pressed her nose against Eden's wrist where the IV line was taped. The dog looked up, ears flattened slightly as if worried about hurting her human.

"It's okay," Eden said. "Come here."