Page 11 of Eden and her Mercenary
"Why are you doing this?" she asked suddenly. "You could have just kept driving last night, forgotten all about the crazy woman who cut you off. Why risk getting involved?"
I glanced at Stella, who was watching me with those intelligent eyes. "Let's just say I know what it's like to be used and controlled by people who are supposed to protect you." I met Eden's gaze. "And I know what it's like to have someone step in when they didn't have to."
Something passed between us then—a moment of understanding that went beyond words. She nodded slightly, and we headed to our vehicles without further discussion.
The journey to Pearl Lake took us through winding forest roads and small communities just waking up for the day. I led in my truck, Eden's van following, with Ryker bringing up the rear in his rented Jeep—a defensive formation that would alert us to any pursuit.
Pearl Lake itself was a picturesque town nestled against the shore of its namesake. Tourist season hadn't started yet, so the main street was relatively quiet as we bypassed it, taking side streets to the back of Mackenzie Wells' general store.
Mack was waiting by the back door, his silver hair tied back in a ponytail, arms crossed over his chest. At sixty-five, he still had the build of the Army medic he'd once been, with hands that could be surprisingly gentle despite their size.
"Three vehicles for one dog?" he remarked as we pulled up. "Must be some special canine."
"You have no idea," Ryker muttered, scanning the surroundings before giving Eden the all-clear to unload Stella.
Mack's expression changed when he saw the pit bull—a flash of professional assessment followed by genuine concern. "Bring her inside. Quickly."
The back room of Mack's store had been converted into a small but well-equipped veterinary space. Metal examination tables, cabinets filled with supplies, and various medical equipment lined the walls. The space smelled of antiseptic and the faint metallic scent of medications.
"Put her on the table," Mack instructed, washing his hands at a small sink. Eden lifted Stella onto the examination table, murmuring reassurances as the dog trembled slightly.
"She's not fond of medical settings," Eden explained, keeping one hand on Stella's back. "Given what we've learned, I can understand why."
Mack approached slowly, letting Stella sniff hishand before gently running his fingers over her scarred coat. "Someone's done a number on you, haven't they, girl?" His tone was soft, but his eyes hardened as he cataloged the old injuries.
"We believe she was used in some kind of military experiment," I explained, keeping my voice low. "Neural implants, possibly for remote behavioral control."
Mack's hands stilled. "Project Cerberus," he said, not looking up.
The room went silent. Eden's sharp intake of breath was the only sound.
"You know about it?" Ryker asked, stepping closer.
"Heard whispers," Mack confirmed. "When I was still with the VA, treating veterans. Some black ops guys talking about dogs that could be controlled remotely, sent into hostile territory without handlers." He gently tilted Stella's head, examining the scar. "Never thought I'd see one up close."
"Can you tell what's in there?" Eden asked, her voice tight with anxiety.
Mack moved to a cabinet, retrieving a handheld device. "This is a universal microchip scanner—more sensitive than the standard ones. Let's start with that."
He ran the scanner over Stella's neck and shoulders—the usual locations for identification microchips. Itbeeped softly at her shoulder blade.
"Standard rescue chip," Mack noted, checking the readout. "Registered to Edmonton East Side Animal Shelter." He continued scanning, moving toward her head. When he passed the area behind her ear, the device emitted a different tone—higher pitched, more urgent.
"Bingo," he murmured. "There's definitely something there. Not your standard microchip." He set the scanner aside and reached for another device—sleeker, more modern. "This is a portable ultrasound. Let's get a better look."
The image on the small screen showed a distinct foreign object nestled against Stella's skull—something small but unmistakably mechanical.
"Holy shit," Ryker breathed.
"It's anchored to the temporal bone," Mack explained, pointing to tiny filaments extending from the device. "And these—" he indicated thread-like extensions reaching deeper "—appear to be connected to neural tissue."
Eden's face had gone white. "Can you remove it?"
Mack's expression turned grave. "Not here. This is neurosurgery. The implant is integrated with her brain tissue." He straightened up. "Removing it incorrectly could kill her or cause permanent damage."
"So we're screwed," I said, frustration building. "Those Junction guys can track her, maybe even control her. And we can't safely remove it."
"There has to be a way," Eden insisted, stroking Stella's head. The dog leaned into her touch, seemingly oblivious to the discussion about the dangerous technology embedded in her skull.
