Page 14 of Eden and her Mercenary
"Just processing," I admitted. "Yesterday I was transporting rescue dogs. Today I'm at a mobster's mansion planning to break into a military researchfacility."
A hint of a smile touched his lips. "Life comes at you fast."
We rounded a curve in the driveway, and the main house came into full view—a massive stone structure with multiple wings and a façade that screamed old money. Royal bypassed the front entrance, following a smaller path that led around to the east side of the property.
A man and woman waited for us there—him tall and imposing with dark hair and the kind of face that suggested he rarely smiled, her plump with wheat colored hair and an expression of genuine concern. Both carried themselves with the unmistakable air of people accustomed to being in charge.
"That's Declan and Wren," Royal explained, parking the truck. "Remember what I said—he may look intimidating, but he's solid."
I nodded, reaching back to clip Stella's leash to her harness. "I'll be the judge of that."
Royal exited first, greeting the couple with the easy familiarity of long acquaintance. I followed with Stella, who pressed against my leg as we approached, her body tense but not fearful.
"Eden, this is Declan and Wren MacGallan," Royal introduced us. "This is Eden Wade, and the dog is Stella."
Wren stepped forward first, her eyes warm. "Thank you for trusting us with her," she said, crouching down to Stella's level but not reaching to touch her. "Royal says she's been through a lot."
"More than we initially realized," I replied, appreciating her respectful approach to Stella. "She has some kind of neural implant."
Declan's expression darkened. "Ryker filled me in. Project Cerberus has been on our radar for a while—military contractors dabbling in things they shouldn't."
"You know about it?" I asked, surprised.
"We make it our business to know what's happening in our territory," he replied. "Especially when it involves experimental technology that could have... applications in our line of work."
The clinical way he said it sent a chill down my spine. Wren must have noticed.
"Don't worry," Wren said, gently touching my arm. "We turned them down flat when they approached us. Declan has a strict code about certain things."
I studied her face, searching for any sign of deception, but found only genuine concern. Something in her eyes reminded me of the women I'd met in shelters over the years—a shadow of past pain transformed into fierce protectiveness.
"Let's get inside," Declan suggested, glancing at thesky where dark clouds were gathering. "We can talk more securely there."
I followed them through a side entrance that led into what appeared to be a mudroom, though it was larger and more elegant than any mudroom I'd ever seen. Stella stayed glued to my side, her nails clicking softly on the polished stone floor.
"The panic room is this way," Wren explained, leading us down a hallway decorated with tasteful artwork. "It's in the basement, completely inaccessible. Nothing gets in or out without our say-so."
"It sounds like a prison," I said, unable to keep the edge from my voice.
Wren paused, turning to face me. "It was designed as a safe room for our family. Now it's where I keep my most vulnerable rescues when they first arrive." She smiled sadly. "Some animals need absolute quiet and safety before they can begin to heal."
Something in her tone made me believe her. I nodded, and we continued on.
The basement level was surprisingly bright and open, with high ceilings and recessed lighting. One section had been converted into what looked like a rehabilitation area for animals—padded flooring, various sizes of beds and crates, and shelves stocked with supplies.
"Welcome to Wren's domain," Royal said quietly beside me. "She's rescued over a hundred animals in the past year and a half."
"A hundred?" I couldn't keep the surprise from my voice.
"Mostly dogs and cats," Wren explained, "but we've had a few exotic rescues too. My latest is a three-legged raccoon that was caught in a trap."
Declan rolled his eyes, but I caught the flash of affection in his expression. "She brings home anything with a pulse that needs help."
"And you let her," I observed.
"I learned a long time ago not to get between Wren and an animal in need." The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Meet Taco and Bell, our first two rescues,” he waved a hand at the two sleeping cats on the back of the sofa. “She made me feel so guilty about refusing to help her catch one, that I ended up bringing them both home to her.”
"And they've been ruling the roost ever since," Wren added with a fond smile, before leading us through a heavy steel door at the far end of the room. "This is the panic room. Once this door closes, no signals can penetrate—in or out."
