Page 3 of Eden and her Mercenary
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 myvan. "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 manwas 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?”
Chapter 2
Royal O'Toole
Iwas just twenty minutes away from home, and all I could think about was collapsing onto my bed as soon as I arrived. For the past five days, I've been driving from Vancouver to Pearl Lake, only pausing for bathroom breaks and to catch a few hours of sleep. Which I should be doing now, but man, in an hour and a half I’ll be home.
To keep myself awake, I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel of my F-150 as the radio played a country tune, I vaguely recognized. The rain had finally stopped, leaving puddles scattered across the highway. My brother stayed back in Vancouver with his new bride of five months. I loved Lily like a sister, but there were times I missed Ryker by my side.
The GPS indicated another hour to Pearl Lake. I'd make it before midnight if—
"Jesus fucking Christ!"
A van—some beat-up cargo model—careened out of a hidden driveway, cutting across my lane so close I had to swerve onto the shoulder. My truck fishtailed,tires spraying gravel as I fought to regain control. For one heart-stopping moment, I thought I might flip, but the Ford's weight settled back onto all four wheels with a bone-jarring thud.
The van didn't even slow down, just accelerated down the highway like a bat out of hell.
"Oh, hell no!" I slammed my foot on the gas, the truck's engine roaring as I pulled back onto the road. "You don't get to nearly kill me and just drive away."
I kept the van in sight, following at a distance as it weaved recklessly between the sparse traffic. The driver was either drunk, high, or running from something. Given my line of work, I'd put money on the latter. Normal people don't drive like that unless they're desperate.
The van took an abrupt exit toward a small town whose name I didn't catch on the sign that flashed past. I followed, keeping a distance but never losing sight of those rusted rear doors. Main Street was practically deserted—a few storefronts with faded awnings, a diner with a flickering neon sign, and at the edge of town, a motel that had seen better days. The Sleepy Pine, according to the sign, though at least three letters weren't lighting up properly.
