Page 40 of Eden and her Mercenary
"Diversion activated," Declan reported. "Two security personnel responding, heading north away from your position."
Perfect. We drifted silently toward the dock, staying low in the boat. Whitmore descended the steps to the water's edge, removing his robe and hanging it on a hook. Without his tailored suits, he looked older, softer—a man in his sixties trying to maintain the physique of someone decades younger.
He dove into the water with surprising grace, surfacing several yards from the dock and beginning a steady crawl toward the floating platform anchored thirty yards out.
"Now," I said quietly.
Ryker guided the boat to the dock, securing it with a silent hook as I slipped onto the wooden planks. I moved to Whitmore's robe, confirming what our intelligence had suggested—a small handgun inthe pocket, his phone, a silver flask. I removed the gun, ejecting the magazine and clearing the chamber before replacing it.
Then I settled into the deck chair positioned for his return and waited.
Whitmore completed his swim in just under fifteen minutes, pulling himself up onto the dock with a grunt of effort. He reached for his towel, freezing when he saw me sitting in his chair.
"Good evening, Mr. Whitmore," I said pleasantly. "Lovely night for a swim."
His eyes darted to his robe, calculating. "Who are you? How did you get past security?"
"My name wouldn't mean anything to you." I leaned forward, letting him see the gun resting casually on my thigh. "But Eden Wade—that name you know."
Recognition flashed across his face, quickly masked. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Please." I gestured with the gun. "Let's not waste what little time you have left with lies."
Fear replaced the confusion in his eyes. "Whatever you think I've done—"
"I don't think, I know." I stood slowly, moving toward him with deliberate steps. "You ordered the hit on Eden Wade because you believe she has information about your human testing program.Project Cerberus isn't just about dogs, is it?"
Whitmore straightened, a different kind of calculation entering his expression. "You're making a serious mistake. Do you have any idea who I am, who I'm connected to?"
"I know exactly who you are." I closed the distance between us. "A man who experiments on prisoners. A man who puts profit above ethics. A man who tried to kill the woman I love."
"Listen," he said, his voice taking on a placating tone. "There's been a misunderstanding. Whatever you think Ms. Wade knows, I assure you, the situation can be resolved without further violence."
"I agree." I pressed the gun against his chest, right over his heart. "Your death will resolve it quite effectively."
Real fear flashed in his eyes now. "Wait! I can offer you money, protection, whatever you want."
"What I want," I said softly, "is for Eden to wake up. Can you give me that?"
"The doctors—my son-in-law is treating her. He's the best trauma surgeon in the province." Desperation edged his voice. "I can ensure she receives the finest care."
"Save your breath. Thankfully your son-in-law’s morals are better than yours. If it wasn’t for him, she’d already be buried in the ground. And so would you.”
"It was a business decision," he said, as if that explained everything. "The neural integration program represents billions in contracts. We couldn't risk exposure."
"And now you've exposed yourself to me." I lowered the gun slightly. "Tell me about the human testing."
Hope flickered in his eyes—the mistaken belief that he might talk his way out of this. "It's not what you think. The subjects are all volunteers."
"Political prisoners are not volunteers."
"They're given a choice—participate in the program or remain in their circumstances. Many choose the opportunity."
"To become remote-controlled weapons," I said flatly.
He flinched. "The technology has numerous applications beyond military use. Medical breakthroughs, treatment for paralysis, neural repair—"
"Save it for your shareholders." I raised the gun again. "How many?"
