Page 18 of Hunter's Game
“She did more than that.” Pride mixed with old pain in Eden’s voice. “She found proof that federal agencies were involved. That people like Thompson were helping facilitate the whole operation, using their positions to ensure certain evidence disappeared, certain investigations got shut down.”
Understanding hit Hunter like a physical blow. “Thompson was her handler.”
“Got it in one.”
Eden pulled up another file—archived security footage from her mother’s final days at the museum. The grainy video showed Sarah Mitchell in deep conversation with a much younger Dr. Chen. Their body language suggested intimacy, familiarity—not just professional colleagues.
“I’ve watched this footage a hundred times,” Eden said quietly. “Chen was the last person to speak with my mother before she disappeared. And look at this.” She enhanced the image, focusing on Chen’s face. “The way she moves, her expressions... I always thought something felt familiar about her. Now I’m starting to understand why.”
Hunter leaned closer, studying the footage. “You think she knows what really happened to your mother?”
“I think she knows a lot more than she’s letting on.” Eden’s voice hardened. “The question is, why wait all these years to start leaving us clues? Why not come forward sooner?”
She shook her head, her grim smile melting away her fingers clicked away at the keyboards. More files appeared—personnel records, case notes, evidence logs that showed subtle discrepancies. “He was the one who reported her missing. The one who suggested she might have been compromised. The one who made sure certain evidence never made it into the official investigation.”
“The same evidence you’ve been gathering.”
“With one key difference.” Eden’s voice hardened as she pulled up financial records showing complex transfers between familiar accounts. “I know exactly who killed her. And why.”
Before Hunter could respond, one of her monitors lit up with an alert. Multiple vehicles approaching from the south, moving with the kind of precision that screamed professional tactical team.
“Company.” He was already moving to defensive positions, muscle memory taking over. “Your father’s men?”
“Worse.” Eden’s fingers flew across keyboards as she accessed traffic cameras and other surveillance feeds. Her expression darkened at what she saw. “DEA tactical response team. But look at their gear, their formation patterns. These aren’t regular federal agents.”
Hunter studied the footage, noting details that set off warning bells. High-end tactical equipmentthat no government agency would authorize. Communication gear that looked military-grade. Movement patterns that spoke of extensive combat experience.
“Professional contractors.” He recognized the type from his own military days, and the implications of what was coming their way sent a shiver down his spine. “Thompson’s called in some serious favors.”
“He can’t afford loose ends.” A certain element of frenzy stirred the air as Eden initiated shutdown protocols on her systems, data automatically copying to secure servers while drives began wiping themselves. “Not with what I found in his files.”
She pulled up one final document—a financial transfer record dated the day her mother died. The amount made Hunter’s eyes widen.
“That’s a lot of money for a federal agent’s salary.”
“It’s not salary.” Eden’s smile was sharp as she started disconnecting equipment. “It’s payment for services rendered. Specifically, for making sure certain evidence about my mother’s murder never saw the light of day.”
“And now you can prove it.”
“I can prove all of it.” She met his eyes, letting him see the fierce determination that had first drawn him to her. “Every deal Thompson made, every piece of evidence he buried, every connection between federal agencies andinternational criminal organizations. It’s all documented, all backed up on secure servers that will automatically release everything to multiple law enforcement agencies if anything happens to me.”
Eden pulled up another file on her laptop—Dr. Chen’s complete personnel history. During her months’-long investigation of the curator, she’d been intrigued by the careful way the woman documented Romano’s artifacts. But it was the gaps in Chen’s background that really caught her attention. Certain years missing from her CV, connections to archaeological projects that had mysteriously vanished from official records.
The same years her mother had been working undercover in the museum world.
“Look at this,” she told Hunter, highlighting a series of dates. “Chen was at every dig site where my mother documented artifacts being stolen. Every single one. That can’t be coincidence.”
Hunter absorbed this, understanding the implications. “That’s why Thompson sent professionals. He needs to contain this quietly.”
“He needs me dead,” Eden corrected. “But he needs it to look like a legitimate operation gone wrong. Can’t have anyone questioning why a DEA handler would send private contractors to kill one of his own agents.”
Over his dead body. Hunter gritted his teeth, turning plans over in his mind. “How long until they reach us?”
She checked her monitors. “Three minutes, maybe four. We need to move the physical evidence somewhere safe before—”
“The Blind Jacks compound.” There was no question about it, it was their best play. “King needs to know about Thompson’s corruption anyway. And it’s the last place federal agents will look for you.”
Eden’s hands stilled on the keyboards. “You’d risk bringing a compromised federal agent to your club?”
