Page 43 of Hunter's Game
Shot three.
Her hand trembled as she checked her new weapon. Shot three had been the game-changer. The one that would either save them all or destroy everything.
The burner phone rang. She answered without speaking.
“I know what you did.” King’s voice was granite. “The question is why.”
“Because everyone was lying.” She kept her voice steady. “My father, Romano, Katherine—they were all playing their own games.” She paused, considering Katherine’s calculated performance. Unlike the others, the curator’s deception had been strategic rather than self-serving—fifteen years of meticulous documentation disguised as academic thoroughness, building evidence chains whilemaintaining her cover. It was the kind of patient, methodical approach that Eden recognized from her mother’s own operational philosophy. “The only way to win was to flip the board.”
“And Hunter?”
Her throat tightened. “He made his choice. I made mine.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting until I know who I can trust.” She shouldered her bag. “Check your email. I just sent you everything—every file, every recording, every piece of evidence I’ve collected. Including what really happened tonight.”
A pause. “Why give it to me?”
“Because despite everything, the Blind Jacks are the only players in this game with anything resembling honor.” She allowed herself a bitter laugh. “And because Hunter trusts you. That has to count for something.”
“Eden—”
She hung up, already moving. The secondary location was twenty minutes away if she stuck to the tunnels. Plenty of time to figure out what the hell she was going to say to Hunter when she saw him.
Assuming he didn’t shoot her on sight.
The night air hit her like a physical blow when she finally emerged at street level. Police helicopters circled the museum district, their searchlights cutting through darkness. News vans were already setting up, hungry for details aboutthe “terrorist attack” at the prestigious museum opening.
If they only knew.
She stuck to the shadows, avoiding cameras and patrols with practiced ease. Her father had taught her well—how to disappear, how to survive, how to trust no one. The irony of using those lessons to outmaneuver him wasn’t lost on her.
The secondary location turned out to be a retired Blind Jack’s auto repair shop. Eden did three passes to check for surveillance before approaching. A shadow detached itself from the doorway.
“You’re late.” Hunter’s voice betrayed nothing.
“Took the scenic route.” She kept her distance, cataloging his condition. Blood darkened the left shoulder of his once-immaculate tuxedo jacket, the expensive fabric torn at the elbow. Fresh bruises bloomed along his jawline, and a shallow cut above his right eyebrow had crusted over. Despite the damage, his broad frame maintained the alert readiness of a predator assessing potential threats. “Wasn’t sure who might be following.”
“Smart.” He studied her with unreadable eyes. “Want to tell me what happened back there?”
“You’ll have to be more specific.” She matched his tone. “A lot happened back there.”
“Let’s start with why you shot the DEA deputy director who was posing as one of Katherine’s backup.”
Ah. That would be shot number three.
“Because he wasn’t DEA.” She kept her hands visible, away from her weapon. “Check your phone. Just sent you proof that Deputy Director Phillips has been on Romano’s payroll for years. He was there to make sure Katherine’s evidence disappeared permanently.”
Hunter’s phone buzzed. He read without taking his attention off her.
“And the floor collapse?”
“Needed cover to get everyone out before the real bombs went off.” At his sharp look, she added, “The ones Romano’s team planted last week. The ones Katherine’s insurance policy would have triggered.”
“You knew.” It wasn’t a question.
“I suspected.” She took a careful step closer. “Romano never leaves loose ends. The whole setup—Katherine’s betrayal, my father’s return, the artifact theft—it was all theater. A distraction from the real target.”
