Page 58 of Hunter's Game
“You really don’t know women very well.” Katherine’s certainty was oddly reassuring. “Especially women like Eden. Especially when we have something—or someone—worth living for.”
Hunter barely heard her subsequent updates about Romano’s operation crumbling, about corrupt officials scrambling to save themselves. His focus remained fixed on the operating room doors where doctors fought to save Eden’s life. Every time those doors opened, his heart stoppeduntil he confirmed it wasn’t someone coming to deliver bad news.
“Hunter.” Darkness’s arrival pulled him briefly from his vigil. “We secured the compound. Feds are processing everything—weapons, documents, enough evidence to take down half the corrupt agents on the west coast.”
“Eden’s files?” The question was automatic.
“Safe. Though we found something interesting in Carson’s personal effects.” Darkness handed over a sealed envelope. “Letter from Sarah Mitchell, dated the day she died. Addressed to Eden.”
Hunter stared at the envelope, suddenly understanding Carson’s final words about Eden’s mother knowing—planning—all of this.
“She knew.” His voice was rough. “Sarah knew they’d kill her. Knew someday Eden would follow the same path. So she left breadcrumbs, prepared the way...”
“Like mother, like daughter.” Darkness’s smile held genuine respect. “They both knew the price of bringing down someone like Romano. Difference is, Eden’s got something Sarah didn’t.”
“What’s that?”
“Us.” Darkness’s voice was granite. “And we take care of our own.”
Before Hunter could respond, the operating room doors opened. The surgeon’s expression told him everything before she spoke.
“She’s stable.” The words released something tight in Hunter’s chest. “It was touch and go for a while. The bullet nicked an artery. But she’s strong. Stubborn.”
“You have no idea.” But Hunter was already moving toward recovery. “When can we see her?”
“She’s still unconscious.” The surgeon held up a hand. “And will be for a while. We had to put her in a medically induced coma to let her body heal.”
“How long?”
“At least forty-eight hours. Maybe longer.” The surgeon’s eyes were kind but firm. “The best thing you can do right now is let her rest and handle whatever’s going on out there.”
She nodded toward the TV in the waiting room, where news channels were starting to report on the massive federal operation targeting corruption in law enforcement.
“Eden’s plan worked perfectly.” Katherine appeared beside them, looking grimly satisfied. “Romano’s entire operation is exposed. Federal agents are executing warrants across the country. Even found evidence linking them to similar operations in Europe.”
“What about the artifacts?” Hunter remembered the museum pieces that had started all this.
“Being recovered as we speak.” She showed him her phone. “Including some very interesting pieces that never officially existed. Turns outRomano was using the art theft operation to launder more than just money.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning we found proof that several very powerful people have been hiding their dirty money in priceless artifacts.” Her smile was sharp. “People who are suddenly very interested in cooperating with federal investigators.”
“And the Devil’s Mark patches?” Darkness asked. “Can we trust them?”
“They’re hunting down the last of Romano’s people as we speak.” Katherine’s voice held certainty. “Merrick Mitchell might have been corrupt, but most of his crew were just soldiers following orders. Now that they know the truth about Sarah’s murder...”
“They want revenge.” Hunter understood that impulse all too well.
“They want justice,” she corrected. “Same thing Eden wants. Same thing we all want.”
As if summoned by her name, a nurse peeked their head through the double doors and called for the surgeon’s attention. “She’s showing some signs of waking.” The surgeon turned on a dime and headed back toward the doors leading to the recovery ward, and Hunter was right on her heels.
The surgeon and the nurse both paused to look at him, as if to turn him away, but he leveled them with a look that communicated he wouldn’t be swayed. He was going through those doors, one way or another. His woman was awake, and heneeded her—probably even more than she needed him.
“Alright,” the surgeon relented to his wordless demand, “follow me.”
The room was cold and sterile and so dim, there were shadows everywhere. Eden lay on the bed, slightly inclined so as not to be flat, and her ashen skin and drawn features were damn near scary, bearing the evidence of her knocking on death’s door more than once tonight. It was enough to cause him pause.
