A good nine inches taller than she, Trace peered down at her. “What the hell is going on with you two?” He was the same height as Edge but brawnier, his chest and shoulders heavier, yet she never felt overwhelmed by him. He was a good man, strong, capable, and caring. She wished he could have been the man she had fallen in love with.
Trace huffed out a breath. “It’s like he’s put up some kind of wall around him.”
The words dredged up the pain she was trying so hard to ignore, making her heart ache.
“We talked things over. Edge and I will always be friends, but this thing between us isn’t going to work. Edge knows that. He’s dealing with it, that’s all.”
“I don’t get it. He’s crazy about you. You’re crazy about him. I thought that was the whole reason two people got together.”
Her heart ached. She didn’t want to think about what it would be like when Edge was gone. She wished she could tell Trace it was none of his business, but they were too close for that.
“He’s leaving, Trace. The army means everything to him. After tonight, he’ll be able to prove his innocence and go back to the life he loves.”
Trace fell silent. “Maybe he’ll change his mind.”
She smiled at him sadly. “You don’t believe that, and neither do I. His mind is made up. He knows what he wants, and he’s going after it. I can’t fault him for that. Can you?”
Trace glanced away. “No.”
“I appreciate your concern. You’ve always been a good friend. Now we need to focus our attention on the mission. We both love Edge. Let’s bring Markham down and give him back his dream.”
Trace leaned over and kissed her cheek. “If you were my woman, there wouldn’t be any dream better than spending a lifetime with you.”
Skye’s eyes filled as Trace walked to the door, used the extra key, and disappeared into Edge’s room. Steeling herself against the emotions squeezing her insides, she focused on the job that needed to be done that night.
With a sigh of resignation, Skye went into her room and quietly closed the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
THE NIGHT WAS CLEAR, THE STARS CRYSTALLINE IN A BLACK VELVETsky. Only a fragment of moon lit the harsh desert landscape. Cactus and boulders, low hills, and ravines spread out through the mountains and the valley below.
They had traveled two men each on four-wheel ATVs, spreading out in different directions, traveling along narrow dirt trails through the barren peaks south of the base, into the flat land on the other side of the Mexican border.
Colonel Harding and his men led the way, having been in the area before to recon the site of the weapons exchange, assuming their intel proved correct.
Edge, Skye, and Trace were in the last group to arrive, Skye on the back of Edge’s ATV, while Trace rode behind Clint. They were early. Plenty of time for the sound of the machines to die away and the group to take positions out of sight in the rocks and gullies.
The landing zone had conveniently been marked by a circle of floodlights that could be turned on to indicate the flat ground and open space necessary to accommodate the approaching chopper and its rotor blades.
Edge smiled at that. They had caught a break there. The lights were a fairly good indicator that their intel was correct. It was a makeshift landing pad. Only one use for that.
He glanced at Skye, who had settled behind a cluster of granite boulders not far away, the barrel of her M4 carbine stabilized between two rocks. She also carried her Glock and probably an ankle gun.
The hours slipped past. The eighty-degree daytime temperature had fallen only as far as the low sixties, which meant their black tactical vests, weapons, and gear were enough to keep them warm.
Edge heard a voice in his earbuds. “The first ATVs have been spotted coming over the ridge,” Harding said. “They’ll be dropping into the valley in the next ten minutes.”
“Roger that.” Edge glanced over at Skye, who touched her earbud and nodded that she had heard the call.
“Copy,” Trace added from his sniper hide sixty yards out. By now his MK22 would be set up on its tripod, ready to fire.
Edge shifted the M16 slung across his chest. His M9 Beretta rode in a holster at his waist, his Ka-Bar knife strapped to his thigh. He was ready. So was Skye. Still, his worried glance swung in her direction.
He had let her come, and now he regretted it. He didn’t want her near this kind of danger, the kind that could wind up getting her killed.
But he had accepted long ago that Skye Delaney was her own person. She had a mind of her own, and she made her own decisions. He respected her for it and for being the strong woman she was. He loved her for it.
The words hit him hard, though it wasn’t the first time they had slipped into his head. He was in love with her.
