When he opened the back of the SUV and Skye bent over to open the box holding the drone, his blood went south, and his mind went straight to the gutter. A woman’s breasts were his weakness. But Skye’s taut, round behind was pure temptation.
She had pulled her thick dark hair into a no-nonsense ponytail at the nape of her neck, but sunlight set off ruby glints here and there, and his mind conjured images of how the silky strands would look spread over his pillow. He wanted to peel off those snug jeans and take her right there in the back of the SUV.
Edge silently cursed. Bedding Skye Delaney was becoming an obsession. Even worse, there was nothing he could do about it. Skye was his partner, his friend. She wasn’t the kind of woman you seduced, then just walked away from.
He took a deep breath and focused on the drone. “It’s a real beauty,” he said as Skye opened the box. “State of the art, that’s for sure.”
She ran a hand over the mini-drone, and he felt it as if she’d stroked him. The ridge beneath the zipper of his black jeans went harder.
“Where did you get it?” she asked.
Edge shook his head. “You don’t want to know.” He still had friends in the army, brothers in arms. They helped each other any way they could. Edge stayed in touch and was always there if they needed him. In return, they kept him posted on the whereabouts of a certain Special Forces Major Bradley Markham.
Edge might not be a soldier anymore, but he still intended to rain justice down on the man who had very nearly destroyed him.
Next to the drone, a long canvas bag held a brand new MK22 sniper rifle, two extra handguns, and a Mossburg Thunder Ranch twelve-gauge shotgun. Three tactical vests lay next to the bag, one small enough to fit Skye. If all went well, Trace would be joining them when they went into the compound tomorrow night. Trace had been an Army Ranger sniper. Edge hoped they wouldn’t need his skills, but it was better to be prepared.
Edge carefully took the drone out of the box. It was on loan from a friend, a captain he’d taken a bullet for in Afghanistan. Pure reflex, as far as Edge was concerned, but he had saved Rick Emory’s life. The bullet wound Edge had taken had been relatively minor, just another scar to add to a growing list.
Still, the captain considered it a lifelong debt, and a simple request to borrow an army drone wasn’t much of a problem.
Even this very special drone, which fit in the palm of his hand.
The FLIR Black Hornet PRS (Personal Reconnaissance System) was only 6.6 inches long. Its flight time was just twenty-five minutes, but the way Edge intended to use it, much of that time it would be sitting, not flying, transmitting images of a particular area of the compound. It could stay out long enough to get the job done.
Edge couldn’t wait to get the sweet little Hornet into the air.
“Wow,” Skye said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” Her excitement matched his. Skye was so damned feminine and pretty, sometimes he had to remind himself she was US Army, same as he was. Or had been.
“Only weighs thirty-three grams,” he said. “Got a mile-and-a-quarter range, transmits color images at speeds up to eleven miles an hour, and it’s damn near silent. They finally got the Hornet down to a price the army could afford, so it just got approved for personal use. This one adapts for night vision.”
Skye smiled. “Perfect for what we need.”
Edge grinned. “Yeah.”
They set up to work out of the back of the SUV. Edge assembled the drone, while Skye linked it to her laptop so they could watch the images on her computer screen.
The drone took off for the half-mile flight to the compound. Edge sent it in at high altitude, circled the perimeter, noting the guards prowling the fence along each side of the property, then eased down to a lower elevation.
He set the drone down on the roof of a big metal building that turned out to be a livestock barn. From the roof, the drone could watch the women in the vegetable garden. Others worked inside the barn cleaning the stalls, while some were outside with the cows, pigs, and sheep in the pens.
The drone zipped quickly by the windows of what appeared to be a commissary, confirming it was the place the group ate during the workday and probably fed the men who worked nights. Edge sent the drone toward the second large metal building, a heavy equipment shed, landing it on the roof to give them a bird’s-eye view of the people moving around outside.
“It’s Callie!” Skye said, spotting her sister as she left the vegetable patch and started across the compound with two other women. It was five o’clock, probably the end of the workday. Callie and one of the women, with a curvy figure, long black hair, and a very pretty face, disappeared into one of the white, wood-frame cottages while a thirty something redhead went into the unit next door.
The drone zipped down off the roof and flew just above the windows of the house, giving them a view inside. Callie walked into the bedroom, which was modestly furnished with two twin beds, a dresser, and a pair of nightstands. She sank down on the bed, wiping her eyes.
Skye gripped Edge’s shoulder. “She looks like she’s crying.”
His jaw felt tight. “Christ knows what they’ve done to her.”
“Edge, we’ve got to get her out of there.”
He just shook his head. “We aren’t ready yet. We’ll watch the place tonight and come back again tomorrow, be ready to go in with Trace tomorrow night. We go in unprepared, we could wind up getting your sister killed.”
Skye’s attention returned to the screen. The drone was back on the roof of the building, the camera reporting movements in and around the compound. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Hey, if it were one of my brothers, I’d feel the same way.” He remembered being forced to hold his position in Mexico while his brother had nearly drowned.
