His newly acquired tenth-floor apartment on Acoma Street gave him a view of the city and was only a little over a block from the office. A lady friend had helped him pick out furniture, a comfortable burgundy leather sofa and chairs, dark wood tables, dark red and black Indian-print barstools for the counter in front of the open galley kitchen, and a Pendleton wool blanket and pillows for his king-size bed. He liked that everything he needed was in walking distance.
Since he wasn’t much of a TV watcher, he turned in early.
Tomorrow, preferring to drive his own car if they decided to make the trip out to Blancha Springs, he’d toss his go-bag, his M9 Beretta semiauto, and his .38 caliber ankle gun in the back of his tricked-out black Nissan 370z sports car. In the meantime, he could use a little sleep.
Unfortunately, anticipation of tomorrow’s meeting with Skye kept him aroused half the night and awake far longer than he would have liked.
He woke up grumpy and hoped his day would improve.
CHAPTER TWO
SKYE PUSHED THROUGH THE DOOR OFNIGHTHAWKSECURITY ATseven o’clock the next morning. Not surprisingly, her brother, Conn, was already there. Conn ran the office with the same efficiency he had demonstrated as a major in the army. A tall, handsome man, he had thick brown hair and a solid, athletic build.
Conn was dedicated to his job, determined to make the company he had inherited from their father a success. Unfortunately, his long hours had recently cost him his fiancée. Her brother would have no trouble replacing Rebecca—Conn had always attracted good-looking women—but his heart was still battered, even if he refused to admit it.
Skye waved at him through his open office door as she crossed the room and sat down in the chair behind her roll-top oak desk. The earth tones of the office interior always felt comfortable to her, with deep brown leather sofas in the waiting area, a conference room, and an employee lounge.
Skye focused on the computer screen on her desk, opened up Google, and typed in “Children of the Sun.”
The founder, a man named Daniel Henson, was forty-two years old, born in Cooperstown, New York. No siblings. His father, Reverend Winston Henson, was deceased; his mother, Aida, still lived in Cooperstown.
Skye continued her search, pulling up several photos of Daniel with his father. Both men were attractive, the father an older, silver-haired, distinguished-looking version of his sandy-haired son.
She pulled up a map of the commune location, saw photos of the gated front, then a picture of the church itself, which was more a chapel, with a steeple and arched double front doors. In the distance, a cluster of modest, duplex-style, wood-framed structures surrounded the church and rectory.
Skye dug around a while longer, but there wasn’t much information or any photos, aside from Daniel’s, of members of the group.
She glanced up as the front door opened and Edge walked into the office. He was tall and black-haired, with the most beautiful blue eyes Skye had ever seen. Her pulse took a leap at the sight of him. She hated the way her body responded, no matter how carefully she worked to tamp down any attraction she might feel. It was not easy to do with a man like Edge.
Former Green Beret, one of the most intelligent and competent men she had ever known, he was unshakably loyal to the people he cared about and fiercely protective. With his height and broad-shouldered, V-shaped warrior’s body, Edge Logan was sex personified.
She thought of the security detail they had worked in Mexico. Along with Trace, the three of them had operated seamlessly together to protect Edge’s brother, his partner, Abigail Holland, and the members of Gage’s expedition.
The mission had been successful—that was for sure—earning Skye a share of the gold bullion that had been brought back to the States.
She couldn’t stop a smile.
“You’re in a good mood this morning,” Edge said, his lips curving as he approached her desk. The muscles across her abdomen tightened. With his high cheekbones and long black lashes any woman would die for, the man was beyond handsome. But his name fit him. Edge was a hard, dark, dangerous man.
Her own smile slowly faded. There was a time she might have considered an affair with a man as attractive as Edge. After the disfiguring injury she had suffered in Afghanistan, there was no way she would even think about it now.
She looked up at him. “I’ll be in a better mood if my stepmother tells us she’s heard from her daughter.” She rose from behind the desk. “My car’s parked in back. You still want to go with me?”
He cocked his head toward the door. “My car’s in front. Why don’t I drive?”
She wasn’t surprised. Edge was full alpha male and, as such, a control freak, but she was used to that, having served. She could press the issue, but she liked to pick her battles, and this one wasn’t worth fighting. “All right, fine.”
He waited for her to walk past him to the door, caught up with her, and pulled it open, held it as she walked outside.
“My stepmother lives in a house out in Aurora.” Skye flicked him a glance tinged with challenge. “Maybe I should drive.”
Edge grinned and surprised her by handing over the car keys. “Why not? You know where we’re going.”
Skye found herself grinning back. Edge had a way of making her smile, which she didn’t do that often. She’d always wanted to drive his sexy black sports car. Sliding in behind the wheel, she adjusted the seat, cranked the engine, stepped on the gas, and shot away from the curb.
It took nearly thirty minutes to reach her stepmother’s simple white-with-blue-trim house on East Warren, but as they zipped through traffic in the sports car, time seemed to fly. All the while, Edge quietly watched her.
He had never asked her out. Aside from including her in a drink with other people, he had never shown any sign he was interested in her. And yet there was no way to miss the heat in those amazing blue eyes. An answering heat settled low in her belly. As always, Skye ignored it.
