“I want to know what happened in Afghanistan.”
Conn’s shoulders stiffened. “She was wounded. They gave her a purple heart and a military discharge.”
“I know that. I want to know what happened.”
Conn just shook his head. “That’s Skye’s business. I don’t talk about my sister. You want to know what happened, ask her.”
Edge moved closer, flattened his palms on the desk and leaned forward, putting them face-to-face. “It’s important, Conn. I need to know how badly she was injured.”
“If you’re worried about her being able to do her job—”
“It’s nothing like that. I know how capable she is. This is personal.”
Personal.For months, Conn had been watching the sparks building between Skye and Edge. But something always held them back. Since they were working together, he figured it was a smart move on both of their parts not to get involved.
“You can trust me,” Edge said, pressing the issue.
One thing he knew—he could trust Edge Logan. He also knew Edge cut a wide swath through the female population of Denver. Conn didn’t want his sister winding up on Edge’s list of conquests.
On the other hand, after the accident, Skye’s ex-fiancé, Brian Galen, had done a job on her self-esteem. Maybe Edge’s attention would help her.
Conn settled back in his chair. “Skye enlisted right out of community college, probably influenced by the long list of family members who had served. She breezed through basic, excelled in marksmanship and hand-to-hand combat, wound up an army intel analyst stationed in Kandahar. She was good with languages, caught onto Farsi real fast. Skye was a good soldier, but you can’t defend against an IED.”
Edge remained quiet, silently urging Conn to continue.
“Skye was being ferried from one location to another when the Humvee she was riding in hit an IED. What was left of the Humvee landed upside down on fire, with Skye half dazed in the back seat. She was able to crawl out, but the guy next to her was pinned inside. Skye managed to pry him free, but the Humvee exploded as they were trying to escape. Flying pieces of hot metal knocked her unconscious. A heavy chunk landed on her left leg, causing third degree burns from mid-thigh to ankle.”
Edge’s blue eyes remained on Conn. “There’s more. There has to be.”
“The portion of her leg that was injured is badly disfigured. The doctors did a series of skin grafts, but they didn’t do much good.”
“What else? Skye was a soldier. She would have accepted the possibility she could be wounded when she joined the army. There’s something else.”
There was, indeed, something else. Resigned now and hoping he was making the right decision, Conn finished the story.
“Skye was engaged at the time she was wounded. Months later, after she got out of the hospital, the first night she and Brian spent together, he couldn’t get it up. He said her leg was repulsive, said he couldn’t handle it. Skye broke the engagement the following day and never saw the bastard again.”
The look in Edge’s eyes could have sliced a man to bloody bits. “Brian.What’s his last name?”
Conn shook his head. “No way. He’s out of the picture and no longer living in Denver. I’ve told you what you wanted to know—now leave it alone.”
Jaw hard, Edge turned and strode to the door. “Thanks for telling me.” He reached for the doorknob.
“One more thing,” Conn said, stopping him. “Don’t hurt her, Edge. Skye’s been hurt enough already.”
Edge’s jaw hardened even more. Jerking the door open, he strode out of the office.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EDGE DIDN’T WORK THE REST OF THAT DAY. INSTEAD,HE TOOK TIMEoff to get his head on straight about a couple of things and recover from mission failure.
That was how he saw it. True, they’d gotten Callie Delaney out of the compound safely, as well as Molly Lockhart. Their work had managed to send Daniel Henson packing, which had freed most of the rest of the women, but it was more than likely Henson was still in business, just setting up shop somewhere else.
Trying to catch up on sleep lost during the all-nighter they had pulled in Blancha Springs, Edge caught a late-afternoon nap. It was dark when he awoke. He spent a little time on the computer, digging for info on Henson, came up with mostly old news.
The afternoon faded, and darkness crept over the city. He felt caged and restless, his mind going back again and again to the story Conn Delaney had told him about Skye. As he sprawled on the comfortable burgundy leather sofa in his living room, Conn’s words echoed in his head.
Don’t hurt her, Edge. Skye’s been hurt enough already.
