From what he’d seen on Google Maps, the property was off the highway, several miles out of town down a poorly maintained dirt road. Once they approached the tall wrought-iron gate, Edge could see the roof of a building with a steeple on top just over a rise. He pulled to a stop in front of the gate, which was next to a hip-roofed beige stucco gatehouse.
A big, thick-chested man walked out of the narrow building and came outside the compound through a smaller gate on the side of the main entrance. Edge buzzed down his window as the guard approached.
“Can I help you?” He was in his mid-thirties, with short red hair and a full red beard. Dressed in a khaki shirt, jeans, and high-topped, rough-out leather boots, he wore a sidearm clipped to his belt. Edge was suddenly glad he had brought his own weapons. Not that he traveled far without them.
“We’d like to talk to Callie Delaney,” Edge said. “She’s one of the women who lives here.”
The red-bearded man straightened. “You’ll need to speak to Reverend Henson about that, but the reverend ain’t here. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
Skye leaned across Edge to speak to the guard through the open window. Strands of her hair brushed his cheek, and the scent of roses drifted over him. His groin tightened.
“We’ve driven all the way from Denver,” Skye said. “Maybe you could ask Callie to come to the gate and we could speak to her here.”
“Not my call. Like I said, you need to talk to the reverend.” He didn’t say more, and Skye ducked back to her side of the car. Edge didn’t miss her softly muttered curse.
“Are you sure Henson will be here tomorrow?” he asked.
“He’ll be here.”
“What time?”
“What’s your name?” the gate guard asked.
“I’m Edge Logan, and she’s Skye Delaney. Skye is Callie’s sister.”
“You want to speak to the reverend, you best come out around ten. He’ll be getting ready for his daily sermon.”
Skye leaned over Edge again and a soft breast brushed his arm. Her nipple instantly hardened, and arousal stirred beneath the fly of his jeans.
“Could you give Callie a message?” Skye asked. “Could you let her know her sister wants to see her?”
“Talk to the reverend,” the guard said curtly, then turned and walked back through the gate, which clanked shut behind him.
Edge put the car in reverse, backed up and turned around, drove off down the dirt road toward town.
“Looks like we’ll be coming back out here tomorrow,” he said. “We better find a place to land for the night.”
“We could . . . umm . . . drive back to Denver, then return tomorrow morning.”
Thinking of the tight fit of his jeans, it was probably best if they did. “Your call.”
Skye’s gaze remained straight ahead. “Seems stupid to drive all that way. We might as well get a room.” The minute the words were out of her mouth, a flush rose in her cheeks. “I mean two rooms.”
Edge flicked her a sideways glance. “One room or two. Like I said—it’s your call.”
Skye’s pretty sea-green eyes widened. Nervously, she toyed with her ponytail, tightening the band that held it in place.
“I brought my laptop,” she said, pointedly ignoring his comment. “I can use the time to dig around, see if I can find out anything more about Henson or the group.”
Edge tried to convince himself he wasn’t disappointed. He had never made an outright advance to Skye, never even hinted that he was interested in her as a woman.
Now that he had, he wondered why he’d waited so long.
“Why don’t you take a look at your phone, see if you can find a room—or two—somewhere in the area?”
Skye took out her cell and began tapping away. In minutes, she was scanning the short list of motels in the tiny town. “There’s one called the Trails West Inn. Looking at the photos, the rooms are definitely basic, but it has several vacancies.”
The red neon vacancy sign was lit when Edge drove up in front. He wasn’t surprised. The motel was nothing more than a row of six rooms with a gravel parking lot in front. At least the white stucco building appeared to be newly painted, and the corridor looked clean.
