“He convinced Conn I’d be safe with him,” Callie said.
“Or maybe not,” Edge drawled, a protective note in his voice.
Callie laughed. “He’s only twenty-five, and he was a perfect gentleman. But thanks for your concern.”
Lila smiled softly as she picked up a soda. “No alcohol for me. Not for a while.”
By now, everyone, including Edge, knew about the baby. “Congratulations,” he said.
Callie reached over and squeezed Lila’s hand. “I know it must be scary, but whatever happens, we’ll figure it out.”
Lila smiled.
They finished the pizzas. The girls helped pick up the trash, then disappeared back into the guest room.
“We need to talk,” Edge said, as soon as they were alone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
WITH SO MUCH UNSETTLED BETWEEN THEM AND NO IDEA WHEREthe conversation was headed, Skye just looked up at him.
“About Petrov,” Edge added. He grabbed another beer out of the fridge and handed her a second one.
Skye cranked off the cap and took a swallow. At least they were back on familiar ground. “I assumed you would turn that information over to Agent Cross.”
“I’m thinking about it. But if Henson’s right and this guy, Petrov, has law enforcement on his payroll, the investigation might not go anywhere. Petrov could walk, and before long he’d be starting his drug operation all over again.”
“So you’re thinking . . . what?”
“I’m thinking I might go to Vegas, do a little digging myself. The idea of Petrov just finding another stooge and starting all over doesn’t sit right with me.”
Skye had been thinking the very same thing. “Doesn’t work for me, either.”
“I’m not asking you to go. I’m just telling you what I’m going to do.”
“Don’t insult me.”
His sexy mouth curved. “Sorry.” He took a drink of beer. “So I guess we’re both going to Vegas.”
Which meant this thing between them wasn’t over. Skye thought of Edge’s hot kisses in the cabin in Chamaya, thought of his lean, strong hands moving over her body, and heat slid into her core.
Oblivious to her thoughts—thank God—Edge tipped up his beer and took a swallow. “After I left the office this morning, I talked to Zoe about Petrov.”
She nodded. “I was planning to call as soon as things settled down.”
“Zoe called me back just before I got here. Ivan Dmitri Petrov’s his full name. Russian parents. Petrov owns a fancy supper club in Vegas called the Four Winds, which is where he generally hangs out. But he also owns strip clubs in Vegas, Reno, all over Nevada.”
He pulled out his cell and brought up the photo of Petrov that Zoe had texted. Six feet tall, thick-shouldered and barrel-chested, slicked-back black hair and hard features.
“He lives in a house worth somewhere close to fifteen million dollars. Italian style. Calls it Villa Milano.”
Skye took a sip of her beer. “Guy definitely lives the high life. Did Zoe find any connection between him and Carl Wisen or Oscar Andreyev?”
“She’s on it. She’s got other stuff to do, so it may take a few days.”
“You know, there’s always the chance Henson served Petrov up to the DEA in order to save his own rotten skin.”
“Yeah, I thought of that. Daniel’s afraid of Petrov, but working with the feds is probably his best chance of getting a lesser sentence.”
