Dutch handed him back his weapon and walked away. Edge holstered the pistol, took a deep breath, and leaned back in his chair. He needed more information. And he needed to talk to Special Agent Derrick Cross.
“I need a drink,” he said aloud. It was the code they had agreed on. Cross would meet him at a place called the Cannery a mile off the strip. According to Cross, it was a bar that catered to vets and not a spot Petrov’s goons would frequent.
Walking out of the restaurant into the night, Edge climbed into a cab and gave the driver the address. “Take your time. Let’s have a little tour of the area first.”
The cabbie just grunted and pulled away. Edge kept an eye out the back window to see if they were being followed. No sign of a tail.
But worry darkened his thoughts, and the back of his neck was tingling. Never a good sign.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
SASHA LEDSKYE ACROSS THE TWO-STORY ENTRY, UP THE CURVINGstaircase, down what seemed miles of wide, high-ceilinged corridor. Petrov had disappeared into his study moments after they’d arrived, leaving the blonde in charge, which seemed to please her greatly.
“Come.” She opened the door to Skye’s glamorous prison and stood back to let her into the room. “I will need your phone.”
Skye had been expecting it. She handed over her cell as she glanced around her temporary quarters.
The bedroom was as sumptuous as the rest of Villa Milano, the Vegas version of the Doge’s Palace meets the Taj Mahal. The huge white house was at least 15,000 square feet, with thirty-foot ceilings and gleaming white marble floors. Soaring columns, both inside and out, drew the eye upward to Romanesque arches protected by yards of red-tile roof.
“Fortunately, Ivan planned for your visit,” Sasha said. “You will find clothes approximately your size in the closet. Makeup and toiletries in the bathroom.” Hostile blue eyes ran over her. “Whatever happens, you will not be staying here long.”
There was no missing the threat. Sasha considered Skye competition. Apparently, Petrov’s interest had not gone unnoticed. If things went badly tomorrow night, she would be dead.
By now, Edge knew Petrov’s plans. If the hidden microphone was working, so did Agent Cross. With or without the DEA, Edge would be figuring how to get her away from Petrov. Edge was extremely protective. He would do whatever it took to get her to safety. If he was still alive.
Skye suppressed a shiver.
Sasha walked over to the big king-size bed covered in rich blue velvet. “If you want something, just press the first button on the wall.” She pointed toward a panel above the nightstand. “Housekeeping will bring you whatever you need.”
In a cloud of expensive perfume, the spangles on her ultrashort, fuchsia designer dress flashing, Sasha left the suite.
As soon as the door closed, Skye began a tour of the bedroom. None of the windows were locked, which didn’t really surprise her. In Petrov’s mind, she wasn’t a prisoner. She was a bargaining chip. But his objectives and Edge’s weren’t the same.
She surveyed the furnishings in the suite. There were all sorts of glass perfume bottles and makeup mirrors in the bathroom that could serve as weapons. There were heavy crystal vases on the dresser and pottery jugs on the floor. As happened far too often, her host had underestimated her ability to defend herself.
Unconsciously, her hand went to the pistol strapped to the inside of her thigh. No one had searched her. Petrov wasn’t afraid of being attacked. His power and authority kept people in line.
She went over to the window, spotted a guard roaming the manicured acres of grass, fountains, and beautifully lit blue pools. She was fairly certain she could escape, but if she left, she would be putting Edge in even more danger.
The leverage Petrov was using worked both ways.
She turned and walked back to the bedroom door, intending to turn the lock. A knock sounded just as she reached it, and her pulse kicked up.
The knob turned, the door swung open, and Petrov stood in the opening. The sight of him in a burgundy brocade dressing gown sent a slice of dread into her stomach.
“It’s late for a social call,” she said, refusing to show him any sign of fear. Petrov controlled everything and everyone in the house. If he was there to rape her, no one would stop him. No one but her.
“I wanted to be sure you had everything you needed,” Petrov said. His black gaze slid over her like cold grease, returned to settle on her breasts.
Skye managed not to flinch. “I’m fine. I appreciate your concern, but it’s late, and I’m tired.”
He reached out and trailed a finger down her cheek. “You are alone tonight. Perhaps you desire a man to keep you company.”
She thought of the gun she could reach through the pocket of her jumpsuit and found some comfort in that. “I don’t think your friend Sasha would approve.”
He shrugged his thick shoulders. “What I do is none of her business.”
Skye smiled blandly. “I appreciate the offer, but not tonight.”Or any other night, she thought.
