And yet she knew she was doing the right thing. Every time they were together would make the pain greater when they parted.
“A nap sounds good,” she said, refusing to acknowledge the turbulence in his eyes. She checked the time and set the alarm on her phone. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
Edge watched her a few seconds more, then quietly closed the door.
* * *
The bar at La Cantina was a lively, boisterous place, the interior painted bright orange, red, yellow, and green. Sombreros hung on the walls, piñatas on the ceiling. This late at night, the lights had been turned down, leaving the room softly illuminated.
Edge led Skye to a table in the corner, and they sat down. They both ordered Bud Lights.
“You think he’s here?” Skye asked as they spotted their server, a buxom woman in her forties with black hair down to her waist.
“Enjoy,” she said, setting a pair of ice-cold bottles on the table.
“Thanks.” Edge took a second glance around. A couple of guys sat by themselves, each with the straight-shouldered posture of a military man. The base was less than ten miles away. Service members were a big part of the town’s population.
“Could be he’s here.” But he didn’t think so. None of the men in the room had shown the least bit of interest when they’d walked through the door. He amended that. None of the men had shown the least interest inhim.Half a dozen men had cast long, appreciative glances at Skye.
She was always beautiful, with her mahogany curls and her sexy figure, but she looked tired tonight, as if the stress of the last few days weighed her down. If things were different, he’d make slow, languid love to her until that tired look faded, replaced by the glow of contentment.
He turned at the sound of footsteps.
“Mind if I join you?” The man was six foot and lanky, with threads of gray in his military short brown hair. “Logan, right?”
“That’s right. And this is Skye Delaney.”
“Colonel Sam Harding, US Army, retired.” He pulled out a chair and took a seat across from them, a man in his early fifties with weathered, suntanned skin, and the eyes of a lion. Eyes that missed nothing.
The server returned, and Harding ordered a Tecate.
“Are you from around here?” Edge asked as they waited for the beer to arrive.
“Drove down from Tucson. It’s only a little over an hour.” The buxom server returned with the Mexican beer, then headed out again.
Edge took a drink of his Bud, set it back down on the table. “I appreciate your coming. What have you got for us?”
Harding straightened. He was solid and broad-shouldered, a man who looked like he could handle himself. “The deal is going down tomorrow night. Armor-piercing .50 cals, grenade launchers, ammo. God knows what else. It’s a big shipment, and it isn’t the first.”
“The weapons are coming from the base,” Skye said. “How are they getting them?”
“They’re stealing them through a crime syndicate that’s operating on the base. Maybe as many as seven or eight men involved. The money’s big enough to tempt a saint, and these guys are a far cry from it.”
“How does Bradley Markham fit in?” Edge asked.
“Markham was a Ranger before he went Green Beret. He was a good soldier at first, but things went wrong at home, and he ended up divorced. He and a guy in his unit named Chico Orlando got to be friends. Chico had family in Mexico. Markham went down with him a couple of times for a visit. Apparently, family included some big cartel names.”
“I’m beginning to get the picture,” Edge said. “Markham gets handed a golden opportunity and can’t resist.”
The colonel nodded. “That’s about it. Money was offered.Big money.Markham was pissed at the army for costing him his wife. Maybe he figured stealing the weapons was a way of getting back. Or maybe he just couldn’t resist that much green.”
“From the high life he’s living, I’d say that’s a distinct possibility.”
“So how does it work?” Skye asked, gripping her beer bottle a little more tightly. Edge knew her well enough to see her nerves creeping up with every new piece of information.
“The cartels set up what’s called an ant track. Vehicles loaded with weapons hidden in every conceivable location, from hubcaps to door panels, transport guns across the border. Some have special compartments built in. All Markham has to do is get the weapons off base, into the hands of the guys running them south into Mexico. A few of the Mexican drivers manage to screw up and get caught, but they know if they talk, the cartel will take out their families.”
“Where does Markham find the men to help him?” Skye asked.
