“Grease says he’s bought a house there. Tract house, nothing special. Word is he’s got another place under a different name in Cabo San Lucas. Grease says it overlooks the ocean. Says the place is worth millions.”

Skye finished her beer. “Smuggling weapons pays a lot better than a major’s salary.”

“That’s for sure.”

She arched a dark eyebrow. “So . . . are you heading for California or are we still going to Vegas?”

Edge set his empty bottle down on the counter. “First things first. We look into Petrov, then I tackle Markham.” Skye didn’t resist when he eased her into his arms, bent his head, and very softly kissed her.

His eyes locked on her face, and she could feel the heat. “You didn’t answer my question.”

She told herself to say no. She was setting herself up for heartache. One room or two? She swallowed. “One . . .” she whispered. “One room.”

Edge kissed her again, slowly, intimately, making all sorts of unspoken promises. He glanced down the hall, his thoughts more than clear, but the apartment wasn’t empty.

“What about tonight?” he asked, his eyes never leaving her face.

Going home with him was exactly what she wanted. But if she was going to do this, she needed time to collect herself, get herself back under control.

“I’ve got to get Lila settled in, and Callie’s here. Police still haven’t picked up Klaus Mahler. Conn will be back in the morning. I’ll see you then.”

Edge nodded, but she didn’t miss the regret in his face. “Whatever you want.”

Far from it, she thought, wishing she could change her mind. Knowing it was the wrong thing to do.

* * *

Skye slept fitfully. So much had happened in the past few days. So much remained unfinished. It was two o’clock in the morning when she heard a sound in the guest room where Callie and Lila were spending the night. After all they had been through, they were a comfort to each other. And they had a lot to catch up on.

Skye sat up in bed, heard a scream, followed by the door bursting open down the hall.

Callie’s voice rang out. “Skye! Come quick! It’s Lila! Something’s wrong with the baby!”

She was already on her feet. Ignoring thoughts of Mahler, she left her gun in the drawer next to her bed, grabbed her terry robe and pulled it on, stuck her cell phone in her pocket, and raced down the hall.

Lila sat up in the twin bed, bent double, clutching her abdomen.

“She’s bleeding,” Callie said, her voice shaking. “And she’s in a lot of pain.”

Pulling out her phone, Skye punched in 911.

“This is police dispatch. What’s your emergency?”