Dutch climbed into the back of the truck, randomly selected one of the bags and jumped back down to the pavement. Pulling out his pocketknife, he sliced open the bag. Rough-textured white pills about half an inch long spilled through the opening. Dutch crumbled one of the pills in his palm, then licked his finger, stuck it into the lumpy powder, and tasted it.

He nodded. “All right, we’re good to go.” He tipped his head toward the little guy, Ketch, who handed a canvas satchel to the truck driver. The guy opened the satchel, looked at the money, and closed the bag.

Apparently satisfied, instead of returning to the truck, the two men disappeared into the shadows, while Riggins and Ketch headed for the truck and climbed into the cab.

Dutch turned to Edge. “You’re driving the van back,” Dutch said. The big rig engine fired up with Riggins behind the wheel and set up a steady rumble. Diesel smoke puffed out of the stacks, the gears ground, and the tires began to roll.

Edge glanced around. Nothing but rows of big rigs, one after another.

Where the hell were Cross and the DEA? A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. What was happening in Vegas?

What the hell was happening to Skye?

* * *

Skye paced the luxurious bedroom, her nerves strung taut. What was happening to Edge? She prayed he was all right.

She walked over to the window and looked down on the magnificent grounds surrounding the mansion, her mind going backward over the hours she had spent waiting for nightfall.

Her day had started with a command performance on the terrace overlooking the pool, a gourmet breakfast that included everything from truffled eggs with hollandaise, baked sole, and filet mignon, to homemade granola, yogurt, and fresh fruit.

She managed to get down some yogurt and coffee, which wasn’t that easy with Petrov’s gaze filled with the same lust she had seen in his black eyes last night.

When Skye didn’t respond to his silent invitation, Ivan excused himself for a day of meetings. Skye had inwardly rejoiced. The eighty-degree weather had encouraged Sasha to spend the day sipping umbrella drinks next to the pool. Skye had declined to join her.

After pleading a headache, she spent the day in her room until night had finally descended. With no way to communicate with Edge, she had no idea what could be happening to him or what might happen to her.

She returned to the window. The blue lights in the swimming pool reflected the cypress trees lining the concrete deck. The windows of the cabana were dark, but an hour ago, Skye had heard men’s voices downstairs, and the guard patrolling the fence surrounding the estate had been joined by several other men.