Cop cars were everywhere, at least half a dozen bearing down on him and Dutch. Dutch pulled his big semiauto and whirled toward him, pointed the gun barrel at his heart. “You bastard!”

Adrenalin and his training both hit him. Edge knocked the barrel of the gun away with his forearm, spun and kicked, sent Dutch’s pistol flying, delivered a chop to the side of his neck, followed by an uppercut that launched him backward, into the side of the white panel van.

Dutch bounced off the side and charged forward. Edge’s fist slammed into his stomach, doubling him over. Then a right to the jaw took him out. By the time Agent Cross arrived, it was over.

“Nice work,” Cross said as two of his agents ran up, slapped handcuffs on Dutch’s thick wrists, and placed him under arrest.

All Edge could think of was the woman he’d left in Las Vegas. “What about Skye? Is she all right? Did they get her out okay?”

“I assume she’s all right. She wasn’t on the premises when we arrived.”

Which was DEA speak for Whatever happened, we weren’t involved. Nothing to see here.

“During the raid, Ivan Petrov got into a firefight with a couple of our agents,” Cross said. “Last I heard, it didn’t look like he was going to make it.”

“Now that’s a real pity.”

“Some of my men spotted a chopper in the area. Probably just a coincidence.”

Relief filtered through him. Morgan Burke had surprised him by volunteering to help, and it appeared he had done the job.

“Yeah, probably.”

Still, he couldn’t be sure Skye was okay until he talked to her.

As DEA agents took Riggins and Ketch into custody and began going through the cargo in the back, Edge phoned Skye. When she didn’t answer, his nerves ticked up. Edge phoned Conn.

“Did you get Skye out okay? Did everything go all right?”

“She’s okay. Bullet creased her arm. We’re heading to the emergency room.”

His stomach burned. “How bad is it?”

“Hurts like hell, but she’ll be fine. It shouldn’t take too long. We’ll meet you back at the hotel.”

He’d rather go straight to the hospital, but it wasn’t going to happen. The DEA would want to debrief him. He was still wearing the wireless recorder, and hell, he didn’t even have a ride.

“All right, I’ll see you there,” he said. “Take care of her, Conn.”

“Will do.” The line went dead.

It was after three a.m. when one of Cross’s men dropped Edge off at the Bellagio. He had talked to Trace, knew Skye had been released and that they were all back in the suite. But after the painkillers the doctors had given her, Conn had told him, Skye was already asleep.