“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 in him. 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.