One Last Chance

Kat Martin

Also by Kat Martin

The Silent Rose

The Dream

The Secret

Hot Rain

Deep Blue

Desert Heat

Midnight Sun

Against the Wild

Against the Sky

Against the Tide

Into the Fury

Into the Whirlwind

Into the Firestorm

Beyond Reason

Beyond Danger

Beyond Control

Pivot

The Last Goodnight

The Last Mile

KAT MARTIN

ONE LAST CHANCE

www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
EPILOGUE

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018

Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number:

The K with book logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

ISBN: 978-1-4967-3681-9

First Kensington Hardcover Edition: May 2022

ISBN: 978-1-4967-4074-8 (trade)
ISBN: 978-1-4967-3684-0 (ebook)

CHAPTER ONE

Denver, Colorado

“MAKE YOUR CHOICE, SERGEANT LOGAN. YOU CAN RESIGN FROM the army with an honorable discharge, or you can face a court martial—where, no doubt, you’ll be sentenced to years in Leavenworth prison.”

Edge stood at attention in front of Colonel Raymond Miles, seated behind his desk at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. The office, with only a few framed certificates on the walls, a handful of photos of the colonel with his men, and not a single picture of his family or friends, was as stark and unforgiving as the man behind the desk.

“What’ll it be, soldier? If it weren’t for your outstanding record and the silver star you earned, you’d already be under arrest.” Miles shoved the papers across the desk and set a ballpoint pen on top of them.

Edge looked down at the papers, his jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Given the circumstances—and not a shred of proof that his allegations against a highly respected army major were true—he had no choice.

“Sign them and get on with your life,” the colonel advised. “You won’t get another chance.”

Edge reached for the pen and scrolled his signature at the bottom of the page. Colonel Miles took the papers and stacked them neatly in front of him.

“A very wise decision. Perhaps you’ll be able to redeem yourself in whatever course your future takes from here on out. Dismissed.”

Shoulders squared, spine straight, Edge turned and walked out of the office. Everything inside him ached. His time as a Green Beret was over. The life he had dreamed of since childhood, the years of brutal training, the men in his unit he thought of as brothers—all of it crumbled and gone.

He felt devastated clear to his soul. He thought of the man who had destroyed his life, Major Bradley Markham, the traitor who had managed to escape justice.

A muscle flexed in his jaw. At least for now.

With a silent curse and a vow of vengeance, Edge Logan closed the door on his past and headed into an uncertain future.

* * *

“Hey, Edge, what’s up, bro?” Frowning, Trace Elliott stood in front of him. Trace was one of his closest friends, a tall, dark-haired man with eyes a less intense shade of blue than Edge’s own. “You look like you’re ready to kill someone.”

He and Trace both worked at Nighthawk Security, offering mostly personal protection, but they were also licensed PIs.

He straightened in the chair behind his oak rolltop desk. “Sorry. Bad memory.” He hadn’t realized his mind had been wandering, traveling down a dangerous road into the past.

“Yeah, I’ve got a few of those myself,” Trace said.

The two of them had served together in the 75^th Ranger Regiment, Fort Benning, Georgia, then in Afghanistan, before Edge had gone on to become a Green Beret. Though Edge had been raised on a ranch with his two older brothers, ranching was never his calling, not like the army.

Trace had been smart enough to know he wanted something more than a life as a soldier and had resigned after his last tour of duty.

Edge had been forced to quit.

One of these days, he vowed for the umpteenth time, Major Bradly Markham will get the justice he deserves.

In the meantime, Markham was insulated and protected by the United States Army, which had no idea the sort of criminal activities the man was involved in.

“It’s almost seven,” Trace said. “You want to get a beer or something?”

Edge scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the roughness of his dark, late-afternoon beard. The day had been long, but satisfying, as he had managed to wrap up a fairly straightforward investigation into a guy who was abusing his ex-wife. Stephen Reeves was now sitting in a Denver jail cell.

“A beer sounds good,” he said. “The Goat?”

“Yeah.” The Fainting Goat was just down the block and around the corner, a pub in an old brick building with exposed beam ceilings and a rooftop patio. With the late September wind blowing up a gale, they wouldn’t be sitting outside.

Edge’s gaze traveled across the office to where a pretty brunette, another Nighthawk agent, sat at her desk talking on her cell phone. The office was done in masculine autumn tones, with pictures of wildlife on the walls, along with photos of celebrities the company had done business with over the years.

In Edge’s book, there wasn’t a movie star who could top Skye Delaney’s natural beauty. Skye was the sister of Conner Delaney, the man who owned and operated the company. Like Edge and Trace, Skye and Conn were both former military.

She glanced up for a moment, and her sea-green eyes shifted across the room in his direction. Edge felt the contact like a blast of heat to his groin.

So far, he hadn’t acted on his attraction to a woman he considered a friend. They’d been working together for a while now, often alongside Trace, most recently providing security for an expedition into Mexico led by Edge’s brother, Gage.

Edge inwardly smiled.

Rising from his chair, he walked over to Skye’s desk to invite her to join them, just as a friend, of course. At five-foot-five, she was ten inches shorter than his own six-three, with a sexy figure despite her slender, lean-muscled body.

With her smooth, slightly sun-bronzed skin and perfect features, the lady was drop-dead gorgeous. Being former army, she was disciplined and always in control. Her stiff-spined military posture, even her softly curling, mahogany-brown hair, pulled ruthlessly back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck, seemed to send a warning not to get too close.

More and more, it was a challenge Edge wanted to accept.

Unfortunately, since they worked together, it wasn’t a good idea to pursue any sort of relationship, and he knew Skye didn’t want that either.

As he approached her desk, he didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he couldn’t miss the change in Skye’s body language, her growing tension as the conversation continued.

“Are you sure this isn’t something she’ll eventually outgrow?”

Edge couldn’t hear the reply, but Skye’s shoulders tensed even more.

“I admit that doesn’t sound good,” she said. “I’ll check into it for you, see what I can find out. How long has it been since you’ve heard from her?”

Skye’s fingers tightened around the phone. “That definitely isn’t good news. All right, then, I’ll stop by in the morning around nine. Try not to worry, okay?” Skye ended the call and set the cell phone back down on her desk.

“Problem?” Edge asked.

“That was my stepmother. Margaret’s afraid her daughter, my half-sister, Callie, is in trouble.”

Callie was an only child from Skye’s father’s second marriage, Edge recalled. “What kind of trouble?” he asked.

“Margaret says Callie got interested in the teachings of a church out in Chaffee County. It’s called the Children of the Sun and it’s some kind of commune. Margaret says it’s more a cult than a church, and she’s afraid something bad might have happened to Callie. She hasn’t heard from her in nearly two months.”

“Callie’s young, right?”

“Not quite twenty-one. She dropped out of college last year and took a job as a server in a café called the Hummingbird, down in the LoDo district, but she quit that, too. I guess she met this minister in the café, and he convinced her to visit for a few days to check out the compound where he preaches. A few days turned into a few weeks and now nearly two months.”

“I think her mom has a right to be worried.”

“Maybe. Callie’s always been irresponsible. She and her mother don’t get along very well, and ever since my dad died, she’s been acting out.”

“So what’s your plan?” Edge asked.

“I want to talk to Margaret, see what information I can get, then I’m driving out to Blancha Springs. The compound is a few miles out of town.”

“That’s a helluva drive. At least three hours from the city, out in the middle of nowhere. If there’s a problem, you might need backup. How about I go with you?”

Skye opened her mouth to say no. Clearly, she didn’t want him going along. Edge had a hunch she felt the same attraction he did but was determined to ignore it.

“We’re friends, Skye. Be smart. Let me go with you—at least until you know what you’re facing.”

Skye released a slow breath. “You could be right. If you’re sure you have time, I’ll meet you here at eight tomorrow morning, and we’ll drive over to my stepmother’s house. I’ll know more after I talk to her.”

“I’ll be here. In the meantime, you want to go with Trace and me over to the Goat for a beer?”

Skye shook her head. A few stands of dark silky hair had managed to escape and slide tantalizingly across her cheek. Edge wanted to pull off the elastic band and run his fingers through the heavy mass, spread it out around that pretty face. His blood headed south. Damn.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to pass,” Skye said. “I’ve still got some work to do. Thanks anyway.”

“Next time.” Edge ignored a sliver of disappointment. Catching up with Trace, he grabbed his black leather jacket off the back of his chair, shrugged it on, and walked out of the office.

Today’s late September weather was windy, the temperature cool, but the sky was clear, the high mountain peaks surrounding Denver tipped with the first light flutters of snow. Edge and Trace headed over to the Fainting Goat, which was already packed, and had a burger and a couple of beers; then Edge headed home.

His newly acquired tenth-floor apartment on Acoma Street gave him a view of the city and was only a little over a block from the office. A lady friend had helped him pick out furniture, a comfortable burgundy leather sofa and chairs, dark wood tables, dark red and black Indian-print barstools for the counter in front of the open galley kitchen, and a Pendleton wool blanket and pillows for his king-size bed. He liked that everything he needed was in walking distance.

Since he wasn’t much of a TV watcher, he turned in early.

Tomorrow, preferring to drive his own car if they decided to make the trip out to Blancha Springs, he’d toss his go-bag, his M9 Beretta semiauto, and his .38 caliber ankle gun in the back of his tricked-out black Nissan 370z sports car. In the meantime, he could use a little sleep.

Unfortunately, anticipation of tomorrow’s meeting with Skye kept him aroused half the night and awake far longer than he would have liked.

He woke up grumpy and hoped his day would improve.

CHAPTER TWO

SKYE PUSHED THROUGH THE DOOR OF NIGHTHAWK SECURITY AT seven o’clock the next morning. Not surprisingly, her brother, Conn, was already there. Conn ran the office with the same efficiency he had demonstrated as a major in the army. A tall, handsome man, he had thick brown hair and a solid, athletic build.

Conn was dedicated to his job, determined to make the company he had inherited from their father a success. Unfortunately, his long hours had recently cost him his fiancée. Her brother would have no trouble replacing Rebecca—Conn had always attracted good-looking women—but his heart was still battered, even if he refused to admit it.

Skye waved at him through his open office door as she crossed the room and sat down in the chair behind her roll-top oak desk. The earth tones of the office interior always felt comfortable to her, with deep brown leather sofas in the waiting area, a conference room, and an employee lounge.

Skye focused on the computer screen on her desk, opened up Google, and typed in “Children of the Sun.”

The founder, a man named Daniel Henson, was forty-two years old, born in Cooperstown, New York. No siblings. His father, Reverend Winston Henson, was deceased; his mother, Aida, still lived in Cooperstown.

Skye continued her search, pulling up several photos of Daniel with his father. Both men were attractive, the father an older, silver-haired, distinguished-looking version of his sandy-haired son.

She pulled up a map of the commune location, saw photos of the gated front, then a picture of the church itself, which was more a chapel, with a steeple and arched double front doors. In the distance, a cluster of modest, duplex-style, wood-framed structures surrounded the church and rectory.

Skye dug around a while longer, but there wasn’t much information or any photos, aside from Daniel’s, of members of the group.

She glanced up as the front door opened and Edge walked into the office. He was tall and black-haired, with the most beautiful blue eyes Skye had ever seen. Her pulse took a leap at the sight of him. She hated the way her body responded, no matter how carefully she worked to tamp down any attraction she might feel. It was not easy to do with a man like Edge.

Former Green Beret, one of the most intelligent and competent men she had ever known, he was unshakably loyal to the people he cared about and fiercely protective. With his height and broad-shouldered, V-shaped warrior’s body, Edge Logan was sex personified.

One Last Chance

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