Trace looked up at the menacing pitch-black darkness overhead, the stars covered by a thick layer of clouds. A storm was moving in, and it was predicted to be powerful.

“What happens if Gage finds the gold?” Trace asked.

“Good question. We’ll need to be ready for anything.”

“Roger that,” Trace said and blended back into the scrubby forest.

All of them were used to sleeping wherever they could. Edge moved into a position where he could watch the guards as well as the drunks. His gaze went in search of Skye, but he couldn’t see her.

She doesn’t need your protection, he told himself. She was as capable at taking care of herself as any woman he had ever known. And yet he couldn’t rest until he made sure she was all right.

So far, the men didn’t seem to have the least suspicion they were being watched. Maybe they hadn’t expected Gage to bring in security. Whatever the reason, the fact they were unaware helped even the odds.

Wishing he had a strong cup of coffee, Edge settled in to wait.

* * *

They put King in one of the extra hotel rooms. Zuma sat in a chair near the door, while Abby perched next to her grandfather on the bed. She glanced over at Gage, who lounged against the wall, watching her protectively, like a lion guarding his mate.

She liked that about him, how protective he was. It was probably because of Cassandra, but Abby liked to think it was because she meant something to Gage, that she was someone special.

Her gaze returned to her grandfather. As much as she’d tried to persuade King to go to the hospital, he had refused. He was dying. He wanted these few precious hours of freedom before he passed. Abby noticed his color was even paler, though there was a tranquility about him that hadn’t been there before.

She cracked open a plastic bottle and poured water into a cup, lifted his head, and held it against his dry lips. He relaxed back on the pillow.

“I knew . . . you would . . . come,” he said, his voice raspy, little more than a whisper, yet stronger than before. “I was . . . ill when I called my . . . lawyer. I knew by then I was . . . going to die. I wanted you to . . . find the treasure.” He weakly squeezed her hand. “I was . . . selfish. I wanted you to prove I was right about . . . the Devil’s Gold.”

Her throat ached. “I’m going to prove it, King. We’re going to find it. We’re close. We’re almost there.”

He kept talking—as if he had very little time to get everything said. “I was . . . in Mérida when I . . . fell ill. I went to Zuma. We have been . . . closer than friends for many years.”