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.
She thought of the security detail they had worked in Mexico. Along with Trace, the three of them had operated seamlessly together to protect Edge’s brother, his partner, Abigail Holland, and the members of Gage’s expedition.
The mission had been successful—that was for sure—earning Skye a share of the gold bullion that had been brought back to the States.
She couldn’t stop a smile.
“You’re in a good mood this morning,” Edge said, his lips curving as he approached her desk. The muscles across her abdomen tightened. With his high cheekbones and long black lashes any woman would die for, the man was beyond handsome. But his name fit him. Edge was a hard, dark, dangerous man.
Her own smile slowly faded. There was a time she might have considered an affair with a man as attractive as Edge. After the disfiguring injury she had suffered in Afghanistan, there was no way she would even think about it now.
She looked up at him. “I’ll be in a better mood if my stepmother tells us she’s heard from her daughter.” She rose from behind the desk. “My car’s parked in back. You still want to go with me?”
He cocked his head toward the door. “My car’s in front. Why don’t I drive?”
She wasn’t surprised. Edge was full alpha male and, as such, a control freak, but she was used to that, having served. She could press the issue, but she liked to pick her battles, and this one wasn’t worth fighting. “All right, fine.”
He waited for her to walk past him to the door, caught up with her, and pulled it open, held it as she walked outside.
“My stepmother lives in a house out in Aurora.” Skye flicked him a glance tinged with challenge. “Maybe I should drive.”
Edge grinned and surprised her by handing over the car keys. “Why not? You know where we’re going.”
Skye found herself grinning back. Edge had a way of making her smile, which she didn’t do that often. She’d always wanted to drive his sexy black sports car. Sliding in behind the wheel, she adjusted the seat, cranked the engine, stepped on the gas, and shot away from the curb.
It took nearly thirty minutes to reach her stepmother’s simple white-with-blue-trim house on East Warren, but as they zipped through traffic in the sports car, time seemed to fly. All the while, Edge quietly watched her.
He had never asked her out. Aside from including her in a drink with other people, he had never shown any sign he was interested in her. And yet there was no way to miss the heat in those amazing blue eyes. An answering heat settled low in her belly. As always, Skye ignored it.
They finally reached Margaret’s house and got out of the car. Edge held his hand out for the keys, and she set them in his palm. “Cool car,” she said.
“Glad you enjoyed the drive. ’Course my heart stopped beating at least three times on the way out here.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Are you kidding me? I remember the way you drove in Mexico. Talk about heart-stopping.”
Unrepentant, Edge grinned. “When in Rome . . . or, in that case, Mexico . . .”
Skye shook her head but couldn’t hide an answering smile. The man could be charming when he wanted, which wasn’t all that often. Edge was too serious by far. On the other hand, since she’d returned from Afghanistan, so was she.
A big shade tree cooled the front walk as they made their way up the steps to the front porch, where Skye knocked on the door.
Margaret Delaney, a tall, thin woman in her fifties with short blond hair, pulled it open. She had once been beautiful, but the years were catching up with her, forming lines around her mouth and beside her brown eyes. Skye thought the problems with her daughter were aging her even more.
“Thank you for coming.” Margaret leaned over and hugged her. “Come on in.”
Skye led Edge into a living room with hardwood floors and beige drapes at the windows. An overstuffed sofa and chairs sat in front of a red-brick fireplace with a white mantel. The house was modestly furnished, but extremely neat and clean.
Skye turned to her stepmother. “Margaret, this is Edge Logan. He works with me at Nighthawk.”
Edge made a curt nod of his head. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Delaney.”
“It’s just Margaret.” She smiled at him, her narrow face flushing with color. Young or old, women couldn’t resist Edge Logan. “You’re also a detective?”
“On occasion. Mostly I work personal protection.”
“So you’re a bodyguard?”
“Depends on the situation.”
“Edge was head of the security team I accompanied to Mexico,” Skye said.
Margaret smiled. “Nice to meet you. Skye, would you and Edge like a cup of coffee?”
Skye nodded. “Coffee would be great, thanks.”
“Cream and sugar?”
“Just black for both of us,” Edge answered as they sat down on the sofa. They were former military. Black coffee was a no-brainer.
Skye didn’t really need more caffeine. She’d had plenty that morning. But working as a private detective, she’d learned that letting a person do something useful helped put them at ease.
Margaret had been “the other woman” who had wrecked Skye’s parents’ marriage. Even after twenty years, she and Margaret weren’t close. But aside from her dad, who had basically abandoned Connor and Skye, family was important to the Delaneys.
Margaret returned with three mugs on a tray she set down on the coffee table. Skye and Edge each picked up a mug.
“Why don’t you tell us the circumstances that led to Callie’s involvement with Reverend Henson,” Skye suggested.
Margaret seated herself in the chair and took a sip of coffee. “I’m not really sure. I know Callie met him at the Hummingbird Café, where she was working. He was staying in Denver for some sort of church event. He came in for breakfast every day while he was in town, and apparently Callie was impressed.”
Edge walked over and picked up a framed photo sitting on the mantel. “Is this a picture of Callie?”
Margaret nodded. “That was taken right before her high school graduation. She was so excited. Then two years later, her dad was killed, and Callie was devastated. She’s never really gotten over it.”
“Beautiful girl.” Edge’s blue gaze went to Skye. “She’s blond, but aside from that, she looks a little like you.”
Skye absorbed the backhanded compliment. It shouldn’t have felt important, but somehow it did.
Her thoughts returned to Callie. After her dad married Margaret, his attention had focused on his new family. Skye and Conner slowly fell off his radar. Their mother eventually remarried and moved them to a new town, which brought Skye and Conn closer, but distanced them from their father even more.
Her dad’s death in a car crash two years ago hadn’t affected either her or Conn the way it had her younger half-sister.
“After Thomas died,” Margaret continued, “Callie went to community college for a while, but her grades went from A’s to D’s, and eventually she dropped out. She went to work at the café, but after the first six months, I could tell she was getting bored. Then she met this man Henson. Callie quit her job, and now she’s living off the grid in some church collective out in the middle of nowhere.”
“Did she ever talk about Henson?” Skye asked. “Did she tell you anything about him?”
“She was in awe of him, that’s for sure. I looked him up, and he’s a very good-looking man. Too old for Callie, of course, but undeniably handsome. I’m afraid . . .”
“Of what?” Edge pressed when Margaret broke off.
“I’m afraid her interest in Reverend Henson is some sort of father fixation. Callie worshipped Thomas. I think she might see Henson as a kind of replacement.”
Silence fell. Skye knew the devastating effect of losing a father—a divorce wasn’t the same as dying, but it could be nearly as traumatic to a child.
“I assume you’ve tried to contact her,” Edge said.
“Not after her last phone call. Callie mentioned they don’t allow disciples to communicate with family. Disciples. That’s what they’re called. No communication, and that includes cell phones. At least not for the first six months. According to Callie, Henson says it interferes with their immersion into the spiritual world.”
The words gave Skye a chill. She set her coffee mug down on the table and rose from the sofa. Edge followed.
“We’re going to take a drive out to Blancha Springs and talk to Callie,” Skye said. “We’ll let you know what we find out.”
Margaret walked them to the door. “I really appreciate this, dear. Callie’s a good girl. Right now, she’s just a little confused.”
Perhaps more than a little, Skye thought.
She and Edge walked out to the car. Edge slid in behind the wheel, while Skye belted herself into the passenger seat.
“Well, what do you think?” Edge asked, reaching down to start the engine, which instantly purred to life.
“I don’t know. Callie’s over eighteen. She’s an adult. She can do whatever she wishes. On the other hand, I don’t like this idea that Henson is keeping her isolated from her family.”
“Neither do I.” Edge pulled away from the curb and headed for the interstate. “It’s a three-hour drive out to Blancha Springs. If we stop for lunch, it’ll be afternoon by the time we get there. I’ve got my go-bag in the trunk.”
Skye’s glance went to his across the console. “You think we’ll need to stay overnight?”
“No idea. But I’d rather stay than have to drive back and forth.”
“You’re right. Stop at my place, and I’ll grab my bag. We can head out from there.”
He signaled to change lanes and hit the gas to pass a slow-moving vehicle. “Remember to bring your Glock.”
“Seriously? The guy’s a preacher.”
Edge made no comment, just cast her a sideways glance.
“I get it. Always better to be prepared.” It was Edge Logan’s motto. She had learned that in Mexico. Until they knew what was going on, those were words to remember.