One Last Chance

Book 3: Blood Ties, The Logans

by Kat Martin

Genres: Romantic Suspense; Military Romance; Thrillers

Synopsis

New York Times bestselling author Kat Martin mixes high-octane adventure with sizzling romance for an explosive thriller featuring an ex-Green Beret, a dangerous cult and a female private investigator who will let nothing stop her from rescuing her missing sister.
Former Green Beret Edge Logan has made a new life for himself at Nighthawk Security in Denver, using his finely honed skills to neutralize threats of all kinds.
When he overhears friend and fellow agent Skye Delaney discussing a new case involving her missing sister and a mysterious cult, he offers himself as backup.
With her own military background, Skye is gutsy and more than capable, but a cult like Children of the Sun is too risky for anyone to investigate alone.
Skye is grateful for Edge’s experience, even though she is aware of the attraction simmering between them. Her battle scars make her reluctant to get involved with anyone, much less a coworker—even a warrior like Edge. But infiltrating the
cult’s compound is more complicated than expected—and something much more sinister than worship is clearly going on behind its walls. As the pair works against the clock to unearth high-stakes secrets, the personal barriers between them
begin to crumble. Together, can they unmask the face of evil before their time runs out?

Release date: November 29, 2022

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 400

Sample

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 75th 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.

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.

HAVING SKIPPED BREAKFAST, EDGE SUGGESTED THEY HIT A DRIVE-THROUGH in Denver for a quick snack, then eat a late lunch in Blancha Springs, where they might be able to find out a little about the group who called themselves the Children of the Sun.

Driving southwest out of Denver on US 285, they traveled along a road winding through grassy valleys dotted with ranches and farms and small rural communities. Rolling forested hills rose up along the sides of the valley and became distant peaks.

The sky was a clear cerulean blue, and there was only a light breeze moving over the land. It was drier and flatter as Edge drove closer to Blancha Springs, but there were plenty of pine-covered mountains surrounding the valley floor.

The San Isabel National Forest reached heights over 14,000 feet, and the route was scenic enough to hold Skye’s attention, though she managed to keep an eye on his driving—the reason he chose not to go more than a few miles over the speed limit.

Edge smiled to think he still made the hundred-fifty-mile journey in a little over two hours.

“There isn’t much here,” Skye said, glancing around as they pulled into the tiny town at the intersection of 285 and Highway 50, the road leading up to the Monarch Mountain ski area.

“Salida is less than ten miles away. It’s a popular tourist destination. Got restaurants, motels, whatever you can’t find in Blancha Springs.” Edge slowed the sports car as he spotted a sign above a small café.

“I’m ready for lunch,” he said. “That biscuit-and-egg wasn’t much more than a placeholde. . .