Locke and Load (4 page)

Stored what? Her sandals?

His fingers closed around the keys in his pocket. What the hell was she up to? He pulled them out, hit the button, and the red trunk opened behind her.

“Thanks.” She tossed her sandals inside then reached for the tie on her dress.

His heart slammed to a stop. “What the hell are you doing?”

She looked up at him again and blinked. “I’m going to join that cruise.” Her head motioned to a boat loaded with people partying in bathing suits.

He glanced at her outfit. Did she have a bathing suit on underneath? Her fingers tugged the tie, her dress opened, and she quickly slipped out of the green material.

Son-of-a-bitch.

His groin fisted tight, knocking the air from his lungs. She stood there in a matching lacey black bra and panties, a black garter circling her thigh, housing a gun.

He swallowed, noting none of the detectives had said a word. Just stared unblinkingly at the woman. His gaze returned to the sexy NIO despite his attempt to look away. Shit, she was hot. He was never going to get this image out of his head. Every inch of him instantly remembered how incredible her delectable curves had been, soft and yielding as he drove deep and lost himself inside the hot temptation.

She turned to the car, and he discovered two things. One, her panties didn’t cover much. His teeth sunk into his tongue. And two, he had been right. Her hair now covered the beauty mark…and bra strap, making it appear as if she only wore those damn lacey bottoms. He inhaled, released his tongue, and watched as she placed her dress on top of his duffle bag in the trunk. Her gun and garter followed before she twisted around to face them.

“Okay, once I get Marek to shore, just remember…you don’t know me. And tell me to leave. Got it?”

Hutchins and Wilson blinked, mouths slightly parted, still mesmerized by the curvy, half naked aide.

Jersey nodded. “Got it.”

Cage on the other hand, did not like it. What the hell was she going to do? His mind balked, and his annoyance returned.

It didn’t matter. She wasn’t his concern.

A moment later, Locke was sauntering down the sidewalk toward the dock, blending in with the bikini-clad crowd heading to the boat. Several local males, and a few women, stopped and risked a bout of whiplash as she strolled past. Cage suspected it had nothing to do with her attire and everything to do with her beauty. Damn woman was stunning.

“Wow.” Hutchins inhaled.

Jersey stepped closer to him and chuckled. “You, my friend, do not stand a chance.”

Cage blinked at his new partner. Obviously, he hadn’t stood a chance before or she never would’ve left him for another man. Pain, sharp and long buried, rushed to the surface and squeezed his chest tight until breathing hurt.

Dammit. He didn’t have time for emotional upheaval. He moved to the trunk, looked under her discarded clothes, refusing to think about her unclothed state as he searched for binoculars.

Prochaska.

That was who he needed to concentrate on. He fished the binoculars from the duffle bag in his trunk and straightened.

“Got any for me?” Jersey glanced around the trunk.

Cage thrust the ones in his hands to his partner and grabbed the second pair hiding under Locke’s dress. Without a word, he shut the trunk and strode back to the picnic table to get a better view. The others joined him and, for the next several minutes, they stood in the shade watching his ex-fiancée party with the bikini crowd until the boat neared the power yacht anchored in the distance.

His hold tightened around the binoculars. He hated doing nothing. And his mind couldn’t equate the analyst he knew with the woman diving off the boat and swimming toward Prochaska. She was a sitting duck. Vulnerable. No weapons. No backup. He clenched his teeth, and when she approached the yacht, he stopped breathing all together.

Two big, muscled bodyguards stared down at her, blocking her entrance to the deck as she pulled herself out of the water and stood dripping on the swimming platform.

So damn sexy.

“Ah, there’s our man, Marek,” Wilson stated.

The Czech waved the guards aside, held his hand out to Locke, and helped her up the stairs to the deck. She leaned close, and a second later, Prochaska tipped his head back and laughed.

“I wonder what she said,” Wilson remarked.

“Doesn’t matter. It worked. He didn’t have her thrown off,” Hutchins replied.

Cage lowered his binoculars and exchanged a look with Delaney, who had done the same, his mind reeling at the thought of his former lover sitting nearly naked, dripping wet next to the criminal.

He swallowed past his ire, placed the binoculars to his face, and continued to watch the events unfold. Events he had no control over.

One minute the two were smiling and talking, the next they were kissing and rolled out of view. His sharp inhale echoed around them while his insides twisted into a tight knot. Where the hell had they gone? What was the man doing to…

He exhaled and forced the unwanted images from his mind just as Locke stood and backed away, seductive smile on her flushed face. Marek followed, pinning her against the outside of the salon.

Son-of-a-bitch.
Was he really expected to stand here and watch this? No, his mind answered. He could always lower the binoculars.

Like hell.

C
age stood stalk still and watched, enduring the torture.

Nikki twisted Marek around, ripped his shirt open, and trailed a hand down the man’s torso. Just when Cage didn’t think he could take any more, she broke the kiss, stepped onto the ledge, then turned to the shocked Prochaska and spoke.

Intuition told him she said something suggestive. Well, intuition and the wicked smile she sent the criminal just before executing a perfect dive into the ocean. The Czech rushed to peer over the side.

“Go for it,” Jersey urged.

“Yeah, come on. You know you want to. Hell, I want to.” Wilson chuckled.

Insides taut, head pounding, Cage kept his mouth shut and gripped the binoculars so damn tight they creaked in protest.

Locke meant nothing to him. Nothing. So why did the detective’s comment bother the hell out of him?

It didn’t.

He refocused on Prochaska and watched in amazement as the criminal removed his shirt, stepped onto the ledge, then dove into the water before his bodyguards could stop him.

“Yes,” Hutchins cried.

Relief shot through Cage, easing the tightness from his body. She’d done it. Nikki had gotten Prochaska off the yacht.

“Good girl,” Wilson crooned. “Lead him to us.”

By the time she neared the shore, Cage’s headache had dulled and breathing had become less of a chore. He opened his trunk, and all four men tossed their binoculars in before rushing to the beach to intercept the couple rolling in the sand just under the dock.

“Marek Prochaska, you’re wanted for questioning in the murder of Detective Andrew Johnson,” Hutchins stated.

The amorous couple broke apart and the irritated look on Marek’s face was priceless. Almost as good as Locke’s when she sprang to her feet and backed away.

“Whoa. Wait a minute. I don’t know this man.” She pointed to Prochaska, then held her hands up. “This is not the kind of fun and danger I was looking for.”

“Go on. Get out of here,” Delaney said in a gruff, no-nonsense tone Cage hadn’t realized Jersey possessed.

Locke nodded, then rushed down the beach and out of sight, looking worried and upset. He had to give the woman credit. She was good. Damn good. Even he believed her.

Hutchins and Wilson quickly loaded the disgruntled Czech into their SUV and headed for the station. He and Delaney would catch up. First, he had to collect the half-naked NIO.

Jersey fell into step on the way to the car. “That went well.”

Cage grunted. Tell that to his libido. His gut felt as if he’d gone several rounds with a local prize fighter. And lost. As he approached the Mustang, he noted a familiar dark-haired woman in the backseat. He glanced at his partner. Delaney nodded and, together, they climbed in the car.

“Hi, Nicole.” His partner smiled but didn’t turn around. “So, where’d you learn to…
dive
like that?”

Cage was not at all amused by Jersey’s sense of humor or the fact Locke was wet and nearly naked in his backseat. It wasn’t because she was ruining his upholstery; it was because she was there without him. Hot memories from a happier time flooded his mind at the sight of her practically unclothed in the back of his car. He was such a damn patsy. Where the hell was his self-respect?

N
ikki couldn’t believe she was sitting in the back of Cage’s car in nothing but her soaking wet bra and underwear. It was uncomfortable, but she had survived worse situations.

“How long do you think we have before someone from the embassy shows up?” she asked a few minutes later when they pulled into the precinct parking garage.

“Good question,” Delaney said, glancing at Cage.

Cage shrugged. “It’s anyone’s guess. Maybe a half hour if we’re lucky.” He parked the car and turned in his seat. “You go on in, Jersey. I’ll wait while Locke gets dressed.”

His gaze slowly ran down her body, and by the time it ran back up, heaven help her, she couldn’t breathe.

“All righty then. I’ll catch you two inside.” A grinning Delaney slipped out the door.

She forced air into her lungs and talked her body out of pulling Cage into the back to christen his new car.
Holy hell.
It had been a long time since she’d felt desire. Sure, Rook had reacquainted her with the emotion, but never with just a glance.

Leave it to this man, with his dark good looks and incredible green eyes deepening with undisguised need, a need her body once matched stroke for stroke long ago. She knew she should break eye contact, but couldn’t. His gaze pulled her in, drew her close, making her feel warm, hot…alive.

A second later, a scowl twisted those wonderful, full lips of his as he turned away, sprang from the car, and popped the trunk. Nikki drew in air as if she’d just broken the surface after nearly drowning.
Come on, Locke, get it together,
she reprimanded.
Keep things businesslike
. It was much safer that way. Ordering her legs to stop shaking, she got out of the car and met him at the back.

He said nothing. She said nothing, just reached for her dress and slipped her arms in each sleeve, keeping her gaze averted. But she knew he was watching. She could feel him as if he was touching her skin in a long overdue caress.

Damn. This wasn’t fair.

“Nikki…”

She closed her eyes and willed her heart to beat. God, she didn’t think she’d ever hear her name fall from his lips like that again.

“Nikki.”

He stepped close, cupped her face, and forced her to look at him. If she was smart, she’d slap his hand away, finish getting dressed, and rush into the building.

But she loved this man.

Would
die
for this man, and she could no more pull away right now than she could stop breathing. God, how she needed this connection, if only for a moment.

Her gaze slowly rose up over his tight jaw and taut cheekbones to meet his tormented gaze. Anger and pain mixed with hunger to darken his expression, and trip her heart.

A curse left his lips, washing over her face a second before his mouth came down on hers. He tasted hot and hungry as he devoured what little protest had sprung to mind. The smell of salted sea air clung to his damp skin, reminding her of passion filled nights from their past. His tongue touched then teased the seam of her lips until she moaned.

Oh, how she’d missed him.

His other hand was warm on her skin as it slid to her hip, and when he crushed her against his thudding chest, she promptly trembled in response. Not from terror or disgust. Just lust. Need.

This was where she belonged. This was who she belonged with. She eagerly opened her mouth, and his tongue swept inside, awakening all the goodness and light she had buried deep in the hopes someday she’d be reunited with him. Someday…

But not today.

She stilled.

What the hell was she doing?

With a quick shove, she pushed out of the embrace and stumbled back.
He
was still out there. God, if he ever saw what she’d just done, Cage would be dead.

Time and time again, the monster had shoved that threat down her throat. Supplied pictures of Cage. Live feed of Cage…and one of Rojas’ men, waiting nearby with a gun trained on the man she loved.

“Do what I say, querida, or he dies. Remember, I am always watching you, and I have eyes in the states watching him.”

Nikki cursed the day she’d been the NIO in Bogota assigned to study Santiago Rojas. Despite her efforts to be careful and not make contact as she’d gathered data on the Columbian arms dealer/drug lord, somehow, she’d failed. Even years later, after she’d been reassigned to Miami, and eventually resigned her commission with the Navy, the bastard had tracked her down.

By that time, her father, her only living relative, had passed, and her NIO days were over. She’d settled into a nice data analyst job with a major airline company, and fell in love with a handsome local cop. Life was good.

Then Rojas had shown up and her nightmare began.

Her fingers shook as she wrapped then tied her dress. She needed to say something, but right now it was all she could do to slip into her garter and sandals while remembering to breathe. With her gun back in place, she straightened her shoulders and finally met his dark gaze.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Green eyes stared down at her, cold and unreadable, chilling her body despite the summer heat.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, it won’t happen again.” He slammed the trunk in confirmation, then strode toward the door without looking back. “Once we’re inside, stay out of sight until Prochaska’s people come for him.” 

Dammit. None of this was right. She followed him into the building and had to run to catch up, barely stepping into the elevator before the door closed, sealing them inside.

But not before they’d garnered a few strange looks from people that had been in the hall. She turned to him and pointed to his shirt, wet where their bodies had touched.

“You may want to change.”

He glanced down, then looked at her and shrugged. “So, they’ll know I kissed you and sampled what you were so willing to show and share on the beach.”

Air funneled into her lungs while she blinked past the pain. His words were meant to sting. They had. She barely recovered when the doors opened and he stepped out.

“Make yourself scarce,” he called over his shoulder before disappearing down the hall.

An hour later, Nikki was freshly showered and dressed in a plain, tan jersey dress she’d retrieved from her suitcase stored in the captain’s office upon her arrival. Rivera had informed her that Homeland had shut down all nearby hotels. She’d probably be spending her nights in the precinct somewhere. But it didn’t matter. She’d had worse accommodations. 

With her pain buried, along with all thoughts of Cage, she focused on work. As expected, the Czech was a slippery one. Nikki stood behind the one-way mirror and studied Prochaska during Cage’s questioning, then Delaney’s.

Having watched and re-watched the video of him on the docks, she knew they needed more. Nothing pointed to his guilt or innocence. That piece of evidence was useless.

At the sound of the door opening behind her, she turned to watch Delaney stroll in, followed by Cage as Hutchins and Wilson took over the grilling.

“Well, that man’s certainly no stranger to interrogations,” the light haired detective remarked with a shake of his head.

Cage grunted and shut the door. Her pulse leapt at the sight of him. God, she really was so weak when it came to him. His gaze worked over her appearance. Heat shot through her body as desire darkened the emerald hue of his eyes. A second later, it was gone.

How did he do it? How did he go from hot to cold so damn fast? He didn’t acknowledge her, didn’t say anything, just turned to the window to watch the proceedings.

She cursed her weakness and walked over to the monitor to replay the video, looking for something,
anything
they could use. But, other than the timestamp coinciding with Detective Johnson’s time of death, they had nothing.

“This sucks.”

Delaney’s statement had Nicole looking up in time to see Hutchins and Wilson stand aside while Prochaska smiled and left interrogation with his lawyer.

“Son-of-a-bitch. That bastard did it. I know he did,” Cage ground out a second before his fist connected with the wall.

Her insides twisted into a knot. Like a cord wrapping around her chest, trapping her arms, rendering her useless, she could feel his frustration clear across the room. Her mind turned to the yacht. She closed her eyes and recalled her time with the Czech and his bodyguards.

The deck had been empty of personal items other than a bottle of wine and two glasses Marek had ordered one of his men to fetch. There was nothing unusual about his clothes or his bodyguards’. Her mind continued to replay the events of her brief visit at sea. He’d tasted of stale cigars and expensive wine when he’d kissed her against the outside of the salon. His bodyguards had stepped closer.

Why?

Her eyes shot open and she snapped her fingers. “I need paper and a pen.”

“What is it?” Delaney asked, producing both from his shirt pocket while Cage turned his aggravated gaze upon her.

She ripped a blank page from the notepad and began to sketch. Why hadn’t she realized it sooner? She closed her eyes again and recalled what she’d seen while twisting positions with the man. Opening her eyes, she quickly finished her drawing.

“Here.” She shoved the sketch at Delaney.

Cage glanced over his partner’s shoulder. Both detectives stiffened before their gazes shot to her. Unease instantly shivered down her spine.

“Where did you see this?” Cage demanded, alarm widening his eyes as he stepped closer.

“The yacht,” she replied, glancing from one worried detective to the other. “That logo was on a silver case peeking out from under a couch in the salon. Why? What is it? What does it mean?”