She stepped back, gun drawn. “Ready.”
Opening the door, Cage went high, she went low, and together they entered the dimly lit building. Damp and musty, the unpleasant scent rose up to meet him, clogging his throat the further in they searched. Rows of skids with boxes piled to his chest columned the floor.
Slow and methodical, he and Locke zig-zagged their way through the maze until they met up with Delaney.
“Anything?” His partner asked.
“No. You?”
Jersey shook his head. “What about Wilson and Hutchins?”
“Over here.” Hutchins’ voice echoed through the warehouse. “Looks like we’re too late.”
He exchanged a frown with Delaney and Locke before rushing toward the front of the other end of the warehouse. They found Hutchins and Jersey standing in front of more skids and boxes by a set of open bay doors.
“What do you mean too late?” he asked, unable to keep his anger at bay. “Locke’s guy said Prochaska was still here. How the hell did he leave?”
A gust of air blew off the ocean, carrying with it an unmistakable stench…and his answer. Cage knew what he’d find before he even rounded the boxes.
Death.
Marek Prochaska lay in a pool of blood, eerily similar to that of Cage’s late partner. Knowing not to contaminate the scene, he kept his distance and refrained from feeling for a pulse. There was no need. The man had a gaping hole between his eyes. He clenched his jaw against the bile rushing up his throat.
A death befitting of this criminal. Not Drew.
“He was dropped where he stood,” Locke observed, her gaze scouring the body and floor. “Recently.” A second later, she stiffened, then glanced at the open doors.
“What is it?” Delaney raised his gun and slowly walked to the threshold. Wilson and Hutchins followed.
“Feels like we’re being watched…” She continued to glance out at the busy dock, her shoulders taut, gaze alert. She lifted her phone and hit a button, no doubt calling her man in D.C. “This had to happen while we were moving in.”
Shit. Someone had used a silencer on a riffle?
The instant he stepped next to her, two bullets whizzed between them. One above their heads, the other a little lower, grazing his shoulder as he grabbed Nikki and yanked her behind the boxes.
Chapter Eight
“Are you okay?” He scoured Nikki’s body, his heart slamming to a stop at the sight of the crimson staining her shirt. “You’re bleeding.”
“No. I’m not. You are.” Her face was pale and her finger shook as she pointed to his wounded arm.
Now that he knew Nikki was unharmed, he quieted his adrenaline, and refused to dissect the barrage of feelings slowly dissipating. She wasn’t shot. Thank God.
He glanced down at his stinging flesh. “It just nicked me. I’m fine.” He hadn’t heard any more shots. “Delaney? Hutchins? Wilson?” he called out to the others, and slowly rose to look over the boxes.
“I’m fine,” Jersey proclaimed from the shelter he’d taken just inside and to the right of the open door.
“Us, too,” Wilson said next to Hutchins on the opposite side. “What about the two of you?”
Locke rose, eyes round and dark with worry. “Cage has been hit.”
“It’s just a scratch,” he told them, more concerned with finding the shooter. “Where did the shots come from?”
“One of the boats, I think,” Delaney replied.
Hutchins turned to face Cage. “I already called for backup and the rest of the crew. You two stay here,” the senior detective ordered. “We’ll check it out.”
A second later, Cage was forced to stand by while he watched the other three investigators leave the warehouse and work their way in shifts down the dock. Adrenaline crashed through Cage’s veins again, as he listened to the silence that followed.
Expecting to hear shots, he exchanged a puzzled look with Nikki, who stood behind the boxes with him, gun trained on the bay doors. A few tense minutes later, Delaney and Hutchins strolled back in.
“Well?” he asked, coming out from around the pallet of boxes.
Locke followed suit. “Did you find him?”
His partner shook his head. “The shooter was already gone. He either left in a hurry or didn’t bother to police his brass. We found two casings on the deck of that smaller cargo ship.” Jersey held up an evidence bag while he pointed to the ship.
“Where’s Wilson?” Nikki asked, looking past them as she drew closer.
Hutchins nodded to the docks. “He’s questioning the captain and two crew members who claimed to have been below deck when they heard the shooting.”
Could they be so lucky to have witnesses?
Damn, he hoped so.
“What about the rest of the crew?” she asked.
“According to the captain, they went ashore an hour ago,” Hutchins replied.
Cage scratched his temple. That should make the investigation a little easier. Less suspects. Of course, it still didn’t clear up what the hell had happened. He glanced at the Czech. “This just doesn’t make sense. Who wanted Prochaska dead?”
“Maybe he knew too much,” Locke answered.
“Maybe you do, too.” Delaney stepped closer, gaze on Nikki before settling pointedly on him. “Both of you.”
He started. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you find it odd how the shooter only shot at the two of you?” Jersey motioned toward the bay doors. “I was in the open, so were Wilson and Hutchins. Hell, we were sitting ducks.”
“It’s true,” Hutchins said, his gaze now narrowing on him.
“What is?” Captain Rivera asked as he walked in with the medical examiner and C.S.I. on his heel.
“Burnett and Locke were targeted,” Hutchins replied.
Ah hell.
The captain swiveled to frown at him while Hutchins and Delaney reiterated the events of the last hour. After they finished, Rivera sent him outside with the EMT to get his wound treated.
When he came back in, Cage didn’t like the unwavering expression on his boss’s face. I better not be pulled from this case.
“Burnett, I want you and Locke in a safehouse until further notice.”
Dammit.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Come on, Captain.” Anger upped his pulse. He glanced at the others and frowned. “The shooter just—”
“Shot at you and Locke,” his boss cut in. “Therefore, you will keep the lieutenant safe, and vice versa.”
“But the investigation—”
“Will be handled by Hutchins, Wilson, Delaney, and now Homeland,” Rivera cut in once again, his mouth thinned to a firm line.
“Homeland?”
“Yes, while you were being patched up, Dr. Rowland discovered this during his cursory examination of the body.” Rivera held up an evidence bag with an envelope inside.
Shit.
The same yellow symbol from the anthrax attack sat smack in the middle of the stationery. The same symbol Nikki saw on the Czech’s boat. Pushing down an unfamiliar shaft of fear, his gaze shot to the woman standing between Delaney and Hutchins. Maybe she was targeted. He turned to his boss.
“Which safehouse?”
Rivera’s chin rose slightly as relief eased the thin line of his mouth. “Your choice. Keep it to yourself. Just go.”
Nikki stepped closer. “Here, sir,” she said, thrusting her phone at the captain. “I have a detailed outline and videos of Prochaska’s movements since he left the precinct the other day, plus someone’s sending me the feed from today. Maybe you’ll see his killer.”
“Do I want to know how you got this?” The captain’s brows touched as he took the offered phone.
Nikki smiled. “Not really, sir.”
“Thank you, lieutenant. I’ll send a copy to the lab before I hand this over to Homeland.” Rivera looked up at her. “Is there anything you want to remove from here before I do?”
“I alread
y did, sir. I also contacted my boss and emailed a copy of the file to your lab.”
The woman was nothing if not efficient. That much hadn’t changed.
A smile tugged the captain’s lips. “Very good, Ms. Locke. I’m beginning to see why the governor holds you and your team in such high esteem.”
Warmth entered Nikki’s gaze for the first time that afternoon. For the first time since he’d insulted her in bed. Cage’s gut clenched. What’s done is done. There was no taking back the words, so he may as well move on.
Apparently, she already had.
Chapter Nine
Two days holed up in a one-bedroom condo with Cage was four days too many for Nikki. Everywhere she turned, everywhere she looked, everywhere she stepped his presence followed. The man was a force of nature. He engulfed, consumed, took over every crevice in their safehouse, which was no longer safe for her heart.
Or her body.
In tune to each other, she felt him before he walked into a room. A heat prickle started at the base of her neck and would slowly warm her from the inside out.
Damn man was potent.
And if he stood behind, as he did now at the kitchen counter, she found the act of breathing impossible. Her pounding pulse beat the air from her lungs.
“Can you hand me a glass, too?” he asked, his warm breath fanning her neck and shoulders.
Why the heck had she pulled her hair into a ponytail?
Forcing her limbs to comply, she somehow managed to hand him a glass without dropping it, or turning to fully face him.
Another disaster averted.
While ice clinked into his glass, she took the opportunity to walk around the counter, happy to keep the Formica between her and the temptation in blue jeans and white muscle-hugging T-shirt.
“So, what did Delaney have to say?” She tried to keep her mind on work and off the way the denim showcased every muscle, every…bulge.
He twisted around and closed the fridge with his foot while he carried his glass and pitcher of iced tea to the counter. The man’s dexterity had never disappointed.
Her body heated another ten degrees.
“Homeland is now visiting every location on the videos. It’s only a matter of time before they discover the source of the anthrax,” he replied, filling first her glass then his with the cold tea. “I kept the call short and pulled the battery when we were done.”
He motioned with his head to the other end of the counter where his disabled phone now sat. God, could she ever relate. She was the phone, and Cage was the battery. Without him, she was just a hollow vessel. A useless device.
And her thoughts were so damn pathetic she was even sick of herself.
“With any luck,” she said, forcing a lightness to her tone she was far from feeling, “the next time you call, they’ll have found those responsible.”
He nodded, but a sudden shaft of sadness dulled those gorgeous green pools. Without thinking, she reached out and touched his arm. Taut muscles flexed under her palm and heat oozed into every pore. She glanced up to find him watching.
“I’m sorry, Cage.”
“For what?”
She gave a light squeeze. “I’m sorry you weren’t able to bring Drew’s killer to justice.”
He tugged free and straightened. “Me, too.”
“Well…” She paused, shifting her weight before she continued. “Maybe a different type of justice was delivered.”
His glass stopped midway to his mouth. He looked over the rim and frowned. “How do you figure?”
“Prochaska died the exact same way he killed Drew.”
His chin lifted a fraction. “An eye for an eye.”
She nodded and lifted her glass. “To Detective Drew Johnson.”
Pain darkened his gaze while he drew in a deep breath. “To Drew.” He stepped closer and clinked her glass before taking a long swig.
When he finished, he set the glass on the counter and stared at the ice. Her heart constricted into a tight pebble. If only he’d let her near. She knew he was lost in memories, but she couldn’t stand not to touch him, to comfort him.
Once again, her hand reached out, this time to lightly touch his fingers. He stiffened but didn’t move, keeping his gaze downcast. What was left of Nikki’s heart broke in her chest. Drew was the closest thing Cage had had to a brother, and she ached for his loss.
Stepping around the counter, she continued to touch him, running her hand up his arm until she met his shoulder. “Come here,” she whispered, slipping one hand around his back and the other up his chest to the back of his head.
A second later, he crushed her close, two strong arms clamped around her tight as his face rested in the curve of her neck. She held him quietly, stroking his hair, willing him to know she was there for him.
That she cared.
That she still loved him.
Something must’ve gotten through because soon his embrace changed, and heat blazed from his body into hers. Those hands that had held her tight now softly stroked. A need so strong, so overwhelming shot through her body in a head-to-toe tremble.
“God, I need you,” he said against her neck, sending a second tremor through her body.
Cage heated her blood. Drove her insane. Every part of her was overly aware of his muscled form. And it was the same for him. She knew by the heat emanating from his flesh. The desire deepening his tone. The large bulge behind his zipper now pressing into her belly.
But she couldn’t give into this need. Not with the lie standing between them. The lie she’d created. The lie she could never reveal. He was still in danger. And if he ever knew why, he’d go crazy with guilt, and…
It all became fuzzy when he pressed her backside against the counter and ground their hips together while biting the soft spot on her neck. She sucked in a breath.
He didn’t play fair.
Before she knew it, she was on the counter, legs curled around Cage’s hips while he kissed her long and deep. Her resolve was toast. Burnt toast. He was on fire and too hot to resist.
She clung to him, one hand on his chest, the other locked in his hair. Their tongues touched then tangled as she tipped her head for a better angle.
He could have whatever he wanted, where he wanted, and she would worry about the consequences later. His heart thudding under her palm matched the tempo of the blood coursing through her veins at crazy-ass speed.
A second later, it all changed. Cool air washed over her skin as he suddenly stepped back, taking away the heat radiating from his hard body. She blinked at him, her fingers curling around the counter’s edge to keep from falling.
“What the hell am I doing?” He took another step back, angry gaze slamming into hers as his fist hit his chest. “You threw me away, Nikki. You threw me away.”
Her pounding heart dropped to her ribs as she stared helplessly at him. She hadn’t thrown him away. She’d set him free. It was better that way.
He was safer that way.
She opened her mouth, wanting to tell him…dying to tell him. But wouldn’t that defeat the purpose? She clamped her jaw. No. She must keep quiet.
Disgust soured his expression as he thrust a finger toward the hall. “Go to bed. I’ll take the couch again.”
Nodding, she swallowed past her burning throat and slipped off the counter. “You deserve better,” she whispered, and somehow made it to the bedroom, even managed to shut the door and sink onto the bed, her legs shaking uncontrollably.
Cripes. She’d traded one nightmare for another, and couldn’t seem to wake up from either. Tears streamed down her face. How the hell had life gotten so cruel? She wiped her cheeks and stared at her wet fingers. Surely things could only go up from here.
A second later, the door flung open, sending her to her feet, arms set in a defensive stance as Cage appeared.
Thank God her gun was out of reach.
“I changed my mind.” He glowered from the doorway. “We need to talk.”
“Dammi
t, Cage, I thought…” She sank back onto the bed, her legs giving completely out as memories from her past came crashing back.
It wasn’t him. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, finger shaking over the pulse pounding wildly in her throat. It’s okay. It wasn’t Rojas.
“I don’t care what you thought. I want answers,” Cage demanded, oblivious to the torment his aggressive entrance had caused.
She opened her eyes and watched him lean against the doorframe, arms folded across his broad chest.
Answers? Great. She had none. At least, none she could give.
Her hand dropped and she straightened her shoulders. “Answers to what?”
“To the deficit in the economy,” he scoffed, pushing away from the door to stomp further into the room. “What do you think? Answers to why the hell you left me. And don’t tell me it was for another man because that’s bullshit. Your response to me is way too strong.”
Laughter, hysterical and fierce, tickled her throat. It was for another man, but not how he thought. She clamped her jaw shut again and rode out the wave. He was ticked off and hurt. He didn’t need to deal with her unorthodox emotional outburst.
“I want the truth, dammit.” He glowered a few feet away. “You owe me that.”
She rose to her feet, longing to run past him out the door and avoid answering.
But he was right. He deserved something. She stared at the vein pulsing in his neck, trying to find her voice and think of a suitable answer.
“Cage deserves to know the truth.” Jameson Knight’s advice sounded in her head.
Her boss was right. Nothing less than the truth would do now. But with the return of her nightmares, and after seeing Cage shot the other day, she was still too afraid to go down that road.
Her gaze fell to the bandage peeking out from under his short sleeve. No, she couldn’t give him what he wanted.
He stepped closer. “Nikki, look at me.”
A steel calm washed through her body, and she slowly lifted her gaze.
“Why did you leave?”
To keep you alive, her heart answered, but her mouth remained shut.
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