Free Locke and Load by Donna Michaels

repeated, his frown no doubt matching the one marring Nikki’s brow. “What do you mean missing?”
    “He’s disappeared. Not even Homeland, with access to every damn camera imaginable, can find him.”
    Cage cursed and ran a hand through his wet hair. “The bastard can try to hide, but no way in hell is he going to get away with killing Drew.”
    “He won’t,” Hutchins agreed. “Wilson and I are sticking around Homeland. We’ll keep you informed. And Cage?”
    “Yeah?”
    “You might want to keep an eye on Ms. Locke.”
    He fought back a snort. A minute earlier, he’d had more than his eye on the woman.
    “If Prochaska puts two and two together, he may realize she had something to do with his detainment,” the senior detective stated.
    His insides froze. The man was right. He watched the woman who only moments ago had that incredible body wrapped around him tight. Her frown deepened as she searched his face.
    She was shrewd. He set his features to portray indifference, then twisted around and headed for the house, knowing she’d follow.
    Just to be cautious, he wanted her inside.
    “Will do,” he said before hanging up.
    She stepped inside the house. “Prochaska’s missing?”
    “Yes.” He shut and locked the door, then stiffened when her soft hand curved around his bicep. Heat worked its way down his spine to stir his groin.
    “We’ll find him.” A warm gaze stared up at him, so positive, so sure. But he knew better than to trust anything she said.
    He didn’t want to argue…or her touch.
    “You’re dripping all over my floor.” He removed his arm from her grasp.
    Pain shot through her eyes, but she blinked and it was gone. “Sorry.” She glanced at the wet floor then back at him. “I’ll clean it up after I get a proper shower.”
    “Don’t bother. I’ll take care of it.”
    With a nod, she turned and walked away. Cage knew he shouldn’t, but he watched the sexy woman saunter from view, his groin tightening with the sweet sway of her curvy hips.
    Why the hell couldn’t he just stay mad at her?
    Eight hours later, he was still contemplating that question as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, knowing full well sleep would never come. Between Nikki’s arrival and Prochaska’s disappearance, sleep had bit the dust.
    Cage clenched his jaw, breaking the night’s silence with an echoing crack. There wasn’t a rock big enough for the Czech to hide under. The man had gloated. He’d stared at Cage during questioning, a guilty gleam blatantly shining from his smug face. And he could do nothing, thanks to diplomatic immunity. Nothing .
    Now, the bastard was gone.
    Who the hell knew where—if ever—the guilty SOB would show up?
    A sixth sense suddenly stilled his thoughts and heightened his awareness. Alarm coursed through his body.
    Something was wrong.
    In less than a second, he was crossing his room, Glock in hand. He scanned the hall and open doorways. Nothing amiss in Locke’s room or the bathroom. He focused on the rest of the house. Nothing. No movement, no sound except the steady hum of the central air. He made his way down the hall, doing a lock check on the front door and windows. They all passed.
    Long, stealthy strides ate up the distance to the back of the house. The faint aroma of garlic and pepperoni hung in the air from their pizza supper as he checked the kitchen and laundry room. Both were empty. He continued through the sitting room, crossing the tiled floor where he’d wrestled a mop from Nikki earlier that evening. She’d insisted on cleaning up. He finally gave in after ten minutes of arguing.
    Damn stubborn woman.
    He tugged on the sliding door. It, too, was tight to the touch. He lowered his gun and slowly straightened. Yesterday’s crazy events were finally getting to him.
    A muffled sound threw him back into stealth mode as he bolted through the house toward the bedrooms again.
    “Cage!”
    Fear shot down his spine. Nikki’s anguished cry propelled him