Locke and Key (Titan Book 12)

by Cristin Harber

  “Info for the tire change?” His blue eyes lit up, and his loose hair fell forward as he faux contemplated. “I don’t know, Red. It seems like you’re getting the better offer.”

  “Red? The offer might be off the table, Blondie.”

  He dared her with a try-again smile and managed to do something sinful with his eyes. What was that? And for all that was holy, why did she notice? Cassidy steeled herself against the hair-eye combo that did silly things to her insides.

  “People don’t call you Red?” Locke asked.

  Her blood pressure went up, as did her eyebrows. “My name isn’t Red.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s a good offer.”

  “The name Red?”

  “No!” Not thinking, she batted his arm. Damn. Damn. Daaayummn. Just another reminder that the magical, muscle-building Henley wasn’t making things up. He had bulges of muscle piggybacking their own muscles under that shirt. “I’ll tell you what I was doing. And you won’t hold this over my head, and never mention it again.”

  “You lied about having a spare tire and calling Triple A. I might bring that up again.” He winked.

  And. She. Died.

  Cassidy had no choice. She jumped out of the truck. The hell with having him hold it over her head. The hell with knowing someone who could wink and make her melt.

  “Hey, Cassidy.” His voice trailed her into the tire store.

  She marched in like she knew exactly what she was doing. In reality, Cassidy couldn’t rub two fucks together and get a clue in the tire department. She went stomping around the store, mad, for whatever reason, and in search of a salesperson.

  Two minutes later, she’d lapped the entire store and met Locke on the side, where he was intently watching her strut the rims section.

  “See anything you need?” One eyebrow was up and teasing her.

  What she wanted to do was give him the middle finger, but instead, Cassidy shook her head. “Other than a salesman, nope.”

  “This is what you need.” He pointed to a piece of paper. “They’re going to throw it in the back of my truck.”

  “Wait. What?” She spun around incredulously, waiting to pounce on any salesperson. Seriously, where were the people who worked here? It didn’t matter. She was having very inappropriate reactions to Locke and wanting to maim a member of the sales staff. Maybe it was better just to leave. “Let’s go pay.”

  “Already done. You ready?”

  Cassidy balked. “Wait. You bought my tire?”

  He pushed his shoulders up. “You were… exercising.”

  Ahhh, she was going to kill him. “No.”

  “Nope. Don’t ‘no’ me.”

  “I just said I don’t want to owe you anything.”

  He lifted his shoulders as though it was not a big deal. “But in no way was it meant to be an asshole move.”

  “Though it was a bit presumptuous.”

  “That you need a damn tire?” He scoffed. “Yeah. Totally.”

  “That I couldn’t pay for it.”

  “I didn’t say that, Cassidy. Jesus. Chill.”

  They glared at each other. A salesperson meandered out, a cheesy smile on his face that waffled as she turned the full force of her irritation his direction. “I was everywhere in this store.”

  “I saw you,” he said.

  “I didn’t see you!”

  “You looked like you needed a minute.” The man gestured to Locke. “He said what you needed. There’s one option in stock.”

  “Ugh—” She took a quick breath, forcing a polite smile on in place. “Thank you for my tire.”

  “Um, you’re welcome.”

  “Come on, Cassidy. We both want to miss traffic, and that’s it. No hidden agendas.” Locke turned for the door and left her with the salesman.

  “It’s a great tire,” the salesman said.

  “Thanks again.” She shuffled after Locke, mad because he’d bought her a tire—which was kind of, sort of, a nice thing to do.

  Now she definitely had to explain what she was doing outside of St. Andrew’s and tell him her thoughts on Alex Gaev. How would a man as protective as Locke Oliver react to Cassidy’s decision to question Alexander again on what had happened in Russia?

  ***

  Locke drummed on the steering wheel, going nowhere. Rush-hour traffic blew big, hairy donkey balls. They were stuck bumper-to-bumper, and Cassidy hadn’t said a word since they pulled out of the parking lot. He was content to let her fester and stew in whatever was in her head.

  “He’s not who he says he is,” she mumbled, facing the window.

  Locke stared at the red brake lights in front of them. “The teacher?”

  “He’s a teacher. He works there…”

  Locke was positive Cassidy had a secret that she didn’t want to tell. If he looked at her, she hid in her shell.

  What kind of bad things did teachers do—oh shit. “Like… you have concerns that he did something illegal?”

  “Maybe,” she mumbled.

  Locke drummed his thumbs again on the steering wheel. He didn’t know much about it, but there were some sick fucks out there, and they went out of the country to do their sick-fuck things with underage kids. He broke from his straight-ahead attention. “Cassidy—if you have concerns about him with minors—”

  “What?” She snapped her head around to face him. “No. Not like that.”

  “Oh, okay.” He pursed his lips. “Then what?”

  “I saw a woman sneaking around our hotel while we there. More than once.”

  Locke relaxed, giving her a sideways glance. That was what she was worked up over? “I think those things happen, Cass.”

  “No, I’m serious. He made this big deal for us to go to Sochi—”

  “The resort town near the ski slopes?”

  “Yes.” Cassidy nodded. “When, I mean, why would we do that? We had no reason to. None of the parents were putting us up there. No students. That’s when everything went wrong. Except I saw that same woman from before. I think it was her. Then there was the warning phone call. Someone gave us a heads-up that a hitman was coming. That’s the only reason we had time to put on parkas and boots before we ran. Why was she in two different places we visited? The second one, where they were trying to kill us? That’s crazy.”

  “Huh,” he mumbled.

  “There’s something there.” She shook her head, looking lost in thought.

  “If you’ve never been shot at before, I can appreciate how it must feel.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Hello, Iraq! I wasn’t in battle, but I was around enough, and this was different. His reaction when I asked about the lady? It was off. Every time.”

  “No guy wants to talk about their hooker. He probably didn’t pay up.”

  Cassidy clucked quietly and shook her head again. “There’s more to it.”

  “You’re back in the States now,” he said. “What else could be the matter?”

  “The thing is, he denies ever seeing a woman.”

  “Still not an issue.”

  “Her people tried to kill us. It’s an issue.”

  “He should’ve paid for his hooker.” But if that was why St. Andrew’s had to call in their sweet insurance policy, their rates would probably jump higher than they already had if word ever leaked. “Tread carefully on hooker-gate.”

  “You’re making light of something that has more to it.”

  “Explain to me how you know,” Locke said.

  “I just do. I have a sixth sense. That, and he picked up Russian way too fast. His familiarity with culture and language was downright concerning.”

  “You think an ambush conversation would yield new intel?” Though unexpected intel-therapy did wonders for him, it didn’t change his perspective that much.

  “Yes,” she said without missing a beat. “You think I didn’t ask him while we were there? That I didn’t push him for the truth?” She repositioned in her seat. �
��I wanted to see his face, read the expressions, and adapt my opinions based on what I saw.”

  “You can do that?” Locke asked, more curious about her ability to understand people than her guessing game in Russia.

  “Yes.”

  He gave her a quick glance but couldn’t catch her eye. “Are you good at it?”

  She nodded. “Very.”

  “Look at me. What do you see?” He turned and held her gaze for far too long. His heartbeat pounded in his chest before he broke away and checked to see if traffic had moved. Not much, thank God. Otherwise, it would be the second time he’d spaced out about her while driving with her.

  “I see…” She let the words linger, not finishing the thought.

  Casually as he could, he glanced her way.

  “I see our exit right there.” Cassidy pointed. “Don’t want to almost miss it again.”

  She changed the subject and avoided giving her answer, all while giving him a friendly jab. He grinned. Well played, Cassidy Noble. Well played.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The socket wrench clattered on the sidewalk as Locke wiped his brow with his forearm, and Cassidy teetered in her high heels on the edge of the sidewalk, trying in vain not to act like a perv. Really. She was in her thirties. She’d survived college, embedding in war zones—when there was no action, military men were walking around without their shirts on more often than she’d admit—and a bevy of boyfriends doing tasks that should’ve raised her blood pressure.

  But Locke hauling a tire out of the bed of his truck, changing her flat like it was nothing, and tossing the wrench down—it was a freaking miracle Cassidy hadn’t found herself magically, spontaneously pregnant. Because… whoa.

  “Think you’re good now.” He turned to appraise his work, and against her damn will, her eyes appraised his butt. Solid ten. Give the man a trophy.

  Mother of God. She was turning crass, and she almost hated him for how perfectly sculpted he was.

  Cassidy gritted her teeth together. If she could lay blame on him for her behavior, she would have dropped that package of guilt at his shoes. But dang if she didn’t have that whole take-responsibility part of her persona. She’d cling to that even if it meant she now had to label herself an ogler.

  He pivoted back. “I’ll get going now.”

  “Thanks.” Oh, boy. He had no idea she’d been leering and just handed him an award for his backend. Cassidy tried to figure out what a normal, innocent smile should look like as she stepped off the curb. “I owe you. Big. I get it.”

  His chest lifted when he shrugged. “I needed a change of scenery. It’s all good.”

  “Right. So… thanks. Again.”

  They stood awkwardly. She wanted to hug Locke. Or something. Not that she was a hugger. But they had this weird acquaintance-connection thing going on, and this was definitely a personal act of kindness, even if she’d tried to repay him with information on what she’d been up to.

  “Call Titan if you need me,” he said.

  She nodded. “Sure. You could always come stake out Alex with me. I bet I could convince you he’s up to something. Sometimes you have to be around to catch the gut feeling.”

  “Give me your phone.” Locke held his hand out.

  “Why?” Stomach in her throat, she dug it from her purse and kept it just out of reach.

  “Because.” He took it from her and stepped closer and took her hand, twisting the phone and holding her thumb to the fingerprint unlock. Gently, he let go of his hold and swiped the screen then typed. “This is my number.” A moment later, his phone buzzed. “And now I have yours. In case I get an urge to smoke out teachers involved in your conspiracies.”

  Her heart’s flutter double-timed as he took her hand again and replaced the phone. His fingers lingered, and—her phone buzzed.

  “Not me,” he said.

  She checked the screen. “Oh—it’s Alex.” Surprised, Cassidy pointed to it, holding it for Locke to see. “Tell me that’s not something. Timing is everything. Hello?” she answered, still trying to draw Locke’s attention to the serendipity of Alex’s calling just then.

  “Cassidy, sorry,” Alex said in her ear. “Catching up at school was busier than expected.”

  “Not a problem,” she said, still trying to keep Locke’s attention. “Soon as we can meet up, I can finish off this draft for the board of trustees.”

  “My schedule is packed lately, and—”

  “I’ll come to you. Shouldn’t take more than thirty minutes. Not a second over. I’ll put out a timer and everything.”

  Alex chuckled. “You don’t have to do that. But this week, I… don’t know.”

  “Friday night?”

  “I have to be out near the University Club.”

  “Perfect,” she lied. “I have a reception at the University Club. I’ll meet you whenever works for you.” She could picture Alex’s hazel eyes clouding and went in for the kill. “I’ll print verbatim whatever you tell me, so long as the trustees don’t nix it. Deal?”

  It was something he couldn’t say no to. She’d figured that out in Russia. He had some farfetched opinions, and if he could tie it to their trip and the exchange program, he would. Anything too nuts, the board would cut.

  “Well…”

  “Please, come on,” she pleaded.

  “I can do thirty minutes, Cass. I’m not trying to be a dick. Just… I have a lot on my plate. Sometimes my situation seems impossible.”

  “Alex, you’re an English schoolteacher. I appreciate educating the youth of tomorrow and all, but don’t be too hard on yourself.” He couldn’t know that she didn’t trust a word coming out of his mouth.

  “True. I’ll text you when I can pull away on Friday.”

  She bobbed her eyebrows at Locke. “Don’t stand me up, hon. I’d be heartbroken.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Cassidy ended the call and bounced on her heels, trying to read Locke, whose complicated expression she couldn’t figure out. Again. “He’s up to something.”

  “You’re meeting him near the University Club?” Locke’s jaw flexed.

  “Yes.”

  “And if he has nothing interesting to say, you’ll drop it?”

  “Probably not.” She put on her best on-air smile. “It depends on what he says in between his words.”

  He snickered quietly. “You think you can read people?”

  “I can. Mostly.” But not Locke. He’d asked before if she could read him, and she couldn’t, which bugged the heck out of her.

  Could he read her? Heat crawled up the back of her neck, and more self-awareness than she was comfortable with flooded her body.

  Suddenly, Cassidy wanted to look down and see if her black capri pants and spiky heels worked as well as she’d thought they did when she walked out of her house that morning. The clunky necklace accentuated her fitted shirt, curving over her breasts. She’d long ago ditched her sweater. She switched her purse to the other shoulder, shoving her cell into it. “Thanks for the tire change, Locke. I owe you.”

  As she left, with every single step, she felt his gaze. From the back of her head, sliding down her spine, over the curve of her butt, to her thighs. Cassidy pulled herself into her Jeep, turned over the engine, and repositioned the AC vents to blast on her face. In no uncertain terms, she was all kinds of excited.

  Not only was she mildly aroused, but her panties were wet, and her heart beat faster than it should. Her nipples were hard, and she was grateful that she had a vibrator waiting for her at home.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Friday night finally arrived, and Cassidy’s follow-up interview with Alex wasn’t that interesting. She asked questions that were meant to pin him down about the trip to the ski resort, and he demurred like a pro, but she also padded the conversation with enough St. Andrew’s-focused inquiries to gather quotes for her articles. True to her word, she had her cell phone on the café table between them and the timer on display. He was short on time,
and she was prepared to respect that as the timer clicked down to the one-minute mark. Too bad every question that Alex answered sounded rehearsed. All she wanted to do was trip him up. But no, he didn’t so much as blink funny. Her investigative-reporter’s senses were on fire.

  “I’ll let you ask questions longer, Cassidy. Really.” Alex nodded good-humoredly to her phone. “You didn’t have to set up a timer.”

  “The only thing I have is my word.”

  He lifted his chin, aware from their get-to-know-you conversations in Russia about her thoughts on how DC had crucified her for being a liar—or worse, a traitor—when she didn’t name her press source. Silence was very different from not telling the truth, but there was no telling that to the people with pitchforks on the Internet. They just made stuff up as they went, justifying it however they wanted to fit their cause.

  “What did you have tonight?” he asked.

  “Oh, you know…” She wouldn’t lie, but maybe she’d dance around the truth at times. She did meet some girlfriends from college near the University Club earlier. “An alumni event.” But she’d planned that after arranging to talk with Alex.

  “You look nice,” he said.

  “Have to break out the cocktail dresses now and then. Otherwise, they take away my LBD card.”

  “LBD?”

  “Little black dress,” she said.

  “Oh.” Chuckling, he held out the lapels of this suit. “We have no card for the suits.”

  “Must be nice to put away the teacher’s clothes for a bit.”

  He still hadn’t gone into detail about his plans for the night. Not that he needed to. But she couldn’t help but feel that his evasiveness had something to do with the prickles she got when a story was on the cusp of revealing itself. “Hot date?”

  “More work-related.” He shifted uncomfortably, and his demeanor changed from unflappable to skittish.

  “St. Andrew’s is all about the fundraising. Want to comment on that for the story?” Perhaps she was seeing this all wrong. Maybe the Russian woman was a financier.

  “No. Different job. I should get going.” He stood abruptly, his demeanor shifting entirely.