Locke and Key (Titan Book 12)

by Cristin Harber

  “How’d you learn that?” he asked.

  “I have my ways.”

  Locke repositioned his chair, scraping it on the patio tiles. “Interesting crowd.”

  “Depending on where your interests lie.”

  “And where do yours?”

  “With Russians.”

  “Hmm.” He pushed his chair back on two legs. “Then a happy hour of foreign-policy movers and shakers is where you want to be.”

  “Yup.” The real question was why an English teacher would hang out here or go to the Russian ambassador’s house.

  Locke dropped his chair down, and she jumped as he touched her wrist. “You’re mad about the other night.”

  Not a question—more like Locke decided to announce the truth. Too self-confident for his own good even when he must have seen her react to his simple touch. She hated how one little touch could do so much. Still, she put up a good front. “Gee. You think?”

  “Don’t be.” His fingers ran along the curve of her wrist bone.

  She shivered. Her nipples hardened—or had they been tight since he arrived? Cassidy pulled her hand away. “Go away, Locke. The whole bite-me-to-distract-me thing? You suck.” As a matter of fact… She cleared her head and ignored that he turned her on with just a touch and a look. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “I’m keeping tabs on Alex.”

  Her eyes went wide. That was enough to douse her arousal. “You’re what?”

  Locke shrugged broad shoulders. “You lobbed a pretty sizable accusation about him.”

  “Then where is he?” Cassidy threw her arms out.

  “He was about to walk in an hour ago when he received a phone call. Stopped midstride. Took it. Had a pretty heated conversation, turned around, and left.”

  “What the hell?”

  “Weird, right?” He shrugged. “The guy just went home.”

  “He…” What the hell? “But you came back here?”

  “I saw your car,” Locke said. “And I was curious.”

  “About…?”

  “I don’t know. I drove by. Your car was still here. I parked and came in.”

  Oh… what did that mean? “You still shouldn’t have…bit me the other night.”

  Locke’s blue eyes intensified. “Why are you so hell-bent on believing that it’s because I wanted to distract you from Alex?” He leaned his chair back on two legs again.

  Cassidy opened her mouth, unable to answer that, or maybe unwilling to. The waitress came over and held out the bill. “Are you leaving or adding an order?”

  She looked at Locke and wasn’t sure how to handle him. “I’m going.” And then she immediately tried not to recalculate the tip as her waitress blatantly checked him out. “And I have no idea what he’s doing.”

  “I’m leaving with you,” he said.

  “Separately, simultaneously,” Cassidy clarified for his benefit, not the server’s.

  Locke rocked in his seat. “Whatever you say, beautiful.”

  Damn.

  Damn, damn, damn him. The word skipped its way along every nerve until even her fingertips buzzed.

  With the bill dropped on the table, Cassidy paid in cash and looked over to find him scrutinizing the conversation-worthy crowd—dignitaries and politicians, the likes of whom she might want to report on. But he was the most interesting one here.

  “I didn’t plan on coming in.” He leaned back again. “Not my crowd. I don’t think I fit in.”

  “Not mine either.”

  He dropped his chair and pulled it close to her. “They’re all lost in their agendas. So damn important. All of them.”

  They were only inches separating them. “Importance is relative.”

  His full lips broke into a half smile, but it hitched higher on one cheek—and paused. “Hey, Red.”

  Red? She wanted to snap at him, but his voice went gravelly, and his eyes studied every inch of her, from her face to her feet, and even though her chin snapped up indignantly at the nickname, she loved his attention.

  “You look good in a dress.”

  “Oh.” Wow, he’d caught her off guard with that one, and the warmth of a blush hit her cheeks, flipping her stomach. “Thanks.”

  “I keep meaning to tell you that.”

  “You’re too busy thinking about ridiculous names to think of a compliment. I get it.”

  “One will stick. It’ll be a you-and-me thing.” He leaned closer, an elbow on his knee. “But Shortcake is off the list, right?”

  “It should never have been on it.” Forcing a chuckle, she nodded and concentrated on the you-and-me thing, trying not to overthink the situation.

  “True enough.” He pushed back, and she hated that he moved away. “What’s your favorite? It’s not Riding Hood.”

  “No.” And she’d never admit to liking “beautiful,” though she’d die a thousand times to hear that again. She’d replay that alone tonight, thinking about him, how she shivered when his fingers slid against her wrist, and what kind of things would be considered you and me. “You’re not supposed to pick out your nickname, Locke—and stop focusing on my hair.”

  “Why? It’s gorgeous.”

  “I…” Oh, fuck it. She wanted him so much it hurt—his mouth on hers, her fingers in his hair. But really, she wanted to see what she could say that might make him feel like she just did. What could she whisper, what could she do? Touch him, taste him, take him. She inhaled deeply at the thought of climbing on top of him—and he had no idea she had these thoughts. Oh boy. Cassidy pulled it together, regaining her composure, which meant maybe pushing his buttons.

  He pursed his lips. “I’ll find one that works for the both of us.”

  “I don’t know. You’ve been doing so well so far.”

  He rolled his eyes. A first! Who knew he had it in him. It made her like him all the more.

  “Come on, Cassidy. Let’s go.”

  He pulled her out of her chair, sliding next to her as though he were meant to be there. The immediate connection at the hip made her mouth go dry and her insides wake up—more than they already had.

  He smelled sexy and spicy—like something she couldn’t name but might spend the rest of the evening trying to remember. Locke’s fingers flexed into her side as they moved from the patio. The small covered walkway was nothing more than a brick alley leading them to a quiet night away—he abruptly stopped, disengaging from her side.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  His forehead pinched, and he glanced away.

  Locke didn’t say a word but refocused on her. He simply stood there, staring at her as if she had seventeen heads and all of them were purple—not red. No redhead nicknames were coming out of his mouth. He didn’t look amused. He didn’t look irritated or ready to lecture her.

  “What’s the matter? That’s not a Locke Oliver face I know.” He was impossible to figure out, and that was maddening.

  “Cassidy.” His voice had dropped very low.

  Between his tone and her real name, anticipation curled uneasily in her stomach. “What?”

  His eyes narrowed as though he was wary of her. “What happened that night?”

  “What night?” With Alex or in Russia or—

  “Sadr City.”

  That was where his mind went? “Why did you think about that?”

  “Why not?”

  Because it was years later, they weren’t talking about Iraq, and maybe a dozen other reasons. But that was what pain looked like on Locke’s face. Pain, plus confusion and destruction.

  “What about Mike Draven?” Now Locke wouldn’t even look at her—until he did. The judgment in his stare made her take a step back as he asked, “How close were you?”

  “What?”

  “You two date? Sleep together?” Locke lifted a shoulder.

  Her eyes peeled back so far she must have looked rabid—but then her heart sank. Was he asking if she’d slept her way to a source and wondering if she’d do it again with him? W
as he thinking about sleeping with her, and that was where his mind went? Was she forever stained with Sadr City?

  Her eyes welled with tears, and she blinked them away, surprised they’d even sprung. It wasn’t the first time someone had asked if she’d slept with Mike, but it had been in the context of hearings or even the politics of why female reporters shouldn’t embed with male troops. Never had it been from someone she imagined sleeping with. “Tell me you didn’t just say that.” And thank God he didn’t know what she’d just been thinking.

  “Just a question,” he muttered.

  It wasn’t Locke’s business how close she was to his commanding officer. What Locke didn’t know—hell, what most didn’t know—was Mike Draven had been in a long-term committed relationship. With a man.

  That wasn’t newsworthy. Cassidy didn’t care. Draven had been desperate for more resources, though, and sick and tired of getting approvals, all the way up the chain of command, just to be denied by his commander-in-chief based on a campaign promise that had nothing to do with keeping his men safe or leaving Iraq in a sustainable condition. The US had agreed to pull out, whether or not it was safe and sane.

  Draven had been one of Cassidy’s many on-the-record sources. But he was, more importantly, her anonymous source. And then the worst happened, just as he predicted: they were attacked.

  She survived. Locke survived. Twenty-six men did not.

  Sadr City touched on so many issues. She fell on the sword to protect Michael Draven’s name, his sexuality, his leadership, and his memory. Because of it, she was disowned by so many in her field while so many others lifted her up as a hero. Cassidy never wanted to be a conversation piece. She wanted to do what was right.

  Dissent and the truth—those were patriotic. The Night of Fire had made Cassidy a controversial figure.

  But Locke didn’t see any of that, and worse, he’d just questioned what she did sexually.

  “No. I wasn’t sleeping with him.” Brushing him away, she picked her way across the uneven brick sidewalk and passed under an archway covered in barren wisteria branches.

  “Cassidy, wait.” He grasped her shoulder.

  She shook him away and kept going to her Jeep. “If that’s all, good night.”

  “No, that’s not all.” Locke hurried next to her. “You don’t get to storm away.”

  “I don’t get to?” Abruptly, she turned. Her war-torn, broken heart went cold. Inwardly, she raged, but outwardly, she became as calm as she did during a congressional hearing. “I’ve asked you before if you want to talk. You repeatedly said no.”

  He stepped closer. “Now I do.”

  “No.” She jabbed him in the chest with her finger. “That’s not how you open the discussion.”

  He dropped his chin and studied the finger jammed into his sternum. Obviously, she’d let go of her congressional-hearing chillness. Realizing that, she dropped her hand.

  “Everything boils down to sex,” he said. “It always does.”

  “I pity you if you really believe that.” There were gag orders, there was the professional integrity, and there was the respect for her friend’s personal life. It had kept her quiet, sent her to prison, and destroyed her career. Yet she wanted to share everything with Locke even though he hadn’t earned a shred of it and had made an awful assumption.

  Locke swatted away her limp hand. “How close were you two?”

  “What does it matter?” A tear threatened to fall, and she swore that if she cried in front of him, she would never forgive herself.

  His head dropped, and he let it hang before shaking it again as though he pitied her. Finally, he lifted his chin. The expression in his eyes wasn’t pity. It wasn’t anger or even the acidic vitriol that they’d just volleyed back and forth. What was it…?

  “I don’t want to see you be number twenty-seven.”

  “Nothing you just said had to do with looking out for me,” she whispered.

  Locke scrubbed his face. “Fucking hell. I don’t know.”

  Uncertainty plowed through her like a locomotive train, heavy and unable to stop. “You don’t have to look out for me, Locke.”

  “I know.”

  “Then stop.”

  “I…” He caught himself, and they both stared. “It was years ago, and it’s not my business if you did.”

  Cassidy rolled her lips into her mouth, not sure if this was the start of an agreement or if he was angry that they had chemistry, and because of that, she allowed him to get away with his line of questioning. She didn’t want to feel any spark and sizzle for someone who lobbed accusations like that. “You know that’s sexist as shit?”

  “It is? No, it’s not.”

  “Assuming that I’d sleep with someone for information? That I couldn’t get it without sex?” She scowled. “Sexist. As. Fuck.”

  “I didn’t say that.” His head dropped. “Damn it. That’s not what I meant. But…” He rubbed his temple. “I didn’t assume. I asked. I was curious.”

  “The thought shouldn’t cross your mind, Locke.”

  He looked up and dropped his head back. “You know…” He laughed. “It’s not funny. I get that. But fucking hell, you sound like my mom, and she’s never wrong.”

  Cassidy unexpectedly broke into a small smile. “Well then…”

  “He wouldn’t either, would he?” Locke asked quietly.

  Cassidy cringed. That was a loaded question she wasn’t going to touch because it could mean so many different things. Did Locke think that Mike wouldn’t sleep with her because of his leadership role in the army, or because he was her friend? Maybe Locke even suspected that Mike was in a relationship already or perhaps guessed his commanding officer wasn’t attracted to women.

  Cassidy shrugged and tried to ignore the fact that her shoulders were as heavy as the weight of the memories. “I’m taking off. Good night.”

  She pivoted on her heel and concentrated on the uneven brick sidewalk.

  “Hey,” Locke called.

  Cassidy turned.

  “Does the last name Mikhailov mean anything to you?” he asked.

  She shook her head, though Locke’s reaction earlier and the way he said it now meant that she should know that name. She made a mental note to Google it.

  He nodded, looking away as if lost in thought. “Don’t be number twenty-seven, Cassidy. It hurt too much to lose all of them, and losing you… be careful around anything to do with the Mikhailovs.”

  The twenty-six they’d lost, and how his voice ached for her—his pain radiated enough that she felt it, and her eyes sank shut. Cassidy inhaled deeply, wondering how long she could hold her breath before it hurt.

  Holding. Still holding. Her lungs burned, and it hurt… Letting go of the breath, she opened her eyes, and he was waiting for her. Breathless and lightheaded, she said, “People told me life goes on.”

  His head dropped.

  “But,” she whispered, her throat hurting, “that’s the worst part.”

  Locke had pinched the bridge of his nose before he ran his hand through his hair. “The Mikhailovs are dangerous.”

  “I’ll be cognizant of that. Thank you.” She stepped closer. “You constantly seem aware they’re gone, and even if I was sleeping with Mike, don’t ruin your memory of him because you don’t want to get close to me.”

  He held her gaze.

  “Night, Locke.” That was as much as she could voice about what had been happening between them.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Bright and early on Saturday morning, Cassidy nervously pressed the call icon on her phone. She twirled a pen at her desk and stared at the pile of balled-up notes she’d tossed at her trash can and missed.

  Why calling Alex was suddenly nerve-racking made no sense, except for the fact that she was indeed investigating him, whereas before she’d just been suspicious of him. It was an entirely different game. The phone rang twice.

  “Hello?” Alex answered.

  She had expected his voice mail
after he’d stood her up. Maybe it was because of her time spent reporting on politicians and people surrounded by scandal. Those types never answered their phones.

  “Hey, it’s Cassidy.”

  “Sorry about the other night.” He groaned, genuinely sounding distraught.

  “What happened?”

  “I got sick. Food poisoning or something.”

  Liar, liar! Locke had seen him almost come in and then leave. “Yuck. Are you feeling better?”

  “Much.”

  “Good, because I’m getting a ton of pressure to finish up.”

  “I know. The school board emailed asking about it too.”

  She bet those trustees didn’t mess around. “Can I come over? Meet you somewhere?”

  Alex hummed. “I’m slammed today.”

  “This will be quick. I’ll work with you, meet you anywhere. It’s just a couple follow-up questions. Tonight?”

  He laughed. “You wouldn’t be able to hear me where I have to go.”

  “Oh yeah?” She laughed too, trying to commiserate. Would he tell her again where he was going? She could work with that. “Where to?”

  “Some place called Red Star.”

  “I’m familiar! A club?”

  “Yeah, awful,” he grumbled.

  She groaned, sympathizing. “That doesn’t seem like your scene.”

  “Nope.”

  “Certainly not mine.”

  “Nope,” he agreed.

  “Probably by about ten years.” Cassidy was happy to find common ground and could hear him relaxing. “What exactly is St. Andrew’s doing business there for?”

  “Well, it’s not exactly school-related—that side job I mentioned before. Anyway, I still have to be there, but next week? Honestly, Cassidy. I’m very flexible normally, just this weekend is tough.”

  “Okay, no problem.” She bit her lip. “I’ll make it work. Text you soon.”

  They ended the call, and Cassidy sat there with the phone in her hand. Why would Alex go to Red Star? That club wasn’t too far from the Russian embassy, the coat check where Locke bit her lip, and the patio where Alex stood her up. Coincidence?