Locked, Loaded, & Lying

by Sarah Andre

  She scowled, knowing Lock wouldn’t give an inch. Their best lead… But if she only had an hour, maybe there was someone more important to interview. She scanned her mental list, and a grin broke out. Half the items required legwork on Lock’s part.

  “All right,” she said brightly. “Did you go through her phone records?”

  “I just started. Nothing unusual.”

  “Did you call Wolf and tell him I want to talk to him?”

  “No, Jordan. He’s not a suspect.”

  She gazed up at him, trying out Carlotta’s frosty look. “Well then, Lock and Load, there is nothing else. If I have fifty-eight minutes, we’re visiting Russell Reeves.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “He obviously won’t answer your questions,” Jordan argued. “You stay out of sight while I talk to him.”

  “And here we go,” Lock muttered, shifting into park with more force than needed. The station wagon sputtered as it rocked to a stop. “Could you just listen for one minute?”

  He gazed down at her, aggravated out of his mind at her flippant disregard for personal safety. She’d never seen that steroid-infused brick house. Never looked into those soulless ice-blue eyes…Very unlike the midnight-blue ones flashing indignantly in the dim car interior.

  Dark passion tinged her cheeks, almost the same color as the fiery sunset out the window. Despite the exhausting day, his groin managed to jack up some adrenalin at the sight of those parted lips huffing out a furious breath. What would she do if he just leaned over and tasted that sweet mouth? God, how he craved her devious little tongue sending him straight into the stratosphere.

  He inched closer when a dry cough from Leo washed over him like ice water. Damn it! Why’d he bring Leo to Aspen anyway?

  Lock released a frustrated breath, refocusing on his point. “As you can see, the house is dark, and his car isn’t under the carport. We’ve obviously missed him.”

  “Which we won’t know until we ring his doorbell.”

  “I’ll go ring it. I’ll even walk the perimeter and be back in thirty seconds with a full report. You and Leo can’t even extricate yourselves from this car in thirty seconds.”

  “That’s the reason I’m going,” she spat out. “Thirty seconds will give you absolutely no information.”

  “What if this guy shows up and you’re limping around his property in a clumsy boot the size of Bigfoot’s? You can’t run if the situation warrants it. Hell, I’ll be lucky to defend myself if this guy’s home. He’s a junkyard dog.”

  “I’m the one with the PI skills,” she said in a tone like he was six years old. “Whether he’s home or not, I know what to look for.” She leaned into him hard. “Now move. I’m going too.”

  “I don’t see that workin’ out for you.”

  He stared out the front windshield, happy to sit here, three to the front seat of a beat-up station wagon, half a block from a killer’s house all night.

  His brother half-sighed, half-groaned. “If we could just get this over with and go home.”

  Silence descended, but not the quiet, restful kind. This held the angry buzz of Jordan thinking and scheming and fuming, the sullen exhaustion of Leo-the-hermit being around people all day.

  Jordan slid a hand onto his thigh and rested her torso against him. “Come on, Lock,” she said softly. “Let me come.”

  And maybe it was that hand, warm and intimate on him, or the curve of her breast inside the jacket pressing his bicep. Or maybe even the way she said “let me come,” like a throaty sexual request. His resolve snapped like a twig, and the surging erection squeezed out rational thought.

  Pivoting violently, he tangled his fingers through her thick hair. “Enough,” he growled.

  Her mouth popped open in surprise, and before she turned on the reporter crap, he swooped down. Unlike the seduction of this morning, he kissed her with raw possession and promise. She was his, not Vannini’s! He angled his head and thrust in his tongue, hard and deep, almost groaning with relief.

  A shiver ran through her, which he felt along his body as clearly as if they’d been naked, and an inferno ignited in him. He tried to tune out the voice in his head. Not the right time, not the right place, not the right girl. She’d already proven many times over she was using him. Let her go.

  But just as he was about to pull away her lips relaxed, that delicious tongue flicked him, torched him, branded every cell in his body. And then he was lost in her. Devoured by the sweet taste of her mouth and the erotic give and take as she pressed in for more.

  He broke off raggedly, his mind a thick fog of dark lust and feelings for her too murky to understand. Belatedly he realized they were still in the damn car. Still on a street they had no business being on. Her eyes held a dreamy listlessness, and she uttered a tiny, wistful sigh. Beside her, Leo sat stiff and unmoving, captivated by something out his window. Christ! Leo was still here too. Real mature, Lock.

  He eased back another inch and gazed down at her, knowing if he didn’t escape now he’d lose the single, ion-particle of control he still possessed. His dick throbbed mercilessly, and it took all his willpower to act like a guy responding with barely harnessed fury.

  “Listen up. If you so much as get out of this car, even for a breath of fresh air, we’re driving back to Leo’s cabin immediately. You dig?”

  “But—”

  “I’d rather face a biased jury than let that killer come anywhere near you. Do you understand?”

  Her lips tightened, like keeping words back required Herculean effort, but she nodded once, and he didn’t press his luck.

  Bolting from the car, he headed down the darkening street at a brisk pace, the frigid air easing the ache in his groin and clearing his fogged-out mind. He couldn’t think about her or that kiss right now and still do this idiotic chore.

  Despite her nod, he automatically strained to hear the clump of a boot behind him. Leo wouldn’t let her out. He wrote about twisted murderers for a living. He knew the danger they faced with this stupid idea.

  Lock slowed as he reached the bungalow-style house. What if Reeves had motion-detecting floodlights or an attack dog or something? This was such a goddamn bad idea!

  He scraped a hand across his half-day-old bristles. He could knock on the front door, but then what? Hi. Did you kill my girlfriend? Jordan was right. Reeves would not be invested in answering questions, especially if he’d unleashed all that fury with a butcher knife.

  Stumped, Lock glanced back at the station wagon and blew out a breath that misted around him. Maybe if he just peered in the windows? No. Jordan undoubtedly watched his every move. He had to nut up.

  Straightening his shoulders, he strolled onto the man’s property and grabbed the porch railing. He tested his weight on the bottom stair. No creaks, no floodlights, no barking. Grunting in relief, he made his way up two more stairs, crossed the small porch, and rang the dimly lighted doorbell. It rang shrilly, like the bells in high school—an electric shock for the eardrums.

  The thirty-second wait reminded him he hadn’t taken a piss in a while. He shifted his weight, glanced back at the station wagon, and rang again more confidently. When Reeves didn’t answer, he eased to the right and glanced in the first window. Darkening evening behind him, black room in front. Couldn’t see a thing.

  He shook his head at the pointlessness of all this and moved to the next window and the next. At least he could report back that he’d found nothing, and they’d have to come back tomorrow. In the daylight. When the fucker was home.

  It wasn’t until he got to the back door that he spied under-cabinet lighting illuminating the kitchen. The dim room looked spotlessly clean for a divorced man. No cappuccino machines or gadgets littered the counter, just a blender and a toaster oven. The kitchen table was a card table, and instead of chairs, Reeves had one stool. Pathetic.

  The only sign of humanity was on the refrigerator. Three rows of four photographs each were taped up with such precision the guy probably used
a ruler and a level. From here the pictures looked like scenery. Add obsessive-compulsive to the freak’s character.

  Just for the sheer adrenalin kick, and a story to boast about back in the wagon, Lock reached for the doorknob and cautiously turned it to the right. The door gave easily and yawned open, squeaking on its hinges. Heart thudding, he stood motionless in the half-open door, feeling the warmth seep out, smelling remnants of cooked fish and garlic.

  Except for a car driving through slush on some nearby street and the tick of a clock somewhere inside, there was no other sound. Unease rippled through him. Why would a security guard leave his back door unlocked?

  He slid the door closed with the sleeve of his jacket, wincing at the squealing hinges. Forget this. Reeves wasn’t home. There was no written confession lying out on the counter, no ten-month-old bloody clothes heaped in a corner. Hopefully he’d just gathered enough non-information to dampen Jordan’s enthusiasm. Notifying Parker would be top priority tomorrow.

  With a long, misty breath of relief streaming in his face, Lock turned to leave. A rustle, barely above a whisper, made him pause.

  Chapter Thirty

  Jordan shifted so she sat in the driver’s seat facing Leo. The car idled, and the heat sputtered as their silence lengthened. She couldn’t stop thinking about that savage kiss and knew the flush of desire for Lock hadn’t left her cheeks. She didn’t have a clue what to say to poor Leo. How appalling that he had had to watch. And Lock leaving without any apology or shame—not even a glance at his brother. Once again their elusive relationship nagged her.

  “How’d he get his name?” she asked, and it sounded overly loud given he was three feet away.

  “Lock and Load?”

  “No, Locklen.”

  “My mother’s maiden name. She wanted to pass it on to her first born.”

  “And Leo?”

  He smiled like he knew she’d thrown that in to make him feel better. “My paternal grandfather. They chose it because Leo rang nicely after Lock.”

  She straightened in the seat. “Lock says as children you received all the attention in the family.”

  His smile morphed into a grimace. “Yeah, that sounds like something he’d say.”

  “You disagree?”

  “It’s his perception. It’s not right or wrong, but it’s drastically different than mine.”

  “Which is?”

  Leo shrugged. “You know him now—the magnetism, the larger-than-life personality. None of that’s new, Jordan. Take a force of nature, add double-dog-dare stunts that almost got him killed on a weekly basis, and I can assure you, Lock snared attention like flies to a spider web.”

  “He says he skied to get attention.”

  “No, not attention. He doesn’t possess the language skills or inner depth to know why he’s the best in his field.”

  “And you do?”

  He paused as if searching for words. “In a sport like alpine skiing, there’s fast and there’s stupid fast. Even as a kid, Lock was stupid fast.”

  She grinned. “Stupid fast?”

  “Watch him compete—you’ll see it. The other skiers have honed their speed and skills. All the way down you see them calculating every muscle twitch, constantly adjusting to wind, slope angles and conditions.

  “But Lock takes on a race like every run he dares the grim reaper to finally catch up. Stupid fast goes beyond talent, even beyond reckless. It’s an absolute absence of fear. So, yeah, in going back to your other topic—my parents gave him a whole lot of attention.”

  P!nk’s “So What” belted out in the car’s stillness, and Leo jumped.

  “Sorry,” Jordan murmured and snagged the cell phone from her pocket, reminding herself to replace the ringtone with something less belligerent.

  Caller ID: Jefferson.

  “Sorry it took so long,” he said as soon as she uttered a greeting. “Had to testify in court and did some surveillance this evening. I’ve got more on Jennifer Priscilla Johnson for you. Twenty-eight years old, divorced, works at Hawthorne’s Coffee Café on Main Street in Aspen and lives with two females at four fifty-four Maple Street in Leadville. Has one DUI on her record, poor credit score, no college. No indication that she’s ever traveled to Italy or anywhere outside of the US.”

  Jordan turned on the overhead light and scribbled the information down. “How did she meet Vannini?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. Google the FIS schedule for the last few years and see if Aspen or Breckenridge hosted an international event recently.”

  Out of nowhere, goosebumps pricked Jordan’s arms and she stiffened in her seat. “He’s in trouble,” she blurted impulsively. “I just know it.”

  “Who is?”

  “Lock.” Jordan spoke to her boss, but looked at Leo, who was frowning back in confusion. “We’re outside of Reeves’s house, and Lock went to investigate. He’s been gone too long. I just got a really bad feeling.”

  “Reeves?” Jefferson cursed royally. “Call the cops!”

  She ended the call without saying good-bye and fumbled with 911. Leo’s hand stilled her.

  “Stop and think,” he said quietly. “We haven’t seen anyone come or go, and there are no lights on in the house. Lock’s probably out there leaning against a tree messing with us. Believe me, he could get a PhD in that. We’ll look like idiots if the police come screaming in with lights and sirens.”

  She bit her lip, unconvinced. This feeling was so strong, like a magnet pulling her toward the house. Clicking off the overhead light, she peered into the dark evening, surprised a quaint neighborhood like this wouldn’t have lampposts.

  “I say we go check, Leo.”

  “Fine,” he said instantly. “I’m surprised it took you this long.”

  She glanced over, and he shrugged, a ghost of a smile hovering.

  “Lock never backs down from an ultimatum. We will drive back the second he sees you take one step out of this car, and hell, I’ve wanted to go home for hours.” He turned off the ignition, grabbed the keys, and popped his door open. “Let’s get this over with.”

  She slid out and stood in the crisp evening air listening for an angry, athletic stride or annoyed voice calling for them to get the hell back in the car. Besides a dog barking in the distance, the neighborhood was still and lifeless.

  “It’s too quiet.” She shivered with cold and fear. That magnetic need to get to Lock surged stronger, pulling her forward, and they limped toward the dark house. With every step, her concern grew, even though Leo knew his brother way better and was probably right about this being a practical joke. But if Lock was just goofing on them, baiting her to get out of the car, she’d kill him.

  Once they reached the house, she paused. Just for safety’s sake, should they ring the doorbell too or trespass straight into his backyard? What would Jefferson do?

  “Let’s go this way,” she whispered, and stepped clumsily in Lock’s wide footsteps on the snow-covered grass. They tramped to the backyard, and the kitchen came into view. She froze in her tracks, muffling a scream with her glove. Behind her Leo swore under his breath.

  Lock stood in the kitchen, facing a tall, bald man with a formidable muscular build. Reeves! Although she only saw him in profile, the strong thrust of his jaw and wide stance signified a fighter coiled to strike. He hadn’t looked this menacing in his Facebook profile, but then he hadn’t caught someone trespassing onto his property. Three people trespassing. She strode forward.

  “What are you doing?” Leo hissed.

  “What do you think? Your brother’s in trouble.”

  “Now let’s call the police.”

  She stared at the two men, heart pummeling in her throat. Reeves looked like a poster boy for physical mayhem. Leo and Jefferson were right about the police. She slipped her hand into her pocket and clutched the cell phone.

  But wait. “If the cops come, they’ll arrest Lock for breaking and entering. And the dispatcher’s call will alert the army of media.”
>
  “Who cares?” Leo whispered furiously. “Look at that guy!”

  She bit her lip thinking through both options. Instinct made her step forward. “Come on. We’ll think of something.”

  She made it to the back door before the men noticed them. Lock reddened in blistering fury, but that didn’t scare her. Reeves did.

  He smiled cheerfully and waved them in.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Here goes nothing,” Leo muttered at the same time Jordan whispered, “Look for something to use as a weapon.”

  She stepped into the warmth of the poorly lighted kitchen, noting Reeves’s smile had vanished like a mirage. The formidable glare made her want to turn and bolt. Can’t get information that way. She limped over on wobbly legs and stuck out a hand.

  “Jordan Sinclair. Nice to meet you.”

  He kept his arms folded across a black T-shirt one size too small, emphasizing impressive biceps. Like how a roaring grizzly standing on its hind legs was impressive. She read the large, white font in the center of his shirt: “I Shoot People.”

  She lowered her hand in shock. With a jerk of his head, he motioned to where Lock stood.

  “Join the party,” he said in a gravely rumble.

  She bit back a shudder of horrifying realization. Not calling the police was the stupidest decision of her life.

  When she shuffled over, Lock cocked a single eyebrow. “You couldn’t just sit in the car quietly, could you?”

  She ignored him and faced Reeves again. What had the two of them been doing in here all this time? She and Leo waited in that car a good five minutes before the sense of danger flooded her. Tilting her chin she said, “You’re probably wondering why we’re visiting.”

  Lock inhaled sharply. “Let me handle this,” he whispered.

  “You mean why you’re trespassing?” Reeves rasped. “It’s pretty obvious, given Pretty-Boy’s going on trial Monday and just accused me of trying to steal his girl.”

  The last two words grated Jordan in a way she didn’t want to acknowledge. Tiffany had been Lock’s girl. Get over it. But jealousy and annoyance surfaced anyway, making her careless to the danger they faced.