Locke and Key (Titan Book 12)

by Cristin Harber

  Titan Two closed in on the drift-covered shack. The snow had all but blocked one side. Too much longer, and it would be buried in totality with no new air supply. Locke glanced at the white, pillowed snow. Hell, if the building was covered, forget ever finding it. Even though Parker had triangulated where the call had come from, it almost looked like a snowdrift. Too much longer, and they wouldn’t be able to help.

  “No known targets,” Roman announced.

  “Stay on guard.” Rocco signaled for them to move.

  Warily, they stepped from the tree line into the open snow and moved to the front of the ski-patrol shack and dug to make an entrance. A minute later, the door was visible.

  “Knock, knock,” Jax joked, and Rocco pushed him aside.

  Shovels sheathed, they grabbed their weapons, ready to breach the door and enter. Hopefully, the civilian would be alive. No one wanted a dead teacher. Rocco pushed the door in and cracked the light. They filed in, taking positions, and Locke saw a hump under a layer of blankets. Nothing moved.

  Damn it… dead teacher.

  They stood at the ready, waiting. Bishop and Rocco were on either side of Locke.

  Jax stomped a boot. “Wake up.”

  The blanket moved. A small twinge of relief surged in Locke’s blood—wait. The blanket moved twice. Locke’s finger caressed the trigger for whoever else might unexpectedly join them.

  “We have two people here,” Rocco reported to HQ as they all lifted their weapons, targeting the moving lumps under the blankets. “Parker, you read me?”

  Unexpected situations didn’t fly well in Parker Black’s war room. Maybe the teacher’s disrespect of a Russian family had nothing to do with a simple card game but rather with a person—a much bigger problem for Titan and the extraction.

  A couple slowly sat up. They could have been cold or sick. Who knew? But they were alive. That was what mattered—assuming they were friendly—and they huddled under blankets and coats. Locke didn’t see a risk or weapons pointed their way.

  Rocco gave the stand-down-and-help gesture, and Titan moved into action. Jax helped them onto their feet, gave the couple instant heat packs, and quickly changed out their layers for thermo-care resuscitation blankets. Locke readied for hunger and hydration, and waited for first aid requests.

  “Ma’am.” Bishop moved to the teacher’s companion, assessing. “How are you?”

  Locke stepped in to follow up on the teacher, but the flash of the unknown person—a woman, a redhead—caught his eye. A cold shiver of recognition tugged at his subconscious. He couldn’t shake the eerie feeling, but he needed to focus. The sense of déjà vu tickled his spine, and he rolled his shoulders, handing the teacher an energy bar. “Thirsty?”

  “Yes.” The teacher—Alex Gaev—nodded.

  Bishop had separated the couple. Locke tried to look out the corner of his eye, but the mask blocked his view.

  “Thanks.” Alex guzzled the liquid in the bottle and glanced at the woman.

  “Your girlfriend?” Locke questioned.

  “No, someone the school sent.” His teeth chattered as he pulled the parka’s hood farther over his head.

  “We didn’t know there were two of you.” He took the guy’s trash, shoving it into a zippered compartment.

  “Phone died.”

  Locke nodded and pulled off his facemask completely, needing a better glance at the redhead. Bishop stepped out of Locke’s line of sight, and he met the gaze of the woman’s blue-green eyes. He couldn’t see the few freckles he already knew she had, just like he couldn’t ignore how deeply her presence cut him, like a knife into his soul. All the memories came rushing back as the only woman he hated stared back at him.

  Mere feet separated them, and Locke stumbled back. God, his chest compressed like an avalanche slide had buried him alive. “No.”

  Cassidy Noble was a living memory of loss. Of memories and heartache. Of death and destruction. She reminded him of explosions and the worst that war had to offer.

  Cassidy’s blue-tinged lips fell open. “Locke?”

  The room came to a standstill.

  “You again?” Locke’s fists bunched in his gloves—until the wind howled, and he swore he could hear bombs exploding in Iraq when the black sky glowed as bright as day. Those detonations had ruined his life. Ruined so many lives. Except he blinked back to the Krasnaya Polyana reality and stared at the woman who held all the blame caused by her flagrant—

  Jax grasped his bicep. “You good, man?”

  In no way was Locke good. He recoiled, his ice-cold blood matching the temperature outside. Had they risked their lives for her? No way. He shook his head. No way could the universe screw him like this.

  “What’s going on?” Bishop approached him cautiously, as if Locke were a rabid animal, and Rocco moved closer to Cassidy.

  Locke never misspoke. He never took a misstep. He sure as hell wouldn’t spit venom at civilians they were there to rescue. But the words that fought to roll off his tongue at that moment were inhumane. His forehead pinched. His neck felt tight. He couldn’t breathe—

  “Locke.” Cassidy stretched her arm out.

  “Don’t you dare,” he snapped.

  Whiplash and shock hit Titan at once. The wind died to a whisper. Even Mother Nature wanted to hear what was happening.

  Underneath the layers of Polartec and winter camo, his chest punched to escape the snow-soaked suit. “Of all the people and places, in a situation that could kill another team…” He raged, unable to look at his enemy. His shaky breath sputtered. “You’re here?”

  Her bluish lips trembled. “I—”

  “Stand down, Locke.” Rocco stepped in front of her, a gloved hand extended like a gate that Locke should not pass. “No more.”

  That woman was everything that was wrong with his world and with how the military operated. Case in point: Rocco was protecting her!

  Her eyelashes fluttered. “If I could explain—”

  “No.” Again, Locke’s hands bunched into fists.

  “Stand down,” Rocco ordered. “Get your ass back.”

  Back? He’d moved? Locke blinked. Fuck. He had. “I’m having a conversation.”

  Jax and Bishop flanked him, eyeing one another like they readied for a takedown.

  “An aggressive one,” Rocco said, stepping closer to him in the already small shack. “With one of our extraction targets.”

  Rocco, Bishop, and Jax had boxed him in. Alex Gaev stood in the background, and fucking Cassidy Noble was to the side. Some days, the paycheck was harder to earn than others.

  “Take a breather,” Rocco said, an edge of no bullshit lining his words.

  “I’m good.” Locke lifted a shoulder burdened by years of things he should have said and couldn’t say now.

  “We’ll finish up,” Bishop quietly said.

  What the hell? He was done with their patronizing bullshit. “I said I’m good.”

  Locke brushed by Rocco—whose fist came slamming down as a barrier.

  “Do. Not. Move. Comprende?”

  Did he comprehend? Stress pulsed in his forehead, above the bridge of his nose. No. At the moment, Locke couldn’t comprehend shit, which was why he needed to work. He was so fucked-up by Cassidy that he couldn’t point out the color white while surrounded by tumbleweeds of snowdrifts. That was how wracked his brain was by the redhead hidden in a parka.

  “Got it.” Locke knocked Rocco’s wrist away—

  “Wrong move.” Rocco hauled his ass back and released him. “Try again. Do you got it, Locke?”

  His skin crawled to get off this mountain. “Christ. Yeah. I got it.”

  “Good. By the door,” Rocco ordered. “Stay your ass still.”

  Locke ground his hatred for Cassidy into his molars, flexing his fists in his gloves, and tried not to implode. He couldn’t—no, he fucking wouldn’t—be another Cassidy Noble casualty, just another of her talking points. How fast would she try to profit from this rescue? Maybe she’d stag
ed the FSB guys to further her career.

  Or she could make a meme out of it. Throw it on social media. Perhaps Washington insiders needed to hear what she had to say? Or not! Locke tried to remind himself she’d had her ass kicked straight off the high-and-mighty all the way down to fallen-and-disgraced.

  Cassidy wasn’t shit!

  But it still didn’t help him right now. He couldn’t see straight, couldn’t breathe right, couldn’t tear off the layers that kept him warm and safe but had a stranglehold on him, squeezing the life out of him. Locke spun, needing to get the hell out of the ski-patrol shack even if that meant straight into Russia’s Arctic freeze—and he slammed into Jax.

  “Brother,” Jax said.

  What the fuck? They were not brothers. They were barely buds. Working beside Jax was like walking next to a wall—if that wall was an asshole with an attitude problem. That he thought to stand up for Cassidy…

  “I’m cool,” he lied.

  “Bro, you’re not.” Jax’s dark eyes held no emotion. “I’m doing this for you. But you can’t get around me. Fuck her, whoever she is. She isn’t worth it.”

  Jax didn’t know how worth it those men’s lives had been. Locke wouldn’t touch her, but damn, he wanted to tell her… something. Anything. Everything. Whatever it would take to regain the footing he’d lost the day she destroyed his life. But what words were even adequate?

  There were none. For so long, he’d said only the right words, and only when necessary. Locke snarled. That woman talked and talked and talked some more.

  Jax knocked him in the chest. “I’ll haul your ass out of here if that’s what you need.”

  Bishop stepped behind Jax in at show of support against Locke. Fucking hell.

  Locke rolled his shoulders and tried to find the truth of it somewhere inside. “For real. I’m fine. I’m good.”

  Slowly, everyone ignored the awkward reunion and returned to their tasks. Except for Locke. The nightmares of his past paralyzed him as Titan doted on the woman who’d ruined his life. Hoorah.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Between Locke and Alex, Cassidy didn’t know which way to direct her eyes or what to pay attention to as her teeth chattered. Both men had her attention and ire. That anger went both ways. Man, did she have a way with the male species or what? She certainly knew how to create misunderstandings of epic proportions. She stared at her winter snow boots and tried not to think about the last time she had seen Locke.

  His blond hair had been clipped—and was coated with dripping blood, speckled with sand and dirt. Trickles of it seeped down his cheeks, painting rivers through the dust that collected on his cheeks.

  He didn’t cry. Others did, but not him. His whisker-covered chin never trembled. His eyes never wavered. Such a staunch beacon of strength when the chaos of the attack settled around them.

  Even years later, frozen instead of sweating, Cassidy couldn’t shake how vividly horrific the Sadr City attack had been. She ducked into her well-worn parka as though she could seal herself away from the memories, from the acrid smoke and scent of death in the Iraqi air.

  How many years had it been? Didn’t matter. Nothing would erase the devastation that came from the attack the media had dubbed the Night of Fire.

  Alex came up behind her as the rescue team regrouped. “How do you know that guy?”

  She shrugged. “Long story.”

  “He seems like your type of friend.” Alex was fishing for information. Maybe he should be an investigative reporter. Except his questioning was questionable, falling flat.

  “I don’t have a type of friend.” She twisted her mouth and then pressed her cold, chapped lips together. “And we couldn’t have seemed that friendly.”

  “Is that all I’m going to get?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  He laughed. “I finally have a chance to turn the tables. Maybe I should be more direct. Did your ex just show up?”

  “Ha, no.” But she dropped her head back and stared at the sketchy shack room. “You’re right, though. I have been asking you a lot of questions. We almost died.”

  One second, Cassidy was on a teach-abroad program, earning extra cash in Russia, and keeping up her international street cred, and the next, she and Alex were running for their lives under gunfire.

  So far, Alex’s nonanswers had been unacceptable, which she’d reminded him about since the moment she caught her breath and they realized no one had tracked them into this dinky hut. Alex’s saving grace was that he had a way off this mountain that didn’t involve them hitchhiking on snowmobiles. Good thing too, because neither one of them was prepared for the weather to turn.

  “If not an ex-boyfriend,” Alex said. “How do you know him?”

  “Will you explain the woman I saw and—”

  “No. You didn’t see that. Someone else must’ve looked like me.”

  “Right.” Bullshit. “And how did you know someone was going to shoot us? Did the woman tip you off?”

  The only thing he had told her was that men were coming with guns and they had to leave their belongings and run.

  Alex’s hazel eyes narrowed. “Explain that guy, and maybe I might remember more about the woman.”

  That guy… She turned toward Locke. He obviously blamed her for everything. Who reacted like that merely from seeing her? That hurt, but he was still hurting too. Enough that two men he worked with acted as human shields, blocking him from her.

  Maybe if Locke had a chance to say what he needed to, he wouldn’t look like a homicidal bully one second from self-destruction. She turned to the man who appeared in charge of the group. “Locke should come over here if that’s what he needs.”

  “Oh, come on.” Alex stepped to her side. “Don’t goad him.”

  Locke pivoted, glaring with enough anger that Cassidy stepped back.

  “Stand down.” The man in charge shook his head. “Locke and—” He turned to her as if asking her name.

  “Cassidy,” she said.

  “Cassidy,” he repeated. “To your corners, and stay quiet. Like fucking two-year-olds.”

  Her eyes peeled back. Well, hell. She was trying to help.

  “That’s okay with you, Cass?” Alex stepped to the side with a wave.

  She ignored Alex and stood in the corner as ordered, sneaking glances at Locke. Her head pounded, and she wanted to get away from his anger. Even if it was semi-justifiable. If he only knew the truth. If he would only listen. The stubborn jackass.

  “It’s time,” their team leader barked. “Let’s go.”

  Saved from her own thoughts by the Special Forces. How ironic. But they still had to travel back to the United States. Many more hours left with Locke.

  That was fine by her. She had a goal for this trip, and even having to be rescued and having Locke show up wouldn’t ruin it.

  When she was at home and staring in the bathroom mirror, Cassidy had promised herself that she wouldn’t see herself as the politicians and the media saw her. She didn’t have the poor judgment Locke probably thought she had, just like she wasn’t unpatriotic for refusing to give up her sources like he probably believed as well. This redhead was feisty, friendly, and fiercely committed to what she did well: the truth. The opposite of Locke Oliver.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Cassidy shivered, and their rescue team hadn’t even opened the door yet. The howling wind ridiculed them mercilessly as the group drew closer to leaving. Soon… She wriggled her toes in her boots. Soon, she would have warm clothes and hot coffee.

  “Into hell we go,” someone muttered.

  The door creaked open, and no matter how many layers Cassidy had on, she recoiled at the all-white sight awaiting them. An arctic abyss.

  The rescue team had weapons out and surrounded her and Alex. They surged and trudged into the snow. The wind knocked her sideways, and she kept her focus on the tree line. They’d said that was their goal, promising the journey would be easier in the trees, where they’d wait for a helicopter to arriv
e. In this wind…

  Each step took every muscle to work overtime. “Alex, wait.”

  He didn’t hear her or didn’t care, pushing farther ahead of her than she could keep pace with. Someone pushed her from behind, urging her to keep up and lifting her over drifting snow humps. “Thanks,” she huffed as heavy snowflakes landed on her cheeks.

  She was sweating and freezing at the same time, breathing made her lungs ache, and she needed more help than she wanted to admit to as they crouched at the base of tall, snow-covered pines.

  A helicopter ascended from the closed snow trails, rising as snow swirled faster than the wind could even blow it. The man in charge of their group motioned with his arms, and the team moved en masse. Struggling in the drifts, she faltered, tripping, and strong hands grabbed her, lifted her back on her feet, and kept her moving.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled again, exhausted and running low on energy. She hadn’t had decent sleep in days, nor food or drink except what they’d just given her. Fading fast, Cassidy’s muscles seemed too heavy, her head too light.

  The helicopter appeared from the valley. If there wasn’t the worry about angry gunmen, she might have stood in awe of it, but there was no time for that as it hovered. As it was now, adrenaline was her only motivator.

  Her tired legs throbbed. She only had to stay upright long enough to use the landing skids as a step up, then in. It sounded straightforward, but her muscles were exhausted. Her mind faded. Each breath didn’t feel strong enough, like it wasn’t getting as much as oxygen from her gasps.

  They came to a stop, and she leaned forward, gloved hands on her knees, panting as she waited for each of the men to push into the helicopter.

  “Cassidy! Eyes up!”

  She tilted her head up. God, she was dizzy. Their hands reached down, and the white world began to spin. “Oh… no.” Her eyes closed, and she tried to find her bearings, reaching for help. She blinked open as the wind changed direction and stung her cheeks. The helicopter bobbed and floated, moving side to side in the harsh wind, and a masked man hung out, reaching for her. If she could focus on getting in… if she weren’t so drained, fatigued… “I can’t—”