Locke and Key (Titan Book 12)

by Cristin Harber

  Confident hands grabbed her waist and tossed her up to another set of hands that pulled her upright. Cassidy blinked, getting her bearings, not having the energy to thank anyone yet rejoicing because that was exactly what she’d needed.

  Unsteady on her feet, she let a white-camo-clad man assist her into a seat as the man who’d helped her along hoisted himself in, pulling his mask to his forehead. Locke. He’d been the one behind her. He’d picked her up. Put her in. She tried to wrap her mind around his hatred and his help—a hand came close and pressed a plastic oxygen mask on her face and—oh, that was nice. Easier to breathe.

  “Breathing better?” he asked as the helicopter lifted away.

  She took a deeper breath. And another. “Yes.”

  He sat next to her, removing his mask and hat to reveal dark hair and eyes, and pulled on a headset. “Good. I’m Jax.”

  She tilted her head, not wanting to move too much. That was far more work than she was prepared for. She eyed him belting himself in, looked around, and did the same.

  She pulled the oxygen mask away. “I’m good now, I think.”

  A moment later, after Cassidy had caught her breath and Jax cut off the oxygen flow to the mask, she closed her eyes to the rock and roll of the helicopter and prayed as they descended the mountain. All she wanted to do was go home. There was so much work to do, and it all had to do with the question of why Alex couldn’t help but lie.

  ***

  Locke had kept his eyes on Cassidy the entire time Brock piloted their chopper through the storm. The woman was fearless. Maybe tired, but fearless.

  They landed in a place where Titan had a jet fueled and waiting to take them home. In all that time, he hadn’t lost sight of Cassidy. Until now.

  The team hit the bathrooms at the private airport to change from the arctic camo to normal clothes that they’d fly in. One by one, they headed to the waiting jet.

  Locke was the last one on, taking a phone call with Parker about an old job in Chicago. Soon as Locke wrapped, he hustled to the private jet and bounded up the stairs. It wasn’t often he had flown in a Learjet, and he was ready to relax.

  The lights were dim, and everyone was conking out already. He’d be asleep as soon as he searched out a seat. Roman and Cash were already sleeping on two sets of couches, and Rocco had clearly set up shop at the table and chair, though he was nowhere to be seen. Bishop had his feet up on the seat across while talking to Alex, and Jax was passed out and had his shit all over the seat next to him. Fucking hell.

  Locke rounded a partition as Rocco came around. “Sit down and make nice.”

  His team leader’s usually even brown eyes were bloodshot and exhausted.

  Hell, they were all tired. “Roger that.”

  “Make no trouble for her.”

  Her? Locke’s eyes tracked over Rocco’s shoulder. Damn it. Last seat available was next to Cassidy. “Boss? There’s bullshit history there, and I don’t think it’s—”

  “Are you going to cause a problem?” Rocco growled, exhaustion adding grit to the question.

  Damn it. “No.”

  With a nod that might as well have been you wouldn’t dare, Rocco walked past the partition and settled into the desk and chair far away from Cassidy that Locke would’ve sold his truck to trade for.

  This was going to be awkward. But with his every muscle aching, and half the team snoring already, he planned to be lights out before Cassidy Noble said two words to him.

  Locke grabbed an army sweatshirt and stowed his go-bag in a bin nearby. The sweatshirt could be anything. A pillow. A blindfold. Another partition if he needed to block the view of his red-haired enemy.

  Without the protection of the death storm and the dark belly of the chopper, Locke couldn’t avoid the vibrant—though exhausted—sparkle of the woman he’d last seen in Iraq. Cassidy was curled in her seat with a book in her lap, toying with the pile of dark-red hair knotted on top of her head. The plane’s interior lights showed an almost hidden smattering of freckles and her blue-green eyes. There were valid reasons why she had done well as a television correspondent in the desert. Even in hellacious conditions, she could still look camera ready.

  “Joining you,” he mumbled and lumbered into the luxury seat. Aircraft confines and comfort weren’t made for men like him, and already the space seemed too intimate. Add supple leather, and this felt… too close for comfort. He’d kill Rocco for the forced seat assignment. Hell, he’d kill the whole team.

  Her slight chin upturned and long eyelashes blinked in recognition of him standing there. “I’m sorry I upset you,” she whispered.

  “Not upset.”

  “Gee.” She smirked away the whisper. “Fooled me.”

  “I would have thought your buddy Alex would sit with you.”

  “Too much time together.” She rubbed her thumb over the corner of a paperback book. “Maybe I just have that effect on men I work with overseas.”

  He frowned. “Maybe.”

  “Don’t be a jerk, Locke. I don’t see you winning awards for attitude and compassion.”

  Great. A lecture. Somehow, words of wisdom about how to behave didn’t seem appropriate coming from this woman. “Don’t care anyway.”

  “We should hash out—”

  “I’m asleep, Cassidy.”

  “I’m willing to have a conversation about it.”

  Nope. Not going to happen. Especially surrounded by his team. Stuck in a tin tube with his nightmare for hours on end? No. Locke grumbled, balled the sweatshirt into a pillow, and closed his eyes.

  “Right. I’m asleep too, Captain Avoidance. So much for talking it out. Again.”

  Talking it out. Did Cassidy want a fight on an airplane? Really? They could talk out the loss of life, maybe hold hands and chant their way to inner peace.

  The loudspeaker crackled once, and a real captain came on. “It’s a short runway and a long trip. Buckle in, and go to sleep. We’ll be wheels up before you know it.”

  How the hell was he going to sleep sitting next to…? Locke stole a glance out of the corner of his eye, and Cassidy was dead out. Her pink lips parted, and she leaned against the wall, oblivious to the world.

  Dreaming, she didn’t look like the devil or seem like someone who had enough venom in her to destroy an army unit. With her thick red hair knotted high—some pieces had fallen free, covering part of her face—he could see her allure.

  Her book slid off her lap and landed cover side up. It was not what he’d have guessed she’d pick for a leisure read. Then again, he didn’t know a thing about Cassidy Noble.

  Shadows of Truth. His eyebrow rose as he focused on the subheading: Reality’s Fight for Freedom. Scowling to himself, he mulled over her choice of reading material and the fact that she’d fought to tell him something in the snow shack from hell and even just before she fell asleep.

  Their aircraft launched into the air. She didn’t stir, only shifted, sliding her weight from one side of the seat to the other—toward him. And she slouched, piled against him, asleep and unaware, and damn his manners and the soft purr of her dreamy relaxation as she nuzzled against his shoulder, and he went ramrod straight. Paralysis had taken over, and it seemed his biceps had coaxed her into falling further into sleep. Cassidy was the cause of his tormented, sleepless nights, and he wanted to shake her awake, but he couldn’t rip his shoulder away.

  He had a reputation as a man of few words with a shoulder to lean on—interesting that the one person he hated was literally taking advantage of that shoulder, and after he had given her too many words and not listened at all.

  Locke tucked the army sweatshirt under her neck—as a barrier—and she looped her arm up and snaked around the new pillow, latching onto his forearm in the process.

  “No, no, Cassidy,” he whispered, failing to extract himself. “Don’t do… that.”

  She sighed and pouted in a deep sleep. Whoa—that was quite the face. But he wouldn’t fall for it. She’d be lethal with that pout,
those lips, and that hair if she had half an idea the effect they had. “Not cool, woman.”

  This time, he’d get out of her grip even if he woke her up. Locke held his breath and tugged his arm. His face scrunched, but finally, he was free.

  Quickly, he looked around. No one had been watching. Jesus. He shook his arm, smoothing out his shirt, and the warmth of her touch dissipated. The idea that Cassidy had been wrapped around him was absurd.

  “She’s a snake.” He’d never forget the Night of Fire and the deaths of men who were like his brothers. Locke rubbed his arm then scrubbed his face with both hands, trying to fight the confusion and the memories and maybe have a normal flight’s worth of sleep.

  She stirred, but she didn’t look evil. No horns hiding, no whiptail curled beside her. He needed to remember all women looked pleasant when they slept. The sweet, sighing lady next to him was nothing but a trap.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Two days. Two whole days had passed since Titan had returned from the Krasnaya Polyana Mountains, and all Locke had thought about was Sadr City. The entire team sat around the war room table under the intense scrutiny of Jared Westin. The heavy aroma of coffee hung in the air as Boss Man cracked his knuckles.

  With each bone popping, Locke imagined that Jared was ready to punch his face in. Even Thelma, Jared’s bulldog, gave Locke the stink eye when he walked into the meeting. Everyone knew he’d been out of line in that damn snow-covered ski-patrol shack. Even the damn dog.

  On screen, the thermal images remained paused. Overall, the post-op situational assessment was positive. But after this meeting was over, Jared was going to shred him.

  If he could have changed his initial reaction to Cassidy, yeah, he would’ve played it differently. But bonus points for sitting next to her on the plane, right? Maybe Rocco had even set that up so Locke wouldn’t get fired.

  Locke chewed the inside of his cheek. What was done was done. Dole out the punishment. Commence with the ass ripping. No one wanted a boot from Boss Man, but if it was coming, get it over with and move on. All the post-op analysis was slow torture. Locke’s attention turned back to Boss Man’s lecture on attitude problems in the field.

  “Yeah, jackass,” Jax mumbled next to him and stuck a pen in his mouth.

  Locke twisted in the chair. “Say something?”

  He smirked, shaking his head. “Nah, bro.”

  Rocco slammed his hand on the table. “Shut your faces. Both of you.”

  Jax grinned like an asshole, pen still between his teeth, as Rocco leaned back in his chair. The temperature dropped a hundred degrees in the room as Jared turned steel eyes toward Locke’s corner of the table. Even Jax buttoned down the asshole routine as Jared balled his fists and planted them on the table like two tree trunks holding up a massive attitude problem.

  Yeah. The day sucked, and it wasn’t past nine in the morning.

  “Jax,” Jared boomed, and the walls shook.

  For all Jax’s bravado, Locke could feel unease curl in the pit of his teammate’s stomach.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re on notice. I’m done with the bullshit and the attitude. I will personally remove it from your stinking face if I see it again. Do you read me?”

  “Loud and clear.”

  “And you.” Black laser eyes moved away from Jax and drilled into Locke. “Stand up.”

  Locke hit his feet. Motherfucker. This sucks.

  Across the room, Jared righted himself. They were two big guys with a table full of tough men and women between them. Venom fueled Jared’s eyes. Ripcord-tight tension flexed in his cheeks. Even the tendons in his neck acted as though they wanted to crawl out of the man’s body and strangle the life out of Locke.

  He took a deep breath. Public flogging—all right, he’d survive. Humiliation—got it, bring on the embarrassment. Cassidy had dealt with that too, in the public eye, no less. Not that he wanted to find her as an ally in this, since she was the cause of his problems.

  “Make peace with it.” Boss Man’s ass-kicking words bitch-slapped Locke across the room. “Whatever it is, find it and do it.”

  He blinked, dumbfounded. He wanted to glance around to see if he was missing the ass kicking that about to commence, but he didn’t dare move a muscle.

  “All right.” Jared turned to Rocco. “That’s it. Got anything?”

  That was it…? Locke, still standing, tried to understand if Rocco and Jared had moved on to regular business or what.

  “Nothing else.” Rocco pushed back in the rolling chair. “Oh yeah. Don’t forget dinner at Winters’s tonight. Bravo Zulu, guys and gals. Bravo Zulu.”

  Everyone stood up with job-well-done camaraderie as Locke dropped down. Make peace with it? Make peace with the Night of Fire and with Cassidy Noble? Jared didn’t have a clue.

  Jax peered down at him as the room emptied. “Dude, that motherfucker straight shaved fifteen years off my life,” he grumbled, eyeing Locke. “Apparently, yours too.”

  Locke ducked his head in his hands and leaned forward on his elbows. Shit, this morning sucked. A hand slapped his back, and he turned to see Cash walk by.

  “No one’s slapping me on the back.” Jax elbowed Cash, who threw a middle finger into the air.

  “Learn not to be a dick,” Locke muttered.

  “Really?” Jax stretched with a Cheshire cat smile on his face. “The man of few words with gravitas and bullshit all but clobbers a woman on an op, and you’re telling me not to be a dick.”

  “Shove it,” Locke muttered.

  “What?” Jax leaned back in the chair and laughed. “She give you the clap? Stole your pretty-boy heart?”

  Locke lunged and wrapped his hand around Jax’s throat, knocking over their chairs, and he pinned him to the wall. Nose to nose, both men stared, Locke’s hand still gripping his teammate’s throat. “Fuck you.”

  “Whoa, assholes.” Bishop wrapped an arm around Locke’s chest, handily separating them.

  Locke didn’t want a fight. He wasn’t there to get into it with a man who needed to be his brother. He just needed Jax to shut the fuck up.

  “You cool?” Bishop had him wedged against his chest.

  “Couldn’t be better.” Locke shouldered away, not entirely losing Bishop’s hold on him.

  “Yeah, we’re just fucking around,” Jax said, still smiling as if he needed his face punched in.

  Bishop maintained his hold up to Locke’s neck as he stepped forward, giving him a hard yank before pushing him free. “You? You good?”

  “As it gets,” Locke said flatly.

  A deep throat cleared dramatically. Locke turned. Cash was standing by the doorjamb, watching Titan’s newest teammates fall the fuck apart. He stared like a babysitter unsure about what to do with his charges. The three of them fell silent.

  “They’re fine,” Bishop said.

  “Looks like.” Cash smirked and shook his head. “Locke… look.” Titan’s sniper let seconds drift. “If you need to find some peace, you should talk to Brock. And Jax? The asshole routine is old, man.” Then he shook his shaggy blond hair and let the door slam.

  “Hell.” Bishop dropped into a chair. “I should knock your ass to the ground for that.”

  “Then do it, bro. I don’t care.” Jax tossed his middle finger again.

  Locke was ready to volunteer. That asshole was about as mature as Locke was in high school.

  “Seriously.” Bishop ignored Jax and tossed a pen at Locke. “She’s the catalyst. But”—Bishop widened his eyes—“what gives?”

  “I lost my team in Sadr City.”

  “The Sadr City attack?” Jax sobered.

  Locke lifted his eyebrows, daring him to throw a middle finger or say something fucked up when the Night of Fire was mentioned.

  “Damn, bro…” Jax mumbled, finally acting like a decent human being—and Locke saw the light dawn. “The lady, the redhead. Fuck. That’s”—he gestured—“what’s her name?”

  “She’s the report
er?” Bishop asked. “Man, people either believed her or hated her guts.”

  “Cassidy Noble. The reporter.” Locke’s molars ground before he could work his jaw loose. “Men died. She’s to blame. Can we leave it at that?”

  They were smart enough not to say anything for a minute.

  “You know, a lot has come out since then,” Bishop said.

  “A lot hasn’t,” Locke snapped. “And too much came out to begin with. Everyone fucking died because of it.”

  Bishop hummed in thought.

  Locke rubbed his knuckles into his eyes, letting tension tighten in his tendons. “It’s her fault they died. She killed them.”

  “Insurgent attacks, man. They fucking killed them,” Jax said. “If she killed anyone, she’d be in prison.”

  “She’s a traitor.” Locke threw his fists down as blood pounded in his ears.

  “Didn’t she go to prison?” Bishop asked.

  “Not for killing anyone,” Jax said.

  “She’s a traitor,” Locke repeated, growing furious that they were discussing her.

  “She’s not there anymore.” Jax’s dark eyes narrowed. “Traitors head to prison for a lifetime. You can’t call her a traitor just because some headlines screamed—”

  “The headlines fucking screamed the truth,” Locke said, remembering the news as it filtered back to Iraq. “The woman is a cold-hearted, traitorous murderer.”

  “Then why is she walking around, free to live her life and get stuck in Russia?” Jax raised his eyebrows.

  “Man, I was overseas too, and I still remember watching the reports and news.” Bishop leaned against the wall. “But it’s been a while, and I know other information trickled out—”

  Locke saw red. “You’re questioning me? On Sadr City?” Hell, he was so angry he heard red. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”