Locke and Key (Titan Book 12)

by Cristin Harber

  Locke checked his watch. By their estimate, they had another thirty minutes. They had to get Cassidy out of there without being recognized. Even Locke was a risk, but Cassidy would be dead.

  “Cassidy, where’s the bathroom?” Locke asked. “You have to use the bathroom.”

  “Um, back that way.” She gestured back the way she’d come from. “But we’ve never gone unescorted.”

  “I’ll stay here,” Jax said. “In case anybody comes this way. I’ll explain that you took your girl to the bathroom.”

  “Let’s go. Come on, Beauty.” Locke put his hand on her shoulder, guiding her. They moved around a corner and came face-to-face with the snarling guard begging to have his face beat in. Locke grinned. “Where’s the restroom? She has to go to the bathroom.”

  The guard glared at Cassidy as though she had broken some golden rule. God forbid sex-trafficked girls ever had to take a piss. Jesus Christ. Locke wanted to hit the guy all over again.

  “Where’s the fucking bathroom?” Locke said again.

  For all that dipshit bodyguard knew, Locke was some rich sex-trafficking business partner.

  “That way.” The asshole pointed, and they passed.

  “Come on,” Cassidy said as they threaded their way down the hall—and she abruptly stopped in front of another woman. “I had to go to the bathroom.”

  This lady. He’d seen her take Cassidy away. Locke took in the woman, who seemed anxious and unsure about what to do. Was she Ivan’s daughter?

  “Sir,” the woman said in heavily accented English. “I’m sorry. You didn’t have to escort her. It is not your job. Mine.”

  “Not a problem,” Locke said as Cassidy fell back into her role. “She has to go to the bathroom.”

  “I can take her.” The woman began to show Cassidy to the bathroom. “If you’d like to return. We will be back shortly.”

  “No.” Locke stopped them. “One second.”

  The woman paused with her hand on Cassidy’s back. “Yes?”

  But he focused on his woman. “Cass, how did you know about him?”

  “Uh…” Her expression stumbled as though she didn’t know his end goal, but he needed her to trust him. This was a risk, and he needed the information without her saying too much.

  “Cassidy?” he coaxed.

  “I’m sorry?” the woman said, bouncing a look between them.

  “About him. How did you know?” Locke stepped closer to them, dropping his voice low.

  “I overheard a call,” Cassidy whispered. “I went for a walk at night.” She pivoted to Taisia. “And heard you answer the call. His call.”

  Fuck, this was risky. Locke’s nerves were in his throat. “And does she want to see him? Could you tell by her voice?”

  “Excuse me?” The woman’s head ping-ponged between the two of them, maybe knowing what they were talking about, but not likely. There was no way she knew what was happening with Alex just down the hall. What they’d said was probably vague enough that they could get away with it, but there wasn’t question of them knowing each other outside their concocted cover story. And the fact that they weren’t who they said they were could put the woman on edge and blow their cover.

  The woman was weaponless, and concern was etched on her face as she tried to figure out the dynamic between the two of them.

  “She wants to see him, even if she told him to go home,” Cassidy said.

  The woman sucked in her breath, stumbling back a step as Locke turned toward her and leveled a stare that held all the intensity and honesty he could possibly summon. “He’s here. In the front foyer, fighting like all hell to get to you.”

  Her bottom lip trembled, but she didn’t respond.

  “You’re Taisia Mikhailov, aren’t you?” Locke beckoned Cassidy to step to him. “I can’t let Alex see her.”

  “Who are you?” Taisia gaped, all but confirming her identity.

  Locke tilted his head toward Cassidy. “It’ll trigger a chain reaction of bad shit that’ll happen to her, and I won’t let it. But he’s coming for you and your kid. Not Cassidy.”

  Taisia’s eyes brimmed with tears, and she glanced down the hall, worried and hopeful. “What’s happening?”

  “If you want to be with your man, if you want to be a family, you need my help,” Locke said.

  She trembled, her head disagreeing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do,” he said. “We’re your only way out of this hellhole with your man and your child.”

  Her bottom lip shook. “I don’t believe you.” Again, she looked over his shoulder. “Help.” But she didn’t call loud enough for anybody to hear. Her forehead wrinkled, and tears slipped free. “Who are you?”

  A commotion clattered down the hallway. “Taisia?”

  Alex’s voice echoed as Cassidy dashed to a nearby door. Tears flooded the woman’s face, sliding down her cheeks as Alex’s calls grew closer.

  “He’s not getting out of here alive. Your father won’t allow it,” Locke said. “We both know that.” He didn’t trust her enough to share about Delta, who would be there any time now… “Unless I help you. We talk to Alex, keep Cassidy hidden. You must trust me, and I have to trust you. We are trusting each other with the only things that we care about.”

  “I’m not sure…”

  “There’s a raid coming,” Locke said, throwing it all on the table. “Any minute now. Alex’s timing is awful. Cassidy’s life is in danger. And unless you want to go down as a trafficker—”

  Taisia’s jaw dropped. “I just smuggled the girls out. I couldn’t help your Cassidy. But… can you help us?”

  Locke’s chest pounded. They lost the girls? Everything that Delta was coming for? Shit! “They’re not here anymore?”

  “They are. But they aren’t. I know where they are,” she said wearily. “You can help all of them?”

  “Yes. I promise.” He nodded. “We good?”

  “Taisia,” Alex called from behind Locke, and there was no more time left in the dark hallway.

  “We are,” she said, stepping around him. “Alex! You’re here.”

  And so was Locke. Fuck.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Locke dropped his head, letting loose hair cover his forehead, but he saw through the strands. Two men trailed Alex with weapons drawn. Perfect. He had no weapons, as they were disarmed at the front door, a courtesy that he’d expected and now regretted. If they didn’t have weapons either, he could take them, but damn, he’d take a bruising. But three with guns pointed at him, no chance. Add to that the fact that Taisia Mikhailov stood next to him. Locke didn’t know if the guards cared whether she died or not.

  Alex pushed down the hall, and Locke turned, stepping toward the egress Cassidy had escaped to. Taisia could make one wrong move, say one wrong word, and he was a dead man. But he had no idea what that word or move would be. How much power did she wield? More importantly, was Ivan Mikhailov at the compound? That would be the real kicker.

  Alex slammed to a halt as Locke tucked against the wall, shadowed and unwilling to walk away from unfolding danger but needing to be able to intercept anyone who came Cassidy’s way. Perhaps Alex couldn’t see his face, or perhaps he didn’t give a shit because he was with his woman.

  “Why are you here?” She turned to the other men and shooed them in Russian.

  A movement caught his eye—another woman stood with Cassidy. What the mother hell? Was she finding others? Collecting friends? Either way, Locke unexpectedly had one more variable to account for and still no weapon.

  ***

  Alexander hadn’t noticed his fingers—or his arms or his chest—until that moment. Wiggling his fingers and taking a deep breath, he felt as though his body functioned better. The weight of the unknown was gone, and Taisia was real and in front of him. She wasn’t only a sound through a phone line. Seeing her was like a salve to every worry and problem, every one of his nightmares.

  The dark hallway brightened a
s her eyes danced, even as she tried to order away the persistent guards who could’ve killed him on the spot—but didn’t—because he had information for Ivan. Soon enough, Alexander would have his family. All it took was selling his soul and country to the FSB.

  Taisia snapped again in Russian for the guards to take their weapons and go. The back-and-forth was harsh, but she won.

  She always would. Even if she was forced to do the unthinkable for her father, she was still a Mikhailov princess, the daughter of a warlord. Her words were a command to anyone but her father.

  With Russian curses, growling, and grumbles, they holstered their weapons and pulled back. They weren’t far, and wherever Ivan was, he was no doubt on his way here.

  Alexander stepped forward, taking her hand. “Let’s go somewhere private—” The sight of another man farther down the hall stopped him in his tracks. Who was he, standing in the shadows, not a concern of the guards or Taisia? Jealousy ripped through Alex. Maybe in their years apart, she had not been alone. Despair wrapped a tangle of barbs around his heart. Not once had he ever wondered whether she had moved on. Never.

  “Who is he?” Alexander gripped Taisia’s fingers, desperate for her to answer with anything that would make the sudden ache go away.

  She swayed as though she meant to see behind her but changed her mind. “One of our clients.”

  He sucked in a deep breath. Taisia sold people for sex. He’d never forgive himself. “I need to speak with you in private. Now.”

  This time, she pivoted, looking at the man, who was broad and tall, built like the bodyguards. An uneasy feeling clapped into his mind as Taisia slowly shook her head.

  “We have to talk,” she whispered. “But the situation, it’s not what you think.”

  Was the man not a client? Maybe she’d taken a husband or had been forced to marry someone. All the negotiations with Ivan were for naught, and that bastard knew the whole time, using Alex. Sweat dampened his pits, his neck. “God dammit.”

  He still loved her. He’d never stopped.

  “Wait. No. Stop,” she whispered, taking a step back, motioning for him to come also.

  One more step might kill him. Pain seared his throat, his arms ached, and his soul felt empty. Every dream he’d had about having a family was nothing more than dust, and each step she took was just blowing it away. Taisia continued to the man in the shadows, and Alexander was consumed by hatred.

  “Come,” she said in Russian. “Alexander.”

  His throat burned with tears that he would never shed. Maybe he could at least see his daughter. He wanted to hug her, hold her, tell her who he was. If talking to her meant meeting this bastard, one more layer to get to Alyona, he could do that.

  Alexander followed her down the hall until they reached the corner, where the man in the shadows stepped forward. He had a hardened face that Alexander recognized but not from the meetings with any Mikhailov.

  “I know you.”

  But where from? His mind searched, trying to distinguish between his confusion about Taisia and jetlag…

  The rescue jet. From when they were here before and all hell broke loose. “What the fuck is going on?” He faltered back, eyes scrambling between his woman and the blond man dressed like a Russian businessman.

  Taisia reached for Alexander, but he wouldn’t take her hand. A tear slipped free. “What deal did you make with my father?” she asked.

  He shook his head, swallowing his words. This guy worked with the military. The United States government! They killed people for what Alexander did. Or almost did—or had done but not turned over. No matter. He would not admit to anything in front of that guy.

  Stubbornly, she grabbed his hand, clinging to it even as he tugged back. She wouldn’t let go. “He can help us.”

  “You’re out of your mind!” Pulling away from her killed him. “Taisia, let’s go. Leave him here. Come on. Let’s go.”

  “What does Ivan have already?” the man asked in a low voice that was so calm it stopped both him and her in their struggle.

  Alexander snapped toward the blond man. “Why? You want it back so you can get a medal and hang me? Fuck you.”

  Taisia’s head dropped as she whispered, “What did you do?”

  Alexander snatched his hand away. “You saw what happened when I finally saw you! After years of trying! This was our price.” He stormed back and paced the tiny width of the hall. “Everything has a price, Taisia. You know that. Especially for your father. And the price for my family was information. Simple.”

  “Did you give them that information?” the man asked.

  “What’s it to you, asshole?”

  He calmly shrugged. “You’re in a very interesting situation—”

  Alexander surged to the other man. “Gee, you think?”

  The man didn’t flinch. He simply continued. “Ivan will be here soon. You’re in possession of stolen US intelligence. In very short order, there will be a raid. The compound is likely already surrounded. You’re not getting out of here with your woman and child.”

  “Fucking hell.” Alexander whirled and slammed his palm against the wall, nearly falling limp.

  “I need your help,” the man continued.

  He barely picked his head up. “Oh, yeah. And how’s that?”

  “My question first. What have you turned over?”

  “Nothing. Yet.”

  “Good. And who, exactly, asked for what? In very simple, concise terms.”

  “The FSB wanted information that they could use against American politicians or to influence policy. It ranged from things that could be used for blackmail to insider information on American legislation and policy work.”

  “If you’d testify and go on record, anonymously, with intelligence officials and to Congress, then Uncle Sam would spring for new identities.”

  Alexander straightened. “Plural?”

  “I think it could be brokered,” the man said.

  He blinked, trying to understand what was being offered. He was swinging from completely paranoid to highly optimistic and back again. The guy seemed to be suggesting that he could provide all of them with new identities without clearing it with the president or some shit. He could just come up with that in a hallway meeting? “Bullshit.”

  Alex’s phone began to buzz, and he silenced it. The last thing he needed was a call. It rang again, and the roaming call wouldn’t show the phone number.

  “Maybe it’s Ivan. Answer it,” the man said. “Don’t tip your hand.”

  Who was this freak show?

  “Listen.” Alexander silenced the phone to prove a point. “You’re speaking out of your ass. I don’t know who you are. I don’t even think you can say or do anything that you just suggested—”

  “He can,” a woman said. The voice came from inside the room. “I can promise you that, Alex.”

  Cassidy Noble, dressed as a Russian slut, walked into the hall and came up behind the man. “His name is Locke, and he works for a powerful organization that probably does have the connections to do what he just said.”

  What the fuck was going on? Alexander stared at the three people in front of him. He didn’t know what to make of the situation and—his phone rang again. “Damn it.” He pulled the phone off his hip and looked at the screen. This time, the screen showed his sister’s name, and he answered it. “What?”

  “Alexander.” Tanya’s hollow voice sounded far away. “She passed away. Mama went to sleep and didn’t wake up.”

  His mother had died? His hand went to his forehead, covering his eyes, as he tried to understand everything that was happening. “What? Are you sure?”

  Not now. Damn it. They had finally had a family moment! She been proud of him, and he’d kissed her…

  “I’m so sorry. I know you were close. I was over here. Making her dinner. Are you there? Alex?”

  His mother died, and he wasn’t there. “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “She was fine, though. The happiest I’v
e ever seen her,” Tanya mumbled. “Chattering on and on about a granddaughter, then she said she wanted to take a nap.”

  Alexander’s heart shattered… but at least he gave that to his mom—a final happiness. He swallowed the painful ache in his throat. “Thanks, Tanya.”

  Turning away, he hung up the phone and pinched his eyes. He shoved the phone back in his pocket and again rubbed his eyes. He had nothing left at home. Tanya would disappear again.

  Alexander wandered away from the three people in the hall. He was alone in the world with a decision to make, somebody to trust that he’d never met before, and the potential to possibly have his family to start over with, but he had to keep going.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Locke stood next to Taisia as they watched pain consume Alex. The dark shadows of the narrow hallway matched the veil of darkness that suddenly and completely hung over him. Whatever had been said on that phone call had sliced the man’s soul.

  Taisia moved to Alex, taking his arm and lacing their fingers as he numbly walked back to Locke. “Are you okay?”

  Alex mumbled before he found his voice. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Who was that?” she asked.

  “My sister.”

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  Locke took a step back. There were so many family dealings happening with this man, and standing there felt intrusive.

  “My mama passed.”

  “Oh.” Her face fell. “I wish we had the chance to meet her.”

  The daughter hadn’t met the grandmother. Worse, the only grandparent she’d known had been Ivan Mikhailov. That was horrible. Locke hated the torment on Alex’s face and couldn’t imagine losing his mother—who he needed to call when they got stateside. What if his mother met Cassidy? His mind jumped, startled at that huge leap. Or was it that huge a leap? Cassidy was fierce, and his mom was scarily similar… At some point, growing up, he’d heard that his mom had lived through hell and come out an angel on the other side. No, Locke wouldn’t call the woman who raised him an angel—or at least, not one of those delicate, glowing, floating, ethereal types. But she could spout wisdom and knew how to bust his ass to keep him in line. Yeah, he wanted the two women he most respected to meet one another.