Blood & Rust (Lock & Key #4)

by Cat Porter

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’d love to see what you have. If I like anything, I could relieve you of it for a fair price. In cash. Is it your property?” Tania said, her tone light, easygoing.

  “It’s my great uncle’s. I inherited his mess last year and still haven’t done anything about it. I really want to clear the land and sell it.”

  “If you’d like, maybe I could help you get rid of a few things. Get the ball rolling. What do you think?” Tania’s face was all lit up. Sincerity, pleasure.

  Fuck, it was blinding.

  Dave and Floyd exchanged glances.

  She pointed at me. “This is one of my best clients—Rhett Childs, the country rock singer. He’s the other half of that hot new duo, Scarlett and Rhett. Huge breakaway album this year.”

  What the fuck? Where does she come up with this shit?

  She sent me a special twitch of that full mouth of hers. She was enjoying this.

  Luckily, I wasn’t wearing club colors, just a battered plain black leather jacket, new leather boots and pants, and my expensive sunglasses.

  I remained motionless under the men’s scrutiny, my leg sliding up against Tania’s under the table. My gut tightened at the contact.

  She blushed, her jaw stiffening under the polished smile she aimed at me.

  Don’t say a word, Blondie. Please, please, please, I could hear her pleading with me.

  This could be fun.

  Dave sized me up, and I remained silent. I only offered him a raised chin and a subtle lift of my eyebrows.

  Dave grinned at Tania. “Oh, yeah? Pleased to meet you.”

  Score.

  “I’m from around Rapid, originally. So is Rhett. He just bought a new house in Nashville,” Tania rambled on. “I’m helping him fill it with interesting one-of-a-kind goodies.”

  Tania, Tania, Tania.

  “I have a really good feeling about this, I have to say.” Tania doused Dave with another sexy shower of positivity.

  “That so?” Floyd pushed his cap higher on his head.

  Time to catch her pass.

  “That’s right,” I drawled, aiming a tight smile at Dave. “Tania’s all about the feeling. She has amazing instincts. I’ve learned the hard way never to doubt her. She hasn’t steered me wrong yet. I love scouting around with her on my free time between gigs.”

  I pressed my leg against hers. She didn’t budge or squirm. She glanced at me. A quick flashback of our hot little past made a reappearance in my blood, and my leg brushed against hers again.

  She aimed a dazzling grin at me, laying a hand on my arm. “Well, you’ve got great taste, too, Rhett.”

  I let out a laugh. “Thanks, babe.”

  “It’s his cash anyway. He’s the boss!” She removed her hand from my arm, leaving behind a ripple of heat.

  Dave nodded, his gaze hopping from me to Tania and back again. “Yeah, all right then.”

  “Great. After you eat, we’ll follow you over there?” Tania asked, this time flashing a sincere, warm smile.

  “Sure.”

  Dave and Floyd settled back in their chairs and returned to their own conversation.

  The lift in Tania’s shoulders was unmistakable. Her dark eyes shone, but she kept her cool.

  “You suddenly look a hell of a lot happier, or am I wrong?” I whispered.

  She pushed the brownie dish to the side. “This is my excited face.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “I hope I find something good. I could really use the boost. I’m thinking of opening up a store in Meager, and I need inventory.”

  “Are you? That’s a commitment.”

  “It is.” She met my gaze. “A good one. I have a few contacts who let me know if they hear of anyone selling off anything interesting. But most of the goodness happens when I’m out freestyling, looking on my own. Talking to people, listening. Like now.”

  “That’s what you were doing in Nebraska with Grace, and then you two stumbled on Creeper and the kid he’d kidnapped, right?”

  “The kid who turned out to be my niece, Becca. No, that time, I had gotten a lead from a friend of a friend. That pick was planned.”

  “Huh. Now, you just chatted up this stranger, and you’re going to go to his out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere property with him?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Tania!”

  “That’s how this works a lot of the time. Either I get leads from people I know, or I find them myself. You’ve got to be willing to get in there and get dirty.”

  Tania getting dirty?

  She wore fancy tight jeans and lace-up combat boots, the designer kind. Her wide-necked blouse was made of this flowy midnight-blue fabric that draped over her small tits and the curve of her waist and hips. It was casual; it was sophisticated. It was sexy as fuck.

  “You don’t mind doing that?” I asked, my voice coming out huskier than expected.

  “No, it’s fun.”

  “Fun?”

  Her dark eyes lit on fire. “It might look like a heap of trash to you, but to me, it’s a mountain of golden possibilities.”

  “Cash potential, you mean?”

  “No.” She leaned over the table, and a wave of her perfume hit me—an edge of spice rounded out with subtle sweet.

  I steadied my elbows on the table.

  “I mean, the possibility of finding something unusual,” she continued. “Something interesting, out of the ordinary. A treasure from a bygone age. It may be rusted or broken, but it gives me a buzz.”

  “A buzz?”

  “Yes, an actual buzz in my gut, my chest. You must feel that when you check out new Harleys or, better yet, really old ones, right? Especially the old ones. You imagine all the people who’ve ridden that bike and enjoyed her, all the roads she’s traveled, what she could possibly feel like under you at high speeds, how she might hug a turn or plow through the wind.”

  My chest constricted. I hadn’t thought she knew how that felt, but she had the imagination to know that I knew, that I could relate that way. Genuine enthusiasm was in every line of her features, lighting them up, making her come alive. I wanted to get her on my bike and hug a turn and plow through that wind with her right the hell now.

  “Or whatever it is you think about when you look at a good bike,” she added.

  I rubbed a hand down my chest. “You got it. It’s like that. You been on a bike lately?”

  “No.”

  “Well, we’ll have to do something about that.”

  She averted her gaze, her cheeks reddening, and a prickle sprinted through my veins. Tania being shy. Imagine that.

  “Anyway, that’s the way it is for me when I’m faced with the prospect of a pick,” she said. “When the owner opens the door and that musty, stale odor hits me square in the face.”

  I sank back in my chair. Like me and the salty sea air. Like me and the burning smell of an engine and oil and metal.

  “I get it.” I flagged the waitress with a flick of my hand. “Good thing I’m going with you.”

  “You are? Is that okay? I know that was pretty damn presumptuous of me before with the Scarlett and Rhett thing—”

  “I don’t want to take any chances of you getting assaulted or abducted again. Jesus, woman, I’m not tempting fate.”

  “Oh, give me a break.”

  “Grace would have my head, and she’d be right. I wouldn’t want to owe any explanations to that brother of yours either. I’ve got enough going on without the Flames on my back.”

  Tania’s brother was a member of the outlaw motorcycle club Flames of Hell in Nebraska. Catch was a volatile, unpredictable man.

  Huh, look who’s talking.

  The waitress ripped a piece of paper from her small pad and handed it to me. I glanced at it and gave her a twenty in return.

  “You’re not on some sort of schedule or anything?” Tania asked.

  “No. For the first time in a long while, I’m not rushing to get somewhere. I wanted to take my ti
me on the road, getting to Meager from Ohio. That’s what I’ve been doing, enjoying myself on the road, taking in this beautiful country of ours.”

  “That sounds good to me.”

  The waitress offered me the change, and I raised a hand. “Keep it, hon. Thanks.”

  “Have a good one, you two.” She took off once more.

  “Tania.” I lowered my voice, leaning over the table. “Why did you tell him I’m some rock-star client of yours?”

  Tania edged closer to me. “I recognized his type right off. Doesn’t trust a woman on her own. And if he heard that you were some rich celeb, we’d come off like a sure thing he wouldn’t dare pass up. Anyhow, you look like an under-the-radar hipster. I couldn’t resist.”

  “Terrific.” I shoved the receipt in my pocket. “I need a smoke. You want to join me outside?”

  “Sure.” Tania turned to Dave and Floyd, who were finishing up their meal. “We’ll be right outside, gentlemen. Whenever you’re ready.”

  Dave nodded his head. “Right-O.”

  She swung her bag on her shoulder. “Let’s go, Rhett.”

  I rose up from my chair, laughing. “Lead the way, Scarlett.”

  “SO, DAVE, WHAT DO WE HAVE?” I asked.

  The wood clapboard house looked more than dilapidated. Over time, it had not survived the harsh Dakota winters very well without much upkeep. The sagging house bore testimony to its weariness and age as it struggled to stand in a field of wild green and yellow grasses and dried brush.

  “The thing is, I haven’t been out here for decades,” said Dave. “My great uncle Gerhard and my aunt Astrid lived here. None of us really knew them that well. He used to work at the local bakery, and when he retired, the two of them kept to themselves out here. I just want to clear this junk out and sell the place. I’m the only relative now. Got my own ranch two towns over. Don’t got much time or inclination for all this. If you wanna go through this mess and you find something you like, I’ll give you a fair price. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds very fair, and I do appreciate it. How about me and Rhett take a look? We’ll pull whatever catches our fancy, and then we can talk prices?” I handed Butler my extra Maglite as his free hand went to my back, slid down, and settled on my waist.

  I glanced at him. Was he being protective? His face was relaxed, and he remained focused on Dave.

  “Sure,” replied Dave. “There’s the house here and a small barn out back. I’ll unlock ’em for you guys.”

  “Okay then. Rhett?”

  Butler’s lips tipped up. “Let’s do this.” He leaned in closer to me. “I’m too young to die just yet, Tania, and I’d rather not meet my maker under a collapsed roof in the middle of nowhere.”

  “You’re telling me. I’ll be quick.”

  “Famous last words.”

  Butler pushed at the crooked wooden door. I assumed there was no electricity, but luckily, a couple of good-sized windows on either side of the house filtered in sunlight.

  I immediately gravitated toward a set of buffalo horns mounted on a deteriorated slab of wood, leaning against a table.

  “This is a classic, huh?” said Butler. “You don’t see much of these around anymore, especially ones that go way back. You want me to move it to the side?”

  “Yes, please.” I scanned the room, my pulse fluttering.

  Half the walls were painted in yellows and blues and pinks—huge flowers, fruits, vines, and abstract swirling shapes. The other walls were collaged with odd architectural ornaments, sketches, and small paintings. On closer inspection, they were watercolor and oil paintings on all sorts of mediums—Only a few were on canvas. This man, Gerhard, had a need to create, and create he did, any which way he could.

  A stack of photos in an old decaying wooden crate caught my eye. Some of the photos were embellished with washes of color. And every single one was of the same subject—a woman. A woman posing topless, her almost bare body adorned with long strands of pearls, and in a few shots, what looked like a gold tiara with a large dark stone at the top, making her appear like an erotic mermaid queen or a harem girl from an exotic fairy tale. A number of photos had palm trees superimposed over the image and a variety of tropical backgrounds.

  “This must be Auntie Astrid, huh?” asked Butler behind me.

  “I think so.”

  “His own fucking pinup. Fifties porn?”

  “Yeah, but in every portrait, she has this sweet, genuine smile on her face. No lusty come-hither eyes, no pretentious or suggestive posing like the pinups of the day. There’s something so sincere about this sort of sexy, right?”

  “Just a woman in love, posing for her adoring husband.”

  My heart flipped in my chest. I turned to him and held his soft gaze. “Exactly,” I whispered.

  “You’re zinging, aren’t you?” Butler said, his warmth at my side, his hand touching my back, his breath hot against my face.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I feel like I’m intruding on them or something,” Butler said.

  “Me, too,” I murmured, skimming through the hundreds of photos. “These are vintage gelatin silver prints. Shit, they’re gorgeous.”

  Astrid had posed for her husband, and he had made her his queen. These were their fantasies, their intimacy, their tender, private world. Their unconventional delight. Gerhard had known what the hell he was doing.

  “There’s something almost naive about them but sophisticated at the same time, right?”

  I blinked at Butler. “Totally.”

  A thousand volts of yes coursed through me. An orgasmic-like surge. A mix of enchantment, enthrallment. I was transfixed, and I was experiencing it with Butler in a ramshackle, dirty old farmhouse in the hinterland of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. I was glad he was here with me; I was so grateful to share this with someone.

  “You’re good at this,” I breathed.

  A slight smile touched his lips, the blue of his eyes positively aquamarine in this light. “Going with my gut never steered me wrong. The trick is to listen to it though, right, Scarlett?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Pick what you want, and I’ll bring them out.”

  I took all the photographs and handed them to Butler.

  He stacked them and wiped the dust from his hands. “This is not your typical living room, is it?”

  I followed his gaze.

  A raised platform, slumped with age, stood against one wall. Wildly colored floral fabrics were piled in heaps on it along with a number of boxes and wood crates. Furniture filled the center of the space in front of the platform. A threadbare red chaise longue was draped in a tattered satiny chartreuse coverlet. A curvy cushioned armchair in a mustard-yellow fabric stood next to it along with a number of sofas and stools and chairs of all shapes and sizes. Small and large handmade pillows with gold and silver stitching and brightly colored scarves lay bunched on the floor. I spotted several military trumpets and ornately painted ceramic bowls. One was filled with a heap of faux jewelry, and another was filled with glass and metal Christmas ornaments.

  That beloved tingle of tension curled up my throat. My brain flashed with the possibilities. I could see Gerhard and Astrid moving about the space. I could see—

  “You okay?” Butler’s warm hand squeezed my arm, and the sensation brought me back to earth.

  “This was their theater,” I replied.

  “What do you mean?”

  I pointed to the yellow armchair. “He had her posing on this chair in one of the prints. Recognize the curve of the arms? And the backdrops?”

  “You’re right. Look, there’s that tapestry with the big pink flowers he used in one of the photographs. I’ll bet every single piece is in those photos. The bowls, the trumpets. Stage props.”

  I took out my cell phone and snapped photos of every angle of the room and the stage with close-ups of the props. A glint of brass peeked out from under the fringed bedspread, lit by my camera flash, and I leaned under the chaise a
nd drew it out. My breath caught. The crown Astrid wore in the photos. The piece of hand-cut brass was heavy in my hands. The metal was engraved with swirls, and the faux black stone in its center was still intact.

  “Jesus, you found her crown?”

  I only nodded. I couldn’t speak. The buzz inside me was overwhelming every sense, every flake of logic I possessed. Sheer clarity washed over me, vitalizing every cell in my body.

  “Here, I’ll take it.”

  I handed Butler the crown, and he took it and put it on my head.

  He studied me, a grin spreading over his lips, and my face heated. “It suits you, Scarlett. Hmm. This is exciting, huh?”

  Warmth spiked through my body. My veins sang with an indescribable sparkling sweetness I hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Under the intensity of Butler’s rapt gaze, I savored it now.

  “Yes.” I licked my lips as I carefully took off the crown and handed it back to him. “Very exciting.”

  I piled all the gelatin prints together and went over to the hand-painted ceramic bowls and the jewelry—long faux pearl necklaces and dangling beaded earrings, some of which I recognized from the photos. I sorted through the fragile glass Christmas balls in a variety of colors.

  “Take these, too. I’ll just bet he made those bowls himself.”

  “I think you’re right. Check this out.” Butler took my flashlight and pointed it to the far wall where he illuminated rows of brightly painted ceramic masks of gargoyles and clown-like faces trimmed with botanical motifs.

  “Wow.”

  I chose four, and Butler reached up and took them down for me. I stacked them on the worn cushion of the armchair.

  The strum of guitar strings in the thick silence made me look up. Butler had a guitar in his hands. His head was bent at an angle. He was listening as he plucked the strings, and they popped, snapped, and bent to his gentle will. The strains of his melody resonated in the lifeless dank space, hanging in the air.

  “‘Blackbird’?”

  His eyes flickered up at me. He’d been in a trance, listening on all kinds of levels. “Huh? Yeah.” His teeth dragged along his bottom lip, his gaze returning to the guitar.