Chapter 6
Locke
The next night, Locke was in one of the booths lining the walls of Wonderland, watching Isa and Des work the floor.
It was Sunday, and the scene was fairly quiet.
As time ticked down to closing, patrons were settling up tabs and drifting away.
Locke was beating back his lack of sleep with another cup of coffee.
Detective Thorn had called him as he was pulling out of Wonderland’s parking lot that morning, which meant Locke had made a return trip to Leo’s apartment.
When he got there, the Arcane Criminal Response Team was already on the scene, and Leo’s body was on its way to the medical examiner’s office.
Thorn wasted no time cornering him for a tense conversation, and Locke’s vague responses meant the detective had ended up with more questions than answers.
Although Locke could emphasize with Thorn’s frustration, the detective had enough years in to know that for someone in Locke’s position, Family came first, so Thorn could only push things so far.
Thorn might not like the situation, but he understood it.
For Locke, sharing information on a possible strain of the Delphi serum set loose in the wild was not an option.
Hell, the existence of the serum wasn’t even widely known in the Arcane world, much less among the local branches of authority.
And if it got out, the delicate balance of trust between political and Family powers would be nothing but dust.
Locke manage to navigate the thin line between secrecy and transparency as the two men walked their respective sides.
He did share with Thorn that he’d been tracking Isaiah when he stumbled across Leo.
He omitted Isa’s presence, but as he’d warned Kelly, he did give her contact information to Thorn along with a heads-up that her lawyer would likely be present when the detective went to visit her.
That tiny peace offering eased some of the detective’s ruffled feathers and earned Locke a resigned sigh.
At that point, Locke decided to press his luck and ask Thorn if he’d ever heard of a place called the Den.
Thorn hadn’t, but Locke clocked the minute stiffening of one of the ACRT evidence techs, who was clearly eavesdropping.
The hyperawareness that was part and parcel of every Hound perked up.
Not wanting to spook his prey, Locke spent a few more minutes finishing his conversation with Thorn, who offered to initiate a missing persons alert on Isaiah and then took his leave.
Locke then made his way downstairs, where the emergency vehicles—including a clearly marked ACRT van—were parked. He picked a spot and waited.
Thorn left first and didn’t seem to notice Locke standing off to the side.
Shortly after, the ACRT crew came out, carrying evidence boxes.
Locke’s target trailed behind the other three crew members, a box tucked under one arm and a phone in his other hand.
His head was bent toward the screen, on which he typed awkwardly with his thumb.
He was so focused on what he was doing that he made it stupidly simple for Locke to fall into step next to him and cull him from the pack.
For a moment, Locke thought he would have to chase the guy down, but the tech didn’t bolt.
Instead, he talked. At first, he was on the verge of panic, but one of his coworkers realized he’d been waylaid and came over to join the conversation, and Locke let them both stay.
Only then did the tech calm a little. Locke read the remaining nerves as a reaction to being put on the spot rather than being guilty of anything.
It didn’t take much prodding for the kid to admit that he’d been to the Den a few years prior but not recently.
He backed Isa’s claim that even then, it had moved around, and you had to know someone who knew someone to get access.
He also reluctantly verified that it catered to an edgier crowd, but that was the extent of his usefulness.
The short conversation wasn’t much, but it did confirm Locke’s concern that the place was way sketchier than Isa had indicated.
And that worry dogged his heels all day as he and Zev chased down more empty leads on Isaiah.
The unsuccessful hunt left Locke irritated and on edge.
Either the kid was a damn ghost, or someone with skill was helping him hide. Locke was betting on the latter.
By the time he and Zev parted ways, Locke had only a couple of hours to kill.
After changing into something more appropriate for trolling the Valley’s nightlife, he hit Wonderland early and used food and coffee to erase the blur of fatigue.
He wasn’t one to ignore his instincts. He knew damn well that if he waited until nine to show up at Wonderland, he’d to find Isa long gone.
To call her independent was like calling a porcupine prickly.
Another man might be infuriated by such aggressive self-reliance, but not him.
There was something intoxicating about tangling with a woman who knew who she was and what she was worth—the way she would watch him with a cool indifference he loved to shatter or how she would make him work for her attention.
The thing was, once he had it—had her—his blood heated.
He knew himself well enough to understand that he got off on the chase and when he caught what he wanted, he tended to get bored.
But he didn’t think Isa would give him a chance to be bored.
She was an enigma wrapped in secrets and guarded by lethal thorns, but all that protection lay over something exquisitely beautiful.
When they’d first met months before, the sexual tension had been undeniably phenomenal, and while the intense reaction had initially thrown him for a loop, he was old enough to appreciate there was more to a woman than her physical attributes.
And although Isa had that dark-haired, red-lipped, pin-up-curves thing going for her, a little digging revealed that her spirit and brain were even more alluring.
Being a Hound, he had a driving curiosity that led him to delve into the three bar owners’ pasts, and he wasn’t surprised to learn there wasn’t much there, at least not publicly.
What he did know was that Cassandra was an Oracle who was estranged from her highly influential family in Vegas.
Interestingly, other than offering the occasional warning to Rory, she tended to keep her ability quiet.
He wasn’t sure why, and now that his buddy Grayson might be hooking up with her, he made a mental note to dig a little deeper.
As for Des, he’d popped up in Phoenix just before the group bought the bar, yet he somehow had a wealth of connections in the Valley.
There wasn’t much else out there on the guy, but Locke knew he was a Tracer because he recognized Des’s tattoos as those worn by a couple of ghost whisperers Locke had worked with in the past. Why a Tracer and an Oracle, both with highly coveted skills, were working at a bar was anyone’s guess.
Something to dig into later.
Then there was Isa, and unlike with the other two, there had been something to find.
She’d grown up in the Valley, and based on the short list of her run-ins with the police as a teen, it was clear her home life had been far from happy.
He hadn’t bothered with the sealed juvenile records, preferring instead to hear the story from her, but he would have bet good money her thorns had emerged during that period of her life.
They’d likely sharpened to lethal levels after she cut all contact with her family, some of whom still lived in the far-west part of Phoenix, and struck out on her own at sixteen.
The next few years, her address bounced around from California to Vegas to Colorado then up to Oregon, with a brief stint in Washington, but she always came back to Phoenix.
And all that moving ground to a halt once she tied herself to Des and Cass and Wonderland.
The trio bought the struggling bar years ago, and under their hands, it turned from a run-down pit into a jealously guarded jewel for the eclectic.
The thing was, as he sniffed around, he caught faint hints that the bar was much more than a simple gathering place.
It wasn’t anything concrete, just a whisper here and a passing statement there, but put them all together, and they formed a ghostly trail that implied the three friends were acting as community guardians.
Not like the stand-on-a-street-corner-and-keep-an-eye-out type—they were more like the ones to step in if someone was trapped in a situation with no way out.
As admirable as it was, it was also slightly reckless, but even Locke had to admit the role fit Isa to a T.
The woman was highly protective once she let you in.
Though he was still trying to figure out how to crack that code, he hadn’t missed how she played the role of older sibling to her employees.
Through the months he’d spent tangling with her, he’d been surprised at how a good sob story from someone she considered hers could sneak under her prickly armor and ignite the fiery defender.
And when that happened, if you were her intended target, you’d best watch your ass before she burned it.
But with everyone outside her tight circle, she kept her distance.
Except Locke. He might not have breached her inner circle, but he was steadily working his way in, no matter how much she hissed and raked him with her claws.
Unfortunately, after what had gone down with Leo, he was worried he’d lose what ground he had earned as she slipped deeper behind her thorny wall.
Locke was willing to spill blood to get to the heart of her—his or someone else’s. He wasn’t picky.
He shifted in his seat and took another sip of coffee as he watched Isa glide between customers and deliver drinks to three men at one of the high-top tables.
She was dressed in black, from the heeled ankle boots to the wide-leg pants paired with a halter top designed to tease, the cowled neck dipping low in the front, leaving her back bare except for a single wide band.
The gold medallion she never took off was joined by a flat gold necklace, a cluster of bracelets, and matching gold hoop earrings.
One of the men said something to her as she set their drinks in front of them.
She gave him a flirty grin, the one she used on her male customers—a cute and edgy smile that ensured good tips but in no way revealed the real woman, who was an intriguing mix of fire and ice.
And that woman was the one who kept his dick knotted up and had him fighting back an urge to stake his claim in a way no one could mistake.
Of course, if he tried to make such a stupid move, she’d eviscerate him, but he still gave it serious consideration as a round of male chuckles came from the trio’s table.
His hand tightened on his cup, but before he could do anything stupid, Isa was already sauntering back to the bar for her next order.
He blew out a breath and forced his grip to relax.
Being territorial was nothing new, but it when it came to her, the trait was growing worse. Maybe that fact should bother him.
“Need a refill?” The rumbled question came from Des, who had appeared at his table with a coffee urn in hand.
Locke nudged his cup toward him.
Des poured and, without looking up from what he was doing, said, “Need you to promise me something.”
Locke braced himself. “What?”
“Tonight, when you two hit the Den”—Des stopped pouring and met Locke’s eyes—“don’t leave her alone.”
Locke searched that intense gaze, trying to read between the lines, but darkness stared back. Tension set up shop in Locke’s shoulders and bled slowly down to the base of his spine. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
Relief filtered through Des’s shadowed eyes, and he dipped his chin. “She’s got one more table, then she’s clocking out.”
He didn’t wait for Locke’s response but turned and walked away, leaving Locke to wonder what exactly he and Isa were going to walk into.