Page 43 of Bitter Spirits

Isa shot Locke a wary look.

He eased back, resigned. “Go ahead and catch him up.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“Like you wouldn’t spill it all the minute I’m gone.”

A glint of humor peeked through, and her lips curved up. “Well, yeah.”

He shook his head. “Text me when you’re back here, okay?” Ignoring her rolling eyes, he turned to Des. “Angel’s jonesing for her, so don’t give him an opening.”

“I’m right here,” Isa muttered as she went through the pass to join Des. “And I can take care of myself.” She grabbed the empty mug from Des, pulled the carafe out, and started to pour. “And I told you, I’ll be busy most of the day.”

Des took the creamer from a small chiller and handed it to her. He turned to Locke as she finished doctoring her coffee. “For what it’s worth, Angel tends to avoid this place like the plague.”

“So I heard,” Locke said. “But shit went down, and I don’t trust him.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” the other man agreed. “I’ve got her covered this morning.”

“I heard.” Locke looked at Isa, who sipped her coffee. “I’ll be back after I finish up with Zev.”

“Don’t rush on my account,” she drawled.

It was all he could do not to round the pass and kiss that arrogant smirk off her face. Instead, he gave Des a nod, turned on his heel, and reluctantly left Isa behind.

Twenty minutes later, Locke was sitting at a kitchen island in a downtown condo, enjoying his own cup of joe.

Zev closed the dishwasher and then dried his hands. “Rory got Montenegro to agree to meet at Haven’s Corner in an hour.”

Rory Costas, Zev’s girlfriend, was sitting on the couch to Locke’s left, her foot braced against the low coffee table as she laced up her boot. Locke raised his cup to her.

“Thanks,” Locke said.

“Not a problem,” the dark-haired woman replied, tying off the laces then tugging down the leg of her equally dark slacks. “Though, got to say, he didn’t strike me as the underground-club type.”

“Me either,” Locke said as she wove around a couple of unpacked boxes. “I’m thinking that was more the side piece’s decision than his.”

Rory grimaced as she joined them. “Beto being a dick—that is something I can totally believe.” She set a hand on Zev’s back then reached around to grab the to-go cup he’d brought her, sliding him a telling look. “Maybe someone should tell his wife about his after-hours entertainment.”

“Could we maybe not piss off every-fucking-one in the Valley, babe?” Zev drawled.

“I don’t know. It’s been—what, a month without anyone gunning for us?” she said with a small smirk. “I’m starting to get bored.”

“Maybe we should warn Mari she’s about to put in some serious overtime,” Locke suggested.

With how often the independent Transporter got into hot water, a heads-up to Mari would make sense. Not that she would mind. She got off on all that legal stuff, which was why her main client was the Cordova Family. Until Locke met Rory, he’d never realized how dangerous transporting magical items could be. Then again, for Rory, danger was par for the course.

“I heard her thanking Rory the other day for her contribution to her shoe fund,” Zev told Locke with mock seriousness.

“She actually picked up a new pair yesterday.” Unusually enthusiastic, Rory set her mug down, took out her phone, thumbed the screen, then turned it around to share a picture. The screen showed a pair of black sky-high heels with bloodred soles and a line of silver crawling up the needle-thin stilettos.

Locke leaned in, looking closer. “Are those daggers on the heels?”

“Yep.” Rory pulled her phone back, enlarged the picture, and turned it back around. “And check out the cool-ass black lace pattern.”

Now that Rory mentioned it, he had to agree—they were definitely cool as shit. He sat back and teased, “Never thought you were the heel type.”

“I like them as much as the next woman,” she said, setting her phone down on the counter. “I just wouldn’t pay four figures for them.”