“Doyouwant to talk about it?” I asked, wondering if I could gather any kind of intel while I was here. Might as well, since the whole sex thing was off the table, and the idea of returning to the murder pier in my dreams was not welcome.
“Nothing to talk about. I manage an arm of my family business. Someday—hopefully no time soon—I’ll run the whole thing. And running Maris comes with serious responsibilities.”
Calling Maris a “family business” was a massive understatement. Hell, half the ships in the Hamburg port during my mission had been Maris ships, the equipment stamped with Maris logos. His family was so wealthy, I was surprised he didn’t travel with personal security.
“Is that why you were in Amsterdam?” I pressed. “Big ruler-of-the-world meetings?”
“Not exactly.” After a brief hesitation, he added, “I was here for a chess tournament.”
Unbelievable as this statement seemed, it had the ring of truth. For a moment, I gaped at his shadow in the darkness. Then I scrambled to turn on the bedside lamp.
Locke threw an arm over his eyes with a muffled curse.
“Achess tournament? What the fuck?” I demanded with a laugh. “I’ve been around plenty of chess. No way are youa chess nerd.”
Locke pushed himself up to sit against the headboard, rubbing his eyes and glaring at me all the while. His face was adorably sleep-rumpled with a red splotch on his cheek where it must have been pressed against some part of me while we slept.
“It’s an old-world variant of chess called Paxis,” he explained. “More complicated than regular chess. And I wasn’t playing, I was watching. My grandfather’s the Paxis player in our family.”
My fingers itched to look it up online, but I resisted the urge. “Let me understand. You travel the world to cheer on your grandfather while he plays ultra-nerdy chess?” I teased.
He crossed his arms in front of his chest, and I tried not to appreciate the broad spread of his shoulders and curved muscles of his pecs. Or the masculine hair on his forearms. Or the happy trail I could now see disappearing from his belly button down into the sheets.
“Something like that, yes.” He eyed me. “Don’t tell me you don’t have a nerd hobby because I won’t believe you. Everyone has one.”
I blinked at him and blurted out the truth. “S-seashells.” I cleared my throat. “I’m on the hunt for the tiniest perfect specimen. Specifically, spiral or conch-shaped. So, like, a triton or tulip would work. I like tritons, but they’re rare. I’ve heard they’re more common in Hawaii, but I’ve never been.”
“Where have you found them so far?” he asked, looking surprised. “Rockaway Beach in Queens? I’ve heard of people searching for shells there.”
“No, South Carolina. I grew up on the coast there, I think I told you?”
Shit. HadI told him that?
After so many months as Jonas Vogel, it was hard to remember Jethro’s backstory period, let alone which bits of it Locke and I had discussed.
Fortunately, the stakes were low. I’d wager big money Locke remembered even less about Jethro than I did, and I couldn’t imagine a scenario where he’d go looking for info. He’d probably forgotten I existed until we’d run into each other.
Still, it made sense to change the subject.
“Anyway, I haven’t been to a shell beach in years,” I lied. “Tell me more about Paxis. Is there like an association of players? Is your grandfather ranked? Who puts on the tournaments? Do you play, too? Does your whole family?”
Something shifted in his demeanor. “My grandfather plays with a private group. And yes, I’m… learning. My father had no aptitude for the game while he was alive, and my sister, Celeste, has no interest in it.” He shook his head, faintly amused. “Which left me to take it on.”
That was an odd way of talking about a hobby. As if playing chess were somehow a heavy responsibility he carried. Maybe the family’s reputation in Paxis circles was an important part of his legacy.
But a new, slightly horrifying thought occurred to me. “Is your grandfather here now?”Is he likely to show up and wonder why I’m in your bed?
Locke shook his head. “He flew to his house in Italy for a break. I have to return to the city for work. Running the world doesn’t justhappen, you know.”
I laughed. Beyond the golden circle of light from the lamp, the room was dark and still, making it feel like the two of us were suspended in a bubble. Maybe that was why Locke was answering my questions honestly. Maybe that was why I wanted to reciprocate.
“My dads are into a cutthroat card game called Egyptian Ratscrew,” I blurted. “Have you heard of it?”
Locke’s frown intensified like he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.
“I know, I know, weird name, but you might like it. It’s really fun and intense. It involves a lot of slapping and yelling. At least, my family’s variation does.” I held out my hand and pointed to a needle-thin scar on my pinkie. “This is from my sister’s pointy-nail era. Siblings are vicious.”
We talked for a little while longer. I explained how the card game worked and regaled him with a few stories of epic games over the years, congratulating myself that I was aware enough not to share any specific identifying details he could use to find my real identity.
