Savage Secrets (Titan #6) by Cristin Harber Read Free Book Online

SIX
     
    Rocco had been married for five hours, and already he didn’t know if he could pull off this job unscathed. Bombs, he could do. Faking a cover? That wasn’t his scene. He checked the alarm clock on the night stand. Five hours and twelve minutes. Married life was going slowly, even if he was hitched to Caterina.
    He’d been learning everything he could about Daniel Locke. The file and all of the lesser known details of his temporary life stared up at him. Not a ton of intel because no one knew a lot about Locke. Roc’s eyes wandered. He watched the dangerous beauty he now called his wife. If ever was there a reason to go undercover, she might be it. Still, his big hairy hesitation was his mindfuck. He tried to remember every trigger he’d ever experienced before a hallucination.
    So far he’d come up with…nothing specific. What had happened directly before he tripped his balls off?
    Watched some TV.
    Drank a couple beers.
    Nothing out of the ordinary.
    His warning signs were clear: the tingles across his skin and the electrical zaps in his brain. Those were the only warning shots that a spell was upon him. Funny, he got almost the same feeling out in the field when the enemy was just out of sight, but attack was imminent.
    Caterina had brushed his arm hopping in the taxi from her apartment to the hotel. He’d bumped against her in the hotel elevator. That had been intentional and all to make a pretty girl smile. It had worked, and that made him smile. But now, memorizing intel, his mind was numb.
    Rocco glanced at the television, trying to relax. British humor wasn’t his thing. Maybe it went over his head. Give him some Tosh.0 or Duck Dynasty any day. He laughed. Hell, if Si and Tosh ever got together, it might be one of the funniest things he’d ever see.
    “What’s so funny?” Caterina scrutinized clothes in her closet like there’d be a test later. It all looked easy enough. Shirt, skirt, shoes, who cared? But with all that shuffling and studying, it was clear she wouldn’t agree.
    “American stuff.” She didn’t seem the type of take his appreciation of Pawn Stars and Dude, You’re Screwed seriously. The hangers in the closet jangled as she slapped them back and forth, clearly having issues with the whole shirt-skirt-shoes debacle. “Where’d all that stuff come from?”
    He hadn’t checked the clothes for him but assumed he could make fast work of it. Shirt-slacks-shoes. When was the last time he’d worn slacks? Maybe never. There was a lot of personal stuff for the Locke cover. Clothes, luggage. After agreeing to newlywed status, the pieces fell quickly into place. Fancy hotel, designer duds, a bathroom counter that was covered in all kinds of girl crap.
    He sat at a small table in the suite’s bedroom. Caterina walked to the mini-fridge and pulled out a bottle of Diet Coke. “Can’t have an empty closet and…” she mouthed silently, “have it believable.”
    “Right.” He slapped the folder on Daniel Locke shut. It was the only thing in the room that proved he wasn’t who he said he was. Rocco walked to the bathroom and pulled out a zippo. A flick of the flame, and the folder with its quick burning contents went up in a fiery poof. Smoky ashes and smoldering bits floated to the base of a massive tub.
    One last look at the burnt evidence, and he started toward the door. A button down shirt and expensive-looking khaki pants hung on the wall. Not his typical wardrobe on a job, or ever. “This for me?”
    “ Si . Put it on.”
    Right…
    She waited expectantly. “Any day now.”
    Roger that. Huh, he’d be unrecognizable in this garb. A minute later, that was confirmed. All clean cut, pressed, and ready for a dog and pony show with a terrorist mad man. If the guys could see him now, he’d catch a lot of hell.
    “You got this.” He glared at the mirror, giving it his best I’m-gonna-kill-you glare just prove the whole GQ look didn’t take away his edge. Maybe he’d strap a