Page 18 of Clay

Next to him Ivy sucked in a breath. “No.” she shook her head. “She would have said something. Maybe not then, but when she came out here.”

Clay shrugged. “A lot of times abuse survivors don’t talk to anyone,” he said. “They run.” He paused, fought the urge to run a comforting hand down her back. Fought the urge to pull her close and soothe.

“Think about it. She calls and tells you she wants a fresh start. You rent the apartment for her, and she never takes it out of your name. And she never took her parents’ names off of the phone plan. Her father is still listed as the primary.”

Ivy looked at him in shock, but she didn’t refute anything that he’d said.

“Have you ever seen him before?” Clay asked. “Here in Vegas?”

She studied the picture, then shook her head. When she looked back at Clay, the shock was gone, and anger had taken its place.

“No, I've never seen him before. But if I do, I’m kicking him in the junk, if for no other reason than that smirk.” She pointed at a photo of Hamilton and Katie. “Jackass.”

And with that remark, Clay felt himself whip straight past professionalism and into a full-blown liking for Ivy Foster.

Chapter Five

Flyboy knew his shit, and it made Greg wonder what operational capacity he served in. He still didn’t have a name, otherwise he’d have just run it.

He stuck like glue to the bitch, so there was just no way to get to her besides to mess with her on the phone, and that was getting old. Even with a burner, it was tempting fate, and he didn’t want frustration to fuck him up.

His recon of Vegas's underworld had given him some options, and now that he’d finished setting up a nice little Easter egg for the bitch, it was time for some stress relief. Tuning up hookers always made him feel better.

~~~

For such a free spirit, Ivy drove like his Nonna Sally. His hands itched to take the wheel. But he refrained, biting the inside of his cheek as she cruised the surface streets exactly seven miles an hour below the posted speed limit.

The seventies disco music pumping out of the speakers perfectly complemented the lovingly restored pea-green AMC Gremlin.

He could see Jordan tailing them in the side mirror and knew the go-fast cop had to be cursing a blue streak. The company SUV his friend drove wasn’t her usual taste; she tended toward mean and fast and growly.

His phone vibrated. He looked down and saw Jordan’s text. “What. The. Actual. Fuck. Is she ninety?”

The poker face he donned was brutal, but there was no way in hell he was going to crush Ivy’s spirit.

Thankfully the café came into view and he and Jordan were freed from the old-people pace.

Ivy did a fifty-point parking job, tongue stuck between her teeth in concentration. By that point he was past frustration and was trying hard not to contain his howl of laughter.

Damn, but she tickled him, and he had no idea why.

The transfer with Ivy’s client went smoothly, and the customer’s reaction seemed to lift Ivy’s spirits considerably. Clay was glad to see it. While he’d realized she was worried about Katie, until right this moment he hadn’t truly realized how effervescent her personality could be.

They walked to the Gremlin, and he internally groaned at the return trip.

“Would you like me to drive?” he offered, and she shot him an arch look in response.

“Why would I want you to do that?” she asked. “It’s my car and I’m perfectly capable of driving. Aren’t I?”

He swallowed, nodded, and got into the passenger’s seat. He looked up in time to see Jordan leaving before them, so she could get in position to watch Ivy’s place. Coward.

“This is an…interesting car,” he said as she slotted the key in the ignition.

She turned to him, her eyes alight. “I know, right? It was my dad’s. He said that even though it was ugly as sin, someday it’d be worth something. I’m not sure he was right, but it’s reliableand gets decent mileage, so I kept it.” She pulled into traffic, gunning it up to a sedate twenty-eight miles an hour. And he found himself actually enjoying the looks they were getting as people zoomed around them, rather than being embarrassed.

It seemed that Ivy had absolutely zero problems in being memorable. And she excelled at it.

The relationship she’d just described with her father was the exact opposite of his own childhood, where he’d learned to shut up and keep his head down, or expose himself to the wrath of his old man.

---