Page 24 of Clay

“Rendezvous with the squad car anyway,” Dev said, “And then I’m sending you to a safe house until we figure it out. Ms. Foster, please make a list of the things you need. Jordan or Cali will stop by and put together a bag and I’ll have it couriered to you.”

Ivy started to protest but stopped when Clay shot her a look. “Ivy, this wasn’t a harassing call, or a heavy breather. This was assault. When you combine it with the fake warrant, it becomes a hell of a lot bigger than we initially thought. We need to lay low until we figure out what’s going on.”

She sighed. “Okay. I’ll give Clay the list,” she promised, and then leaned back, as if deflated.

Clay hated to see it, but this situation had entered a whole different level of weird. What the hell was Katie McAlister mixed up in?

~

Ivy hated every square inch of the high-rise penthouse. Apparently, Devin Beck’s idea of a place to lay low was at the top of one of the ritziest hotels on the strip. It was extravagant, with hardwood running throughout, plush area rugs strategically placed where your feet needed the cushioning. Subtly gorgeous chandeliers that sparkled in the early evening sunlight. A balcony speared off the main area, overlooking the city and promising a stunning night-time view of the Strip.

Now, as evening pushed into twilight, the horizon had gone golden, the mountains casting long purple shadows, the lights of the city beneath beginning to twinkle like stars. The distinctive pyramid shape of the Luxor loomed to the south and across the street the Bellagio’s fountains were beginning their choreographed dance.

She hated it because she loved it. It was unattainable, much like the man walking toward her.

Clay had just completed a walk-through of the penthouse and strode toward her with a quiet competency that was as frustrating as it was comforting. Because she’d learned—already—that when he had this face on, he was all business.

Which of course she wanted, needed, right now. But she needed the safety of his arms just as much. Maybe more.

As much as she craved his touch, though, she smiled. “I just forwarded my list to your phone.”

He gave a short nod. “Place is clean. Do you want something to drink?”

She shook her head and padded across the obscenely soft area rug to the sofa. Sank into it. Took a long, deep breath.

“I hate to repeat myself, but what the hell, Clay?”

He joined her in the seating area, selecting a club chair so he could face her. “Warren is flying out to South Carolina in a few minutes. We need boots on the ground to get intel on Katie’s last few months there.”

She looked at him skeptically. “That was years ago, what could he possibly find out?”

“Warren has a way about him,” was all Clay said, and she supposed she had to take his word for it. “Your friend is into something deep.” He looked her straight in the eye. “Can you think of anything, anything at all that might explain this escalation?”

Escalation was a good word for it, she thought, and shook her head. “Nothing we haven’t already talked about. I honestly don’t get it. Katie has always been so low profile. Even as a kid she was the quiet one. Kept me out of trouble most of the time,” she said with a smile.

Clay’s lips curved in response. “I can see that,” he replied, then became serious again. “Listen, we don’t know how long we’re going to be here. Do you want to grab a nap or a shower?”

She shook her head, settled into the couch. “I’m fine.” She cocked her head. “Since we’re stuck here, I’d like to know more about SMS.”

He shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “There’s four of us, six if you count Cali and Jordan, but they're part-timers when their schedules allow since they still work. We’re all prior Air Force, or attached somehow, and in Cali’s case, still active duty. You’ll probably meet her soon. She's a trip.” A true smile lit his face and took her breath away.

It made the years fall away, the gravity, the seriousness, and showed her who Clay had been before whatever had taken thelight out of his life. It also sparked just the tiniest bit of jealousy, that she brushed away as quickly as it formed.

“So how do you become SMS?” she asked. “I doubt you put a help wanted ad in the newspaper.”

His smile faded, and she felt the loss immediately. Was sorry her question had made him lose that light.

He considered what she’d asked, then pushed out of the chair and walked into the kitchen. She wondered if he’d answer, wondered if she’d pushed too far without meaning to. She did that sometimes.

He returned, his expression still pensive, two bottles of water in his hand. “C’mon,” he said, and opened the balcony doors.

She followed, breathing in the warm air, looking out over The Strip and all its charged gaiety. Clay leaned against the iron railing, staring out into the night.

Yeah, she’d screwed up, and there was nothing she could do to make it better, so she kept her mouth shut and joined him at the railing.

“I was a loadmaster when I was active duty,” he said without looking at her. “I was really good, good enough to be put on special assignments. So was my best friend, Dylan. We were assigned a flight with sensitive cargo. Nothing really different about that for us. But the cops on board the plane were. Jordan and another Phoenix Raven. The Ravens are the pinnacle of Security Forces. So you have the best loadmasters handling one tiny little pallet of cargo and the Air Force’s best cops. We were flying through contested territory and were shot down.”

Ivy barely held back her gasp of dismay. Of horror. But she wanted him to keep talking and he seemed to be a million miles away, back there on that plane, and she didn’t want to interrupt the flow.

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