Page 4 of Clay

Hair dark as a raven’s wing brushed against his forehead, but sat precisely where it should at his nape, right at regulation length. His mouth was the most sinful she’d ever seen and made her want things she really, really shouldn’t. Not right now, at least.

Because she wasn’t here for herself, she was here for Katie.

“Thank you for meeting me,” she said, spinning her mug in a nervous circle.

Outside, the Las Vegas heat was beginning to ramp up, promising another scorching July day, but inside the café it was cool and smelled of coffee and vanilla and whipped cream. Of comfort, of familiarity, which she desperately needed right now.

Calling the number on the card that had been passed to her by an old friend of her father’s had been a Hail Mary. She hadn’t expected much but had to try.

She’d done her due diligence, finding one or two oblique mentions of the mysterious organization that aided Air Force members in need in online forums, but nothing else. So she’d called, because she had nothing left to lose. Two days later she’d received a text requesting a meeting at her choice of location. And here they were.

“My friend Katie McAlister is missing. Has been for almost a month. The police won’t help because she’s an adult. They said she’s probably met a man and gone off with him.” She shrugged helplessly. “I can see where they’d think that. I checked her apartment, and she packed a bag, and there’s no sign of a struggle.” Now that she’d started talking the words came out in a torrent. “She’s never ghosted me before, and we’ve known each other since we were little kids. It’s not like her to disappear.”

“What’s her employer say?”

“She’s an independent contractor who works as an editor and assistant for writers. But none of her regular clients have heard from her lately.”

“What about family?”

Ivy shook her head. "Her parents passed a few years ago, that's when she moved out here from Charleston. She was an only child. I guess you could say I'm her family now."

“Social media?” The SMS operative’s words were short, clipped, and yet were exactly what the cops hadn’t asked.

“Completely silent, which also isn’t like her. I’ve DM’d her accounts in addition to texting and calling.” Katie’s silence to both Ivy and her audience was completely out of character. While her friend wasn’t an influencer, she did have quite a social media following and regularly interacted with authors and readers. The fact she’d stopped posting was ominous. “I also put a post on her pages, more of a general complaint about us not getting together enough. I can’t think of any other way to reach her.”

“When did you last hear from her?”

“Just over three weeks ago. We were supposed to meet for coffee here and she never showed up. She’d texted me that morning, reminding me to be here.” Guilt tugged at her. “Sometimes I get wrapped up in a project and lose track of time. She’s always giving me shit about it.”

“What do you do?”

She looked down at her hands, at the remnants of paint in the creases of her knuckles, the lack of polish on nails clipped short. “I’m an artist,” she replied, leaving it at that. The cops had blown her off after meeting her in her studio for their interview. Apparently, her eclectic style and work downtown looked more like tagging to them than art. Never mind that her paintings hung in several off-Strip, reputable casinos.

Rich owners liked to scoop up investment art, liked to show that they were supporting art as a whole. And if they were wrong and the artist never panned out? Well, that was a tax deduction.

Her mind leapt from subject to subject to subject as he let the silence draw out for what seemed like forever.

“What if she did find a man? When we locate her, what will that do to your friendship?”

After such curt, short questions, this was almost a soliloquy. And interesting because he’d thought to ask it. His voice was deep, as dark as his hair, and made her almost shiver inresponse. But she didn’t because she was here for business of a sort, and she couldn’t be her usual, eccentric self when it came to something this important. She had to be serious. Had to find out what had happened to Katie.

She tilted her head. “She’ll give me shit for getting in her business, then continue what she’s doing, and when she returns, we’ll go out for drinks, and she’ll tell me all about it.” Ivy’s propensity for getting into her friend’s business had been something they’d laughed about since childhood, but especially since Katie moved to Vegas two years ago.

He mulled over her words, giving her a moment to look her fill.

He’d arrived on a sexy-as-hell motorcycle that now leaned on its kickstand in front of the café. The leather jacket he’d worn when he pulled up was draped across the back of the chair in deference to the heat, and a wicked-looking matte-black helmet was tucked beneath his seat.

Long, long legs were encased in denim that looked so soft it had to be a crime, and a gray short-sleeved Henley showed off toned, tanned arms that reinforced the strong-but-not-bulky impression.

All in all, he was sex on a stick, a somewhat broody looking prime male specimen, and he made everything inside her get all tingly.

But it wasn’t just her girl parts that sat up to take notice.

It was his attitude, she decided, as she continued to force herself to analyze when usually she was all about gut feelings.

He acted like everyone in the café was only here because he allowed them to be, even though she’d been the one to select the location.

No, that was wrong, she thought, looking at him unflinchingly now. He owned the space around him, was supremely confident despite the tiny flowery teacup framed between his big, capable-looking hands.

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