Page 40 of Clay

"He did," Dev agreed. "But we know the direction they were headed in and can extrapolate from there.”

Chastain rejoined them, a man in an impeccable black suit at his side, his dark eyes assessing not only them, but the entirecasino behind them. “This is Laurence Malone, my head of security.”

“Gentlemen,” Malone inclined his head. “If you’ll follow me.” He led them to a discreet bank of elevators identical to the set in the penthouse tower, which whisked them soundlessly up to an indeterminate floor. Dev briefed the man on what had occurred less than fifteen minutes ago, leaving Clay to nurse the rage beginning to build within.

Hamilton had touched Ivy. Had disabled her in some way. And for that, he would die.

Malone led them into a room filled with serious-looking men and women scanning a massive bank of high-definition monitors. He veered into a private office and sat at his own computer, hitting a series of keystrokes to bring it to life. A camera feed showed the bathroom doors and the entrance to the service corridor that connected the casino to the hotel next door, just like the one they’d used to travel between the two buildings.

“Fuck,” Clay said immediately. “We didn’t see him for a damned good reason. He took her back to the hotel, and probably right out the front door.” He’d seen the door during his recon, but it took a keycard to access, and he’d waved it off as secure. That had been a big fucking mistake. “Hamilton’s not an idiot. We’re either going to see him leading her off, or someone he paid.”

And then there it was, in crisp HD. It was Hamilton, now that they knew what to look for, in a snappy suit that could have been from the same tailor as Malone’s, with a casino lanyard around his neck, a discreet gold nameplate on his right breast. Identical to Malone’s. He’d disguised himself with a blond wig, a pair of wire-rimmed glasses and a make-up job that made him look both completely different and totally the same.

Malone grunted and called one of his people in. “Find out what keycard accessed the Southeastern service corridor seventeen minutes ago. Male suspect and female vic.”

The woman disappeared without a word.

“If he’d worn a uniform she would have seen right through him,” Dev mused. “But in the suit, with just enough of his face altered, and having a badge…”

Malone turned up the volume.

“Miss Foster? I was asked to get you to safety. Your companion and the police have detained Hamilton.”

She looked back over her shoulder, as if to confirm, and he reached out, clasped her elbow lightly. “Please, ma’am. I’m just following orders. Mr. Chastain has his hands full right now and wouldn’t be able to make your appointment anyway.”

His knowledge of her situation seemed to cement her decision. She nodded and they moved quickly to the end of the hallway, badging through the door.

Malone switched camera views. Clay watched as Hamilton unobtrusively took a small syringe from the inside of his suit pocket, then jabbed it into Ivy’s arm before enveloping her in a bear hug.

They were out of sight and hearing of the casino floor, so it didn’t matter that Ivy went wild in his grasp, kicking and screaming, clawing at his face, getting enough blows in that Hamilton’s face began to mottle with anger. But then the fight seemed to just run out of her, and Clay knew the drug was taking effect.

As she started to go limp in his arms, Hamilton looked directly at the camera and lifted his middle finger. They didn’t need the audio to hear his “fuck you.”

Dev laid a hand on Clay’s shoulder. “Steady, man. We’ll find her.”

Clay whirled, everything he’d been denying in his head spilling from his mouth. “How, exactly, Dev? He ditched us, and we haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since.”

Dev conceded his words with a small nod. “True, but he doesn’t want Ivy, he wants Katie.”

“Who we also can’t locate,” Clay ground out, raw emotion seeping through his words. He knew he needed to tamp it down, to go cold again, because Ivy needed him. But the wave of rage threatened to overwhelm him.

“We’ll find them both,” Dev promised, then turned to Malone.

“Andrews was right,” Malone said, gesturing toward the monitor. Hamilton was helping a drunk-appearing Ivy into a yellow cab identical to the one Clay had just sat in. “One of my people is calling the cab company now, but odds are he’s already ditched it. If he was smart enough to lift one of my staffers’ badges, he won’t stick with the same transportation.”

Dev’s phone pinged. He looked at the display. “Took long enough,” he mumbled, then looked at Clay. “Warren’s with McAlister.”

His words didn’t register for a long moment. “What? How?”

“After her call to you last night I pinged her cell. Took a bit to crack her cell provider and pinpoint the Wi-Fi server she was using her burner on, but I got it right before we came here. Sent Warren there to sit surveillance to see if she’d use the same internet café again. She did. They’re enroute to HQ right now.”

Relief washed through Clay. Finally, they had an advantage. And now they had leverage.

~

Katie McAlister looked just like her photograph. Well, almost. Because right now she was spitting mad, and every bit of that anger was directed at Warren.

They’d rallied at HQ and were sitting around the big conference table, the bank of monitors blank. They needed tobring Katie up to speed and figure out how to get Ivy back and take out Hamilton once and for all. Because the moment he’d harmed Ivy had been the moment Clay stopped caring about the man living or dying.

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