Page 8 of Clay

Just minutes before his phone pinged, Clay had been considering getting in a workout. Running was still difficult, even though two years had passed since the crash, but he’d ginned up a modified CrossFit workout as a way to keep in shape.

He and Dylan had taken competition to new levels with their workouts back in the day, and now it was a way to honor his friend and get stronger.

But the workout would have to wait until he schmoozed their client.

He took the call, diving in before she could even speak. “Miss Foster. I told you I’d be in touch.”

“I just got a phone call,” she said, and her voice was tight, unnerved. Everything in him went on high alert.

“It was a private number, and he didn’t say anything but ‘There you are,’ but it felt so…” she trailed off, as if unable to put words to what she was feeling.

“Are you home?” he asked, already moving toward the door. Dev was in the Batcave, happily hacking away.

“Yes,” she said. “I don’t even know why I called you. I guess I just needed someone to know. Needed to hear a safe voice. Katie going missing has me rattled.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Don’t open the door to anyone but me,” he said as he straddled the bike and disconnected. He didn’t stop to think about why he was so responsive to her plea,wouldn’t have cared if he did. She’d called for help. He would answer.

He slipped in an earbud and voice-dialed Devin.

“Client just got a weird call,” he said as he pulled away from HQ. “I’m on my way. Can you get a trace on it?” Dev already had Ivy’s phone number from the client file.

“Done,” Devin replied, his voice clipped. “I’ll have something by the time you get there.”

Clay cranked the throttle and flew.

~~~

Fuck, Vegas was hot. He’d thought it’d be easy to track the bitch down, follow her around for a little bit and put the fear of God into her, then put her someplace nice and safe before heading to the slots and the tables. Because it was fucking Vegas, that’s what you did in Vegas. Then they'd enjoy a nice little reunion.

But instead of enjoying a rare steak and a potato the size of a football while he stared at a dancer's tits and let Katie stew and fret and sweat, he was rousting homeless guys and gang bangers, looking for the perfect mark who wanted to make a little side cash.

Because it was time to go to Plan B, which involved her holier-than-thou best friend. The artist.

All that meant was that she couldn’t find a real fucking job.

Yeah, he’d use Ivy Foster to lead him to Katie. But before that, he was gonna make her dance to his tune just a little bit. Taunt and tease her while he enjoyed a taste of Vegas. Maybe visit one of those ranches out in the boonies.

Because once he was done messing with her, he'd turn up the heat and she'd lead him straight to Katie.

Smiling, he looked at the burner he'd brought with him. Just in case. Along with a whole host of other toys. Because even though he'd never been a Boy Scout, he was always prepared.

~~~

It took Clay half the promised time to arrive at her door, looking tough and competent and sexy as hell. And because she’d talked herself into a bit of a panic and needed human touch more than anything right now, she barreled into his arms as soon as he’d cleared the threshold.

As those strong arms closed around her after just a second of hesitation, everything in her world slid back onto its foundations.

She took a deep breath, centering herself, smelled fabric softener and the faint musk of man. His hand closed over her nape as his head dipped, his mouth next to her ear, soothing sounds cocooning her in safety. In surety.

She soaked the sensations in, of being protected when she’d been standing alone for what seemed like so very long.

And then she stepped away from him with an embarrassed little laugh. Banded her arms around her stomach and moved further into the studio. Glanced up to find him simply looking at her, his blue-eyed gaze steady.

“You okay?”

His voice, so deep and dark and sexy yesterday, was now a balm to her frayed nerves. But she could barely hear it over the soaring vocals of Donna Summer.

“Volume down,” she instructed her smart speaker. The music immediately lowered by half.

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