Page 23 of Clay

Ivy looked at him gratefully and they walked out of the precinct house and into the furnace blast of Vegas heat.

He guided her to the white SUV and put the air conditioning on high.

Ivy sat back in the seat and blew out a long breath. “Can we just sit for a minute?” she asked.

Clay got comfy in the seat. “Absolutely.”

She sat in quiet for a few moments, then turned to him. “What the hell was all that?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Dev has his suspicions and is working through them right now. We should have something to tell you later today.”

She looked at him through those clear hazel eyes as if judging his sincerity and then gave a sharp nod. “Okay, then. Home James,” she ordered with a wave of her fingers, as if he were a high-end chauffeur.

He couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on his face. Found that he didn’t really want to. She was so damned resilient. That was something he’d do well to remember.

They pulled out of the parking lot and into the flow of thickening traffic, as afternoon wound into early evening.

Despite everything that had happened today, it felt ordinary, like they were a couple heading home after a day at work. It was a feeling he was going to have to shake, for both the job and his own mental health.

Once they found Katie McAlister, he and Ivy would go their separate ways, and in the here and now, he needed to protect her. That they still didn’t know what she needed protecting from was a huge sore point for him. But he’d do his best.

The itching started at the back of his neck as they pulled off the main thoroughfare and into more retail-centric strip malls. His phone going off didn’t help his concentration. Especially when he didn’t recognize the number. He answered using the console while he consciously put his head in swivel-mode.

“Andrews,” he said as he drove around a particularly slow sedan driven by someone who looked to be at least two hundred years old.

“Clay, my boy,” the voice slurred, and Clay’s stomach dropped. Why now, of all days. Of all times. “Don’t you have a hello for dear old Dad?”

Clay slid a look toward Ivy, who was watching him avidly, curiosity etched across her features.

“Now’s not a good time,” he said, his voice clipped. The old man had been calling more lately, usually asking for money. Clay knew the sound of someone hitting rock bottom.

“Is that any way to talk to your father?” Connor asked, his voice rising, turning from slurred to just short of mean.

Clay very specifically looked at the road, at the surrounding businesses, at anything but Ivy. So when the car rocketed out of the alley and sideswiped them, he actually saw it coming. He braced, threw out an arm to stop Ivy’s body from being thrown forward, and started using the defensive driving tactics Jordan had forced them to learn.

The car, a black hunk of seventies Detroit steel, pushed them relentlessly across the lanes and into inbound traffic, the contact making a shrieking noise that pierced his eardrums. Clay gunned it, and even with the torrent of noise, in the background he could hear his old man yammering on about being grateful for him putting a roof over his head and goddamned food in his belly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he said, a mantra as he whipped the steering wheel left, slid into another alley, then punched the gas and flew.

He disconnected Connor and opened another line. “Call Dev,” he said, and the nav center dialed.

“They fucking tossed the place,” Dev began, practically snarling. “While we were with Ivy they invaded our space.”

“We’re a little busy here,” Ivy said, her voice remarkably strong.

Now Clay hazarded a glance.

She grasped the oh-shit handle above her head and was looking behind them at the vehicle giving pursuit.

“Miss Foster?” Dev asked, some of the anger leaking out of his voice.

“We were just assaulted by a 1972 Plymouth Valiant, black on black, tinted windows, good rims,” she said. “No front plate, which is totally against the law,” she said, her voice almost prim.

Clay barked out a laugh and slowed as he approached a cross street. “They sideswiped us. Good strong engine, shitty body work. Looks like something a banger would use for enforcement.” He turned right, slipping into traffic again, and watched as the Valiant followed them. “Still on our tail, but we’re on a bigger artery now, lots of people around.”

“Lose him and head to the address I’m programming into the nav,” Dev ordered, and Clay happily complied. “It’s a big box store, lots of cameras in the parking lot. I’ve got Undersheriff Jones on the other line and a squad car will meet you there.”

Clay breathed out a sigh of relief, watched as the black car faded back, and then disappeared from view. “They’re gone,” he told Dev.

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