Chapter Five
F lyboy knew his shit, and it made Greg wonder what operational capacity he served in. He still didn’t have a name, otherwise he’d have just run it.
He stuck like glue to the bitch, so there was just no way to get to her besides to mess with her on the phone, and that was getting old. Even with a burner, it was tempting fate, and he didn’t want frustration to fuck him up.
His recon of Vegas's underworld had given him some options, and now that he’d finished setting up a nice little Easter egg for the bitch, it was time for some stress relief. Tuning up hookers always made him feel better.
~~~
For such a free spirit, Ivy drove like his Nonna Sally. His hands itched to take the wheel. But he refrained, biting the inside of his cheek as she cruised the surface streets exactly seven miles an hour below the posted speed limit.
The seventies disco music pumping out of the speakers perfectly complemented the lovingly restored pea-green AMC Gremlin.
He could see Jordan tailing them in the side mirror and knew the go-fast cop had to be cursing a blue streak. The company SUV his friend drove wasn’t her usual taste; she tended toward mean and fast and growly.
His phone vibrated. He looked down and saw Jordan’s text. “What. The. Actual. Fuck. Is she ninety?”
The poker face he donned was brutal, but there was no way in hell he was going to crush Ivy’s spirit.
Thankfully the café came into view and he and Jordan were freed from the old-people pace.
Ivy did a fifty-point parking job, tongue stuck between her teeth in concentration. By that point he was past frustration and was trying hard not to contain his howl of laughter.
Damn, but she tickled him, and he had no idea why.
The transfer with Ivy’s client went smoothly, and the customer’s reaction seemed to lift Ivy’s spirits considerably. Clay was glad to see it. While he’d realized she was worried about Katie, until right this moment he hadn’t truly realized how effervescent her personality could be.
They walked to the Gremlin, and he internally groaned at the return trip.
“Would you like me to drive?” he offered, and she shot him an arch look in response.
“Why would I want you to do that?” she asked. “It’s my car and I’m perfectly capable of driving. Aren’t I?”
He swallowed, nodded, and got into the passenger’s seat. He looked up in time to see Jordan leaving before them, so she could get in position to watch Ivy’s place. Coward.
“This is an…interesting car,” he said as she slotted the key in the ignition.
She turned to him, her eyes alight. “I know, right? It was my dad’s. He said that even though it was ugly as sin, someday it’d be worth something. I’m not sure he was right, but it’s reliable and gets decent mileage, so I kept it.” She pulled into traffic, gunning it up to a sedate twenty-eight miles an hour. And he found himself actually enjoying the looks they were getting as people zoomed around them, rather than being embarrassed.
It seemed that Ivy had absolutely zero problems in being memorable. And she excelled at it.
The relationship she’d just described with her father was the exact opposite of his own childhood, where he’d learned to shut up and keep his head down, or expose himself to the wrath of his old man.
It was always worse when he drank, which was a majority of the time after Clay’s mother Seo-yeon died from cancer before his twelfth birthday. Without his wife’s sweet, calming influence, very little could stop Connor Andrews when he was on a tear.
But Sally Andrews could. Clay’s Nonna was a force to be reckoned with, and the only thing that’d kept Connor out of jail and in the service through his retirement. But even she couldn’t stop him from being a little too free with his fists on his only child. Clay had hidden it well, convincing his grandmother he was fine. Because lying about it was the only way to keep what was left of their family together.
When he’d decided to join the Air Force at seventeen, inciting a barn burner of a fight where he’d finally had the stones to hit the old man back, Sally had been the one to sign the paperwork.
She had saved Clay in more ways than one, had changed how he viewed the world and how he interacted in it. Had shown him a maternal love he could only vaguely remember from his own mother.
But he would never shake the stigma of being an abusive alcoholic’s kid, and knew, deep in his bones that he had the same potential. He’d vowed when he’d ditched the old man to never drink, and he’d stuck with it. Just as he’d stick with his vow to remain single and stop his bloodline in its tracks. Because the Andrews men just weren't good bets.
And wasn’t that just a bunch of poor-me thinking? It was great that Ivy’s upbringing had been so diametrically opposite his, and he was happy that she had such glowing memories of her family.
They were halfway to her home when red and blue lights flashed behind them, followed by the chirp of a siren.
Ivy sighed and pulled over, lowering the volume of the stereo as she did. She reached into her purse and pulled out her license and insurance, then grabbed the registration and had the window cranked down by the time the cop walked to the window.
“Ma’am is there something wrong with your car?” he asked politely, leaning down to look at Clay in the passenger seat.
Clay looked right back. Not challenging, but not a wilting flower either.
“No, I just like to baby her,” Ivy replied with a smile, handing him her paperwork. “She was my dad’s.”
The cop grunted in response. “Can you step out of the car, ma’am?”
Clay’s head whipped up. She’d been going slow, that was all. There was no reason for her to have to exit the vehicle.
He reached for the door handle, but the cop leaned back down. “Just the young lady, sir.” His voice was ultra polite, ultra professional. “Please stay in the car. This’ll just take a moment.”
Ivy glanced at Clay uneasily, but stepped out of the car nonetheless.
Clay shot a quick text to Dev and Jordan. “Pulled over by LVMPD. No apparent reason. FYSA.”
He knew that’d bring Jordan back like a shot and that Dev would be into the LVMPD system within moments to see what was happening.
Her being pulled over and then out of the car for no real reason was setting off every alarm bell he had. It was too coincidental when they’d just started digging regarding McAlister’s disappearance.
Had Dev set off alarms within the LVMPD system? But if that was the case, they would have gone after him, not Ivy.
Could it possibly have anything to do with the calls to Ivy? But how?
The whole situation stank to high heaven.
He watched as the cop maneuvered Ivy to the back of the Gremlin, saying a few words to her. A second LVMPD car pulled behind them, and the first cop led Ivy to the back of his squad car.
Clay was out in a flash. “What the hell, man?” The second cop was getting out of his car, his hand on his weapon, his attention one hundred percent on Clay.
Ivy’s expression was strained, scared. “He says I have a warrant out for my arrest,” she said. “I swear I don’t know what he’s talking about.” Her voice was pinched.
The cop, Larson, his name badge read, cuffed her and guided her into the back seat, then turned to Clay, his backup ranging off to the right, hand still on his weapon.
Since Clay was unarmed and didn’t pick fights as a general rule, he raised his hands to shoulder height. “No threat here, just trying to figure out what’s going on.” In his pocket his cell vibrated with incoming texts.
Larson cocked his head, looked Clay up and down. “Yeah, sure," he said, and while his expression was deadpan, there was no doubt about the sarcasm. “She’s got a warrant for possession with intent to sell in South Carolina.”
What the hell? Dev had run her for warrants before they took this job, and she’d come up clean. And all signs pointed to South Carolina.
“You mind if I make a call?” Clay asked, waiting for the officer’s nod before lowering his hand to fish his cell out of this pocket. He dialed Dev just as Jordan pulled in, making a totally illegal U-turn to park in front of the Gremlin.
Officer Number Two sent her a glare, but since a warrant overruled a traffic ticket, he stayed in place and would until Larson waved him off.
Dev answered, and Clay could tell he was in the car already. “Hold a second.”
He looked at the cop again. “Where are you taking her? I want to make sure her lawyer is on site when you get there.”
That brought Larson’s head up, when he’d been merely going through the motions before.
He looked at Jordan and the decidedly cop-like way she stood. Then he squinted harder. He recognized her, even though she was plainclothes now. He took a second look at Clay and saw the military in his stance. In the still-short cut of his hair. Sighed.
“Listen man, I’m just doing my job. We’re heading to Central.”
“Ask him who the Assistant Sheriff on duty is,” Dev ordered in his ear, and Clay repeated the request.
Larson’s eyes narrowed even further, but he supplied the answer.
“Tell him we’ll be waiting for them in booking,” Dev said, and disconnected.
Clay slowly put away his phone, making sure his hands were visible. There was no reason on earth for them and LVMPD to be at odds. “The warrant is bogus,” he said. “Your Assistant Sheriff and Miss Foster’s lawyer will be waiting for you in booking. We all understand you’re doing your job, I just want to let you know the lay of the land before you get there.”
Larson closed the car door, locking Ivy in, and turned back to them. At his nod the second officer peeled off.
“I don’t know what’s going on here, but I do appreciate the heads up." He nodded at Jordan. "Moonlighting, Gonzales?"
It made sense that he’d recognized her, since LVMPD wasn't a huge department, and especially not when she was likely one of the few Hispanic females wearing plain clothes or going undercover.
Jordan shot him a tight smile. "Good to see you out here saving the world from artists who drive like they're ninety."
He rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Clay. "Assuming you’re going to be following me?” His tone had gone neutral, purely professional.
Clay nodded. “We’ll meet you there.”
He climbed gingerly into the still-running Gremlin. His knees caged the steering wheel, but he didn’t want to move Ivy’s seat setting. He followed Jordan, and one thing was for sure. He drove faster than Ivy.
~
Ivy had never been so scared in her life.
The back of the squad car was clean but still smelled faintly of weed and vomit. Par for the course in Vegas, she thought a little manically.
She had absolutely no idea what the cops were talking about. While she’d dabbled with recreational drugs when she was younger, she hadn’t been to South Carolina in years, long before Katie moved west. And she certainly hadn’t been dealing anything.
She was so very confused. But at the back of her mind there was a bit of calm. Clay was right behind them, driving her trusty Gremlin. And the white SUV she’d seen pull in was right behind him. She was pretty sure it was someone else from SMS behind the wheel, and she was so very glad they were there.
Then the squad car pulled through a gated enclosure and her two protectors were forced to park on the street.
The officer parked and opened the door, gesturing for her to exit the car. She did, her movements ungainly with her hands cuffed behind her.
He was gentle with her, and she knew part of that was the fact Clay had made him cautious with his questions. With the fact he and his friend were following, ensuring her safety.
So she straightened her back and donned as much dignity as she could as they walked through the exterior door and into Booking. The door closed behind them with an unmistakably final thunk.
The man awaiting them was imposing in his uniform with its three stars on the collar. Tall and lean, with salt-and-pepper hair and a face that appeared to be chiseled from granite. He was a recruiting poster for cops.
“Larson,” he acknowledged the patrol officer. “A word.” He jerked his head off to the side, and Ivy stood there, uncertain as to what to do.
Behind the bulletproof glass of the booking desk, the intake sergeant watched curiously.
Ivy shuffled her feet a bit, looked at one of the benches adorned with handcuffs and decided she was just fine with standing. Everything had that haze of filth that couldn’t quite be scrubbed away no matter how much disinfectant you used.
In the corner, the uniformed supervisor stepped away from Larson and approached her. “Miss Foster, I’m Undersheriff Abel Jones. I’m afraid we’re going to have to detain you a bit longer, but we’ll move to someplace a bit more comfortable,” he said, and then Larson was behind her, unhooking the cuffs.
She shook the circulation back in her hands and angrily inspected the red marks bracketing her wrists. This was all such bullshit.
“Please follow me,” he opened a door next to the booking sergeant and ushered her into a plain room with a table and chairs bolted to the floor. A camera poked out of one corner, the red winking light indicating they were being recorded.
A pair of men sat in two of the chairs, one wearing a suit she could tell was ridiculously expensive from the cut and cloth. He was lithe and looked expensive with his dark hair slicked back in what she could only describe as defense-lawyer-chic. He also looked vaguely uneasy but was covering it well. The man next to him was … something different.
He wore a similar suit, looking every bit the professional, with a high-end haircut and a slick smile.
Ivy almost shrank back at his carefully blank expression, his calculating gaze. This man was so much more dangerous than the lawyer-type. Then they were standing, and the non-scary suit extended his hand.
“Miss Foster, I’m Anthony Smith. I’ve been retained to represent you by St. Michael’s Solutions.”
That was fast, she thought, as she took his hand. The other man merely smiled at her and made no move to introduce himself. A bit of fear twisted inside her. Who the hell was this guy? Was he part of the SMS crew she hadn’t met yet?
He didn’t give off that vibe. At all.
Undersheriff Jones stood in the doorway, his arms crossed. “All right counselors, tell Dev we’re even. We’re running the specifics on the warrant right now, but don’t get your hopes up.”
Smith and the scary guy sat, gesturing toward Ivy to do the same.
She shot a look over her shoulder toward Jones, who wasn’t going anywhere. What was wrong with her when that brought a huge measure of relief? That she’d rather spend time with the cops than the men who were here to get her out of trouble?
The cell holstered at Jones’ waist chirped, indicating an incoming text. He glanced at it, one side of his mouth lifting up in a sardonic grin. “Well, my day just got made, I can tell him myself.” He turned and pushed through the door.
Ivy felt his loss immediately and looked across the table. “What’s going on?” she asked. “I don’t have any warrant in South Carolina, I haven’t been there in years.”
“We’ve got it taken care of,” Smith soothed. The other man stood and walked to the door, thumped on it. A uniformed officer opened it, and the man left without a word.
Smith let out an audible breath of relief before the door opened again and yet another man walked in. He was tall, fit, movie-star handsome, with ever-so-slightly graying hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His suit made the lawyer’s pale in comparison. He walked straight to her. “Ivy,” he said, his voice soothing, his expression open and friendly.
She felt instantly relieved.
“I’m Devin Beck. Clay will be waiting for you as soon as we get you out of here.”
Jones reappeared in the doorway.
It was a regular merry-go-round, Ivy thought inanely.
“We’re even, Beck,” he said, and Dev laughed in response, the sound immediately putting Ivy at ease.
“Just wait until you find out about her warrant. You’re going to owe me even bigger,” he grinned at Jones, and it was obvious they were friends, of a sort.
Ivy interrupted. “Listen, I don’t mean to interrupt old home week with something this trivial, but why am I here?”
Dev turned to her, his expression going serious. “You have a bogus warrant out of South Carolina for possession with the intent to sell. Heroin. Automatic felony, and usually a one-way ticket to a jail cell. But you hired SMS, and we take care of our own.”
“What makes you think it’s bogus?” Jones asked, straightening from his casual slouch in the doorframe.
“She hasn’t been to South Carolina for three years; the last time she visited her friend Katie McAlister. Who’s now missing, by the way. Ms. Foster hired us to find her.”
Jones turned to her. “Why didn’t you file a missing person’s report?”
She gave him a hard stare. “I did, three weeks ago. Your officers said she was probably holed up with a man.”
He rolled his eyes and sighed.
Ivy tossed him a bone, since he’d been very, very decent about all of this. She should have been booked already. She knew enough about law enforcement to know that. “I can’t blame them for thinking that, but it’s not like her, so I hired SMS.”
Devin turned to Smith. “Who was in here with you? The desk sergeant said he brought back two. And where is he?”
Both Smith and Jones looked surprised. “He’s gone. We thought he was one of yours. Said he was counsel.”
Dev shook his head, puzzled. “Smith is the only counsel we keep on retainer. Can you describe him for me?”
“Scary as shit,” Ivy said, and Smith nodded in agreement. “Everything about him was average, but his eyes,” she shuddered. “His eyes were like a shark’s. Dead.”
“He was here when I arrived,” Smith said. “Said he was one of yours, even handed me a card.” He pulled it out of his coat pocket and handed it over.
Dev studied the card, ran his finger over the raised font. “Tobias Davenport. Never heard of him.” He looked at Jones, who shook his head. “This is the same cardstock, same font, everything. It’s a perfect match to ours.”
“Do you think this has anything to do with Katie?” Ivy asked, now even more worried than she had been when she hired SMS. Because if Katie was mixed up with Davenport…
Devin shook his head. “I don’t think so, but if it does, then Katie McAlister is involved in something we haven’t even begun to touch yet.”
“He’ll be on camera,” Jones said, now sounding very interested. “We’ll run him, and I’ll let you know what I find.”
“Can you send me a still?” Devin asked, all easy and friendly, which didn’t seem to fool Jones for a second.
“Only if you read me in on what you find.”
Devin nodded in agreement, and Ivy had no doubt he’d find out exactly who the other man had been.
Jones disappeared down the hallway and Dev settled into the chair next to Ivy. “We’ve got your back, Ivy. Don’t worry.” His voice was so soothing she felt everything settle down.
Even placated a bit, she still felt questions bubbling inside her but held her silence. If Dev wasn’t going to be all chatty, she wasn’t either. When she got out of this, though? Oh, then there was going to be a lot of talking. Of explaining.
Jones reappeared a moment later, looking troubled. “Davenport’s gone. And you’re free to go.” He looked at Dev, grimaced. “Warrant for Ms. Foster was issued three days ago. We’re digging into who issued it, and if it’s even out of South Carolina.” He shook his head. “Feds are probably going to get involved,” he warned.
Dev shrugged. “As they should.” He stood, held out his hand to Ivy. “C’mon, Clay’s waiting for you.”
Relief washed over her. As nice as Dev seemed, she wanted Clay.
They walked into the lobby and there he was, tall and strong and solid.
She stepped straight into his arms, and everything in her world settled back onto its axis.
~~~
How the hell had she gotten out of it? It wasn’t as if a felony warrant was something you just strolled away from. Especially one for dealing heroin. But approximately thirty minutes after she’d been taken to Booking, she’d walked away with the flyboy, not a care in the world.
Surely her parents couldn’t be that connected. Or loaded. So what had happened?
Fuck it. It didn’t matter, and it made his next choice that much easier. He dialed a number on the burner and set the next piece of his plan into motion. “Do it,” he instructed, and watched as Ivy climbed into a big SUV he hadn’t seen before. Stranger and stranger. “They’re in a white SUV, heading toward Fremont. Make it count and bring me the woman.”