Page 78 of Parting Shot

“Duncan what?”

“Who’s asking?” I requested of the handsome younger man.

He was pretty, all delicate and perfectly styled. The hair, the tan, his manicure, the makeup—it all said boy toy to me.

“Clay Wells,” he answered me.

Bingo.

I offered him my hand. “Duncan Ross.”

His smile was bright as he took my hand, but not to shake. Instead, he curled his fingers into mine to lead me away. “I’m Kian.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“And you, Duncan,” he said, stopping to wrap both his arms around my one. “Tell me what you’re doing here.”

I cleared my throat. “I was actually hoping to see Mr. Wells. I wanted to talk to him about something.”

His grin was wicked. “I’m sure you did.”

Clay Wells was sitting in a different room, at a table where it was obvious Kian belonged on his right. When we walked up, the man, who I had only seen in pictures up to that point, tipped his head and smiled at me.

“Welcome, Mr. …” He glanced at Kian.

“Ross,” he supplied, unwinding his left arm from mine and sliding his hand up under the back of my shirt. He was probably checking for a wire, but his search was thorough, his fingers dipping into the groove of my spine.

“Mr. Ross,” Clay Wells addressed me, getting up and coming around the table. “Would you like to take a walk with me?”

“I would.”

He snapped his fingers at Kian, and he was instantly off me and returning to his seat.

“Wow,” I said, falling into step with Wells, walking out toward the patio. “He’s certainly well trained.”

“Yes, he is, and if you’d like a demonstration of his talents …” He trailed off salaciously. “Do please let me know.”

“Not right now, but I’ll keep it in mind.” I winced. “That’s my whole problem.”

“Tell me.”

It was just the two of us outside by the railing with the blazing bright Vegas Strip below us. Funny, but under different circumstances, I would have found Clay Wells alluring.

He was a little shorter than my own six-four, built solidly with wide shoulders and a narrow waist. Unlike me, he was not bulked with muscle, more like Aaron, with a swimmer’s build. His hair was a warm chestnut brown, cut short, and his eyes were a lovely shade of hazel under thick lashes and brows. He was handsome in that sort of classic way, where he could easily be a pilot or a doctor or a newscaster. It still surprised me when I met career criminals, because so many of them didn’t look like you ever thought they would in a million years. Mr. Wells definitely would have flown far under my radar.

I turned to face him. “Let me get right to it.”

“I wish you would.”

“You don’t know me, but I know you.”

“How?”

“Evan Polley was my boyfriend’s brother’s friend.”

“That’s a lot of people in there.”

I shook my head. “Not really. I knew Evan through Max Sutter, and Max Sutter is⁠—”