The Good Girl's Guide to Bad Men (12 page)

I listened patiently as she recounted the events of her night between choked-up sobs. And then, before I could even fully digest what she was saying, I was on my feet, scouring the room for my shoes and the hooded sweatshirt I had worn on the plane the night before. I grabbed my purse and began throwing random contents into it, ignoring Jamie's inquisitive looks.

Right now, there was only one thing on my mind: getting the hell out of this hotel room.

"Don't worry," I said to Shawna before hanging up. "I'm on my way."

There were no direct flights from Cabo San Lucas to Las Vegas, and the last flight that got me even remotely close left hours ago. But I called Hadley from the cab on the way to the airport, and she managed to find a charter jet that could get me there in less than three hours. So I charged the $10,694 one-way fare to my corporate American Express card and directed the cab to the private terminal.

I was wearing a faded yellow hooded sweatshirt from the Gap over my black-and-white-striped M Missoni rope halter minidress and red Jimmy Choo sandals. It wasn't exactly the ensemble I'd always pictured myself wearing on my first flight on a private jet, but appearances were the last thing on my mind right now.

The cab dropped me off in the middle of the tarmac and I was met by a young Hispanic man with a clipboard, who confirmed my identity and welcomed me onboard the beautiful Learjet that was idling nearby.

I stepped onto the plane and seated myself in one of the plush leather chairs, buckling my seat belt with shaking hands. My wine buzz had already worn off but my nerves were still raging.

As soon as the plane took off, my thoughts fluttered back to Jamie. After I'd hung up the phone, he'd followed me around the room like a scared puppy. "What's the matter? Where are you going? What happened?"

But my brain wasn't functioning properly, and I couldn't process his questions and figure out how I was going to get to Las Vegas tonight at the same time.

Finally, his frustration got the better of him and he yelled, "Will you slow down for one second and tell me what the fuck is going on?"

I took a deep breath and faced him. "Shawna's in jail."

His eyes squinted in confusion. "What do you mean, 'in jail'?"

I threw up my hands in the air and continued searching for my missing second shoe. "I mean in jail. She got arrested for prostitution."

"What?!" Jamie spat out.

"Not for
real
prostitution. Somehow one of the guys from the bachelor party figured out who she was and what she was really doing there and told the club's security that she was soliciting sex. She's completely freaked out right now, and I have to go bail her out."

Jamie immediately sprang into action as well, throwing his dinner jacket back on and reaching for his shoes. "I'm coming with you."

But I placed my hand on his chest and gently pushed him back down onto the bed. "No, you're not. That's really sweet of you to offer, but this is a
work
-related problem. And you know I never mix work with my personal life."

Jamie's eyes pleaded with me. "So you're gonna fly to Las Vegas at this time of night all by yourself."

I ducked down and finally located the other shoe under the bed and began to slide it onto my foot. "Relax. I've been to Vegas plenty of times on my own. I met
you
on a flight back from there, remember?"

His shoulders slouched. "No, I know, it's just that—"

I hurriedly kissed him on top of the head as I slung my bag over my shoulder. "I don't have time to talk about this. I'll see you back in L.A. tomorrow. I'm really sorry to cut our weekend short. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

And with that, I was out the door.

I felt guilty about leaving him there alone. But I knew I had no other choice.

The pilot informed me that the flying time to Vegas was a short two hours and fifteen minutes, but I had to check my watch repeatedly for confirmation because to me, it felt like an eternity.

When we landed, I jumped into the first available taxi and arrived at the Clark County Detention Center in downtown Las Vegas at two in the morning local time. I hadn't slept a wink on the plane, but I was still wide awake, completely hyped up on that same dose of adrenaline I got from Shawna's phone call four hours ago. Evidently, it was stronger than a double shot of espresso. And lasted twice as long.

"Shawna Miller," I breathed heavily to the guard at the front desk. "I'm here to bail out Shawna Miller. She was brought in a few hours ago for"—I shuddered—"for suspected prostitution."

The heavyset uniformed man who sat at the guard station looked up from his ten-inch TV screen long enough to peer at me from behind his smudged horn-rimmed glasses and say in an impassive voice, "No bail posts after midnight."

Sheer panic rocketed through my body as my knees wobbled and I grabbed on to the edge of the counter for support. "No!" I pleaded. "I need to get her out of here tonight. There must be something you can do!" I urged him.

But he continued to stare at the TV screen, which I now noticed was playing a rerun of
The Golden Girls.

"You mean she has to spend the
night
in here?" I realized in horror.

His eyes remained glued to the screen as his hand shot out and pointed to a blue plastic sign that sat on the counter. The faded white letters etched into the surface read,
NO BAIL AFTER MIDNIGHT.

"You can't be serious! She did nothing wrong. It was all a huge mistake."

But he didn't respond. He simply shot me a look that I interpreted as, "Save your breath."

"Well, what time does the bail window open tomorrow?"

"Nine
A.M.
"

I sighed heavily and leaned into the counter. I had just left my fiancé in a hotel in Mexico, paid ten thousand dollars for a private jet and traveled across international borders in the middle of the night, and it was all for nothing? She still had to spend the night in jail? I could feel the frustration bubbling up inside me, but I fought to keep it under control. Something told me this guy wasn't the kind of person you wanted to get into a fight with. Or I'd probably be spending the night in that cell with her.

"Well, can I at least talk to her?" I fought back helplessly. "To tell her that I'm here?"

"Sign in," he replied mechanically, nodding toward the clipboard in front of me.

I eyed the paper clipped to the board and scribbled my real name on the next available line. I set the pen down with an obstinate thump. If unnecessarily loud movements were the most I could do to protest this inane system, then I was going to make the most of it.

The guard glanced at my signature and then turned his attention back to the TV. I stomped my foot impatiently against the hard, cold floor. "Well?"

He didn't move. I craned my neck over the counter to catch another glimpse of the show he had clearly deemed to be more important than my request. Blanche was saying something about seducing one of the new neighbors. The live studio audience laughed, as did the overweight security guard. Although it sounded more like an amused grunt.

I rolled my eyes. I couldn't believe my poor, innocent employee was locked up in a cell, wondering if I was ever going to show up, while this guy was watching four old women talk about their sex lives.

Finally, a short jingle played over the picture—indicating the end of the act—and a commercial break commenced. Only then did Mr. Personality pick up his fat ass off his seat and lead me toward a locked door behind his desk. He swiped a plastic card with a magnetic strip through the lock, and the door opened. Then he held it open for me and muttered, "Last cell on the left. You have five minutes."

He stood just inside the doorway and watched me carefully as I started down the long hallway. As if he were making sure I didn't slip someone a crowbar or something. As I walked, I was careful not to touch anything or make eye contact with the diverse assortment of individuals that occupied the overnight holding cells of the Clark County detention center on a Saturday night. When I finally reached the last cell on the left, I saw Shawna sitting alone on a bench, her head buried in her hands. She was scantily dressed in a purple bikini top with seashells covering her breasts and a shimmering green sequined skirt that hugged her hips and flared at the bottom. Her stomach and shoulders were completely bare.

It took me a minute to remember that tonight's assignment took place at a Halloween party. A Halloween party gone very, very bad. And now Shawna was nothing more than a desolate mermaid, sitting alone in a cold, dirty jail cell far, far away from her home by the sea.

Upon sensing my presence, she lifted her head and her face brightened immediately. She jumped up and rushed toward me, stopping just short of the rusted metal bars. "Oh, Ashlyn! Thank God you're here. This place is so disgusting."

I glanced around and nodded. "Yes, it is." Then I reached through the bars to touch her shoulder. It was then that I noticed I was still wearing my engagement ring. I jumped slightly at the sight of it and quickly recoiled my hand, hiding it rather conspicuously behind my back as I managed to wiggle the ring off with my thumb and drop it inside my bag.

Shawna, thankfully, didn't seem to notice. "Is it over now? Can I go?"

My heart broke as I looked into her big blue eyes and shook my head sadly. "I'm sorry, Shawna. I did everything I could to get here as quickly as possible, but the bail window closes at midnight and the guard won't make any exceptions."

Her whole body seemed to crumple, and she staggered back to the wooden bench and fell onto it. "You mean I have to
sleep
in here?"

I sighed painfully. "I'm afraid so. But I promise I'll be back first thing in the morning to bail you out."

Her head returned to her hands, and she sat like that for a few moments in complete silence. There was nothing I could think to say that would possibly comfort her right now, so I just said, "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

She picked up her head again and shrugged. "One of his friends somehow caught on to what I was doing there, and he got . . . upset."

I eyed her surroundings and nodded. "How did he find out? Did something slip out?"

She shook her head and fought back another influx of tears. "No. I didn't say anything, I swear. I have no idea how my cover was blown. One minute I was dancing with the bachelor, and the next minute one of his friends was yelling at me. Saying he knew exactly who I was and what I was doing there. Then he told me I would be sorry. I thought he was going to clobber me or something. I thought I would have to break out my kung fu in this ridiculous costume."

I smiled weakly at her attempt at humor.

"But before I even had time to react, some security guard was leading me out of the club by my elbow, mumbling something about soliciting sex to those guys and how he better not see me in his club again. It all happened so fast. It was a total blur. It wasn't until the cops were putting me in the squad car that they told me I was being arrested for prostitution." She sighed and ran her fingers through her teased blond hair. "I couldn't even fathom the words coming out of his mouth. I couldn't even argue. I was too speechless. I don't even know how this could happen. How can you arrest a person based solely on somebody else's word?"

I shook my head. These were exactly the kinds of questions I had asked myself the entire flight here. And I, too, was at a loss. I was hoping Shawna would be able to provide more insight. But apparently she was just as confused as I was.

"Obviously there's been some kind of misunderstanding," I assured her. "But don't worry, we'll get it all sorted out in the morning."

She squeezed her eyes shut, and I could tell she was searching for her last ounce of inner strength. Something she could use to get her through the rest of the night. When she opened them again, the small, childlike voice had returned. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

I forced out a laugh. "You have no reason to be sorry. This was
not
your fault."

"No," she replied. "I mean about Benjamin Connors."

I knew the name sounded familiar, but my mind was coming up blank. "Who?"

She shot me a strange look. "My second assignment tonight."

I blinked a few times, and all the memories came flooding back. Since the moment I'd picked up the phone four hours ago, everything else in the world seemed to have become a big, messy, indiscernible blur in the back of my mind. I had completely forgotten that right now, Shawna was supposed to be six miles away getting a blackjack lesson from Benjamin Connors. And because of this little incident, he was now playing blackjack alone.

"It's fine," I said, trying to mask my concern with a fake air of confidence. "Don't worry about that."

But the truth was, I couldn't help but be worried about it. In the three years that I'd been in the fidelity inspection business, no assignment had ever been abandoned. Everyone who was scheduled to be tested
was
tested. Every fidelity inspection that was bought and paid for was conducted. But I supposed there was a first time for everything.

"I'm sure we can reschedule," I said brightly, hoping my voice would ease her concern.

But Shawna just stared back at me from across the rusty bars. "No, we can't," she replied adamantly. "He and his wife are meeting the birth mother of their adopted baby next week, remember? The file said she wanted to make sure he really was faithful before she brought a child into the marriage. Does any of this ring a bell?"

I nodded absently. It did ring a bell. In fact, it rang far too many bells. Suddenly there was a cacophonous chorus of them in my head, chiming at an earsplitting volume. I pressed my palm into my forehead to try to make them stop, but they just kept on ringing.

The messy, indiscernible blur in my mind suddenly dissolved, and I could see the scene in front of me as clear as day. My meeting with Darcie Connors earlier this week. The clothes she was wearing, the look in her eyes when she walked into the room, even the small noises she made in the back of her throat when she was trying to build up the courage to ask me for help. But not just any help. A very unorthodox kind. Something she never dreamed in a million years she would ever willingly ask for.

"I've always trusted my husband," she had told me. "In the five years we've been married he never gave me any reason to doubt him." She sighed and rubbed her hands along the tops of her knees. "But then my sister told me what she saw at that party last week, after I had already gone home, and suddenly now it's all I can think about. The doubt has consumed me. I've wanted a baby for so long. And when we found out that I couldn't conceive naturally, I was crushed."