Sweet Sinful Nights(85)

“Shan—”

From her phone, he heard a car horn honk in the distance

“Let me call you back. Traffic to Edge is getting dicey. Need to pay attention. Bye.”

She hung up, and he stared at his phone with narrowed eyes, as if there were an app to reveal how she really felt, and whether she could truly handle this meeting with her mom all by herself. Well, of course she could. But should she? The things her mom had been saying lately seemed to suggest the woman had uncovered some key piece of evidence. What if it was the kind of evidence that turned on its head everything Shannon and her brothers had ever believed about their mom’s conviction?

He stopped dead at the plane door.

“Good morning, sir.”

He met the chipper expression of the flight attendant, who flashed a bright smile. His opportunity.

“Hey, I was hoping you could help me with something,” he said as he stepped into the galley.

“Of course. What can I do for you?”

“I need to switch flights. Get on a later flight, as it turns out. My wife was on the four p.m. and she just changed to the red-eye. Can I get on that flight with her?” His evening meetings would need to be cancelled so he could accompany Shannon. They’d still make it in time for tomorrow’s picnic.

“Let me just check with the gate. Why don’t you take your seat, and give me a few minutes to look into this?”

Five minutes later, the flight attendant found him in the second row and her mouth formed an apologetic O as she dropped a hand on his forearm. “I’m so sorry. The Red-Eye is full. We just sold the last seat.”

Shannon’s seat.

He exhaled deeply, taking in the knowledge that she’d switched her plans to be with him, and now there was no way he could do the same.

*

“Go,” Shannon’s assistant Christine said, pushing her arm playfully. Or maybe not so playfully. Christine was trying to shove her out the front door of Edge.

Shannon held up her hands in surrender. “I’m going. I swear.”

“I have this under control,” Christine said, gesturing to the final rehearsal. The dancers were glorious, moving like waterfalls, lush and sumptuous, the music playing loudly overhead at Edge.

“You go take care of things,” Christine said. Shannon hadn’t given Christine the details, and she was glad her second-in-command wasn’t nosey enough to pry.

Shannon took a deep breath and nodded, then waved to the scene unfolding in front of her in the empty club. “You’re right. Everything looks amazing.”

“I will text you and keep you updated. I can even send you pictures and video,” Christine said, as she continued to shoo her away.

“Yes, please do,” she said, and then walked out of the club.

Along the way, she spotted James, Brent’s key investor and advisor. “Hi James,” she said with a quick wave.

“Hey, Shay. How’s everything going? The dancers look great, don’t they?”

She gave him a double thumbs up. “Thank you. So glad you feel that way. And thank you for your time earlier in the week.”

“It was nothing. Brent’s great. Glad to help out, even if it means my mug is on camera.”

She race-walked past the shops of the Luxe and threaded her way through the slot machines and card tables on her way to the exit. She handed the ticket to the valet, and tapped her foot as she waited for her car. She lowered her shades, and grabbed her phone from her purse. She had several missed calls from Brent.

Shit.

She hadn’t heard her phone when she was inside Edge and the music was playing.

Quickly, so she could get out of Dodge in a jiffy, she called up the GPS app on her phone, plugging in the address of the Stella McLaren Federal Women’s Correctional Center in Hawthorne, Nevada. Four hours and thirty minutes away, the app predicted. That was doable. Very doable. She plugged in her headset and dialed Brent.

“You looking for me?”

She stared at the screen. The voice didn’t seem to be coming from the phone. It was coming from... she looked up and saw the valet shutting a town car door, then her husband walking over to her.

She parted her lips to speak, but he went first as another valet pulled up with her little red car.

“I’ll take it from here,” he said. “I’ll drive.”

“But...” she said, sputtering.

“No ifs, ands, or buts about it. No wife of mine is driving five hours in the desert, then five hours back to catch a flight to be by my side. I’m going to be by her side,” he said, his eyes fixed on her, his gaze so strong, as he opened the passenger door for her. She slid into the car, the surprise of seeing him still working its way through her.

He walked behind the vehicle, tipping the valet, then got in on the driver’s side. After adjusting the seat and the mirrors, he pulled out of the Luxe’s portico.

“Did you just literally walk off the plane?” she asked, still trying to compute that he was there, and not flying across the country to New York. “Stand up and leave? Like in the movies or something?”

He nodded as he flipped on the blinker to turn right. “I did.”

“So we’ll take the red-eye together?”

He shook his head. He was grinning wickedly.

She scrunched her brow. “I don’t get it.”