Sweet Sinful Nights(50)

She could still make Brent's picnic.

She picked up the phone. "Yes, Mom. I'll be there," she said, then switched her flight, and paid the change fee.

* * *

With the crackle of gate announcements overhead, Brent fired off a few, quick emails to James and his real estate attorneys on the various expansion plans. The Chicago club was coming together more quickly than expected, and all the approvals were in place.

He wrote back. "Great. If only New York would go so smoothly."

But that was what this weekend was for. To seal the deal. To say hello to the families of the neighborhood, and let them know he was good for business and ran a tight, clean ship. He was flying in ahead of Shannon to finish up some key paperwork with Tanner and meet with some potential vendors for the club in New York.                       
       
           


///
       

Five minutes later, the boarding had begun and as he walked down the Jetway, he called Shannon. "Hey, babe. I'm about to get on the plane. Can't wait to see you tonight."

"Actually," she said in a heavy voice, "I won't be there till first thing in the morning. I had to change my flight to the red-eye."

Something inside of him tightened with worry. "What happened? Is everything okay?"

"My mom called. The date was wrong. I'm going to see her today."

His spine straightened. "You are?"

"Yeah. She was pretty worked up that I wasn't there today with Ryan. I guess there was a mix-up with the date. She said she has something to tell me that will-" She paused and he could practically see her sketching air quotes as she said, "Change everything."

"Shan," he said softly as he neared the plane. "You can't go alone. Ryan's not even in town."

"It's okay. I can handle it," she said, in a cheery voice. "Seriously. Don't worry about me. I'm sure it's nothing new. Nothing I haven't heard a million times before."

"Hmm," he muttered.

"Hmm, what?"

"I don't think you believe what you're saying."

"Brent, it's fine. I've got it all under control. I will see you as planned. It'll just be a little later."

But he didn't like the idea of her driving five hours through the desert on her own. To a prison. Then five hours back. Then flying five hours on a plane to New York to be with him. To help him. This was not sitting well with him at all.

"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."

He dropped a hand to her thigh and squeezed. "The red-eye was booked. No room on it. Turns out my wife got the last seat, and I'm having none of that. I missed the chance to be there for you in the past. This is important. You're not going alone. I'm going with you. Every step of the way. I called Tanner and said I wouldn't be able to make it."

She brought her hand to her chest, overwhelmed by what he'd done. How he'd chosen her. How he'd walked away from work to stand by her. "What did he say? Was he angry?"

"He wasn't too happy about it. I said I had to be here for you. Case closed."

"But you'll lose New York if you don't go to the picnic tomorrow."

He flashed her a million-dollar smile. "Sometimes you win. Sometimes you lose. And sometimes you decide there are more important things than a business deal. Like you. Always you." He pointed to the radio. "Now, let's crank up some tunes. You got a desert driving playlist? We need something to rock out to."

She raised an eyebrow. "Would ‘Folsom Prison Blues' be too ironic?"

"Irony is my middle name."

She turned on Johnny Cash and held her husband's hand the whole way through the desert as the sun rose high in the sky, blazing through the windshield, the road unfurling before them in a slate ribbon, her heart fuller than it had ever been.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR


The air conditioning hummed, blasting out sheets of cool air in the stark visiting room. Shannon rubbed her bare arms, wishing she'd brought a sweater. She didn't remember it having been so chilly the last time she was there. Perched on the edge of a hard plastic chair at a table inside a small room, she waited.