The Good Girl's Guide to Bad Men

  "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 bell
s. 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."

  Tears began to well in her eyes, and I waited patiently for her to dab them away.

  "But then, eventually the initial blow of it all subsided and we started talking about adoption. I was afraid he would be opposed to the idea. I know I was at first. It's just impossible to tell how you're going to feel about raising a baby that's not your own flesh and blood until it's the only option you have left. When Ben told me he would be just as happy adopting, a relief washed over me. I was ecstatic. I felt like I was finally going to get what I'd always wanted."

  She had paused then and looked longingly out my office window, the moisture creeping back into her eyes. "But now, I don't know." She turned back to face me. "I can't bring a baby into a marriage that's not one hundred percent solid. I just can't do that."

  I nodded, compassion and empathy rising inside of me. These were the kinds of assignments that made me feel good about what I did. Not that I wasn't happy to help everyone who came to me for answers. But it was assignments like this one that renewed my spirit, reminded me of my purpose, kept me fulfilled.

  I could feel something cold and grimy under my fingers, and I realized that I was now gripping the bars of Shawna's jail cell. I quickly released them and wiped my palms on my sweatshirt.

  "Ashlyn?" Shawna was standing in front of me now, her sparkly shadowed eyes watching me curiously. "Are you all right?"

  I shook myself from the reverie of my flashback. "What? Yeah, I'm fine. What else did the file say about Benjamin Connors? About why he was here. In Vegas. What was he doing here?" The questions were flying out of my mouth, rushed and ineloquent. I already knew the answers, I just needed to hear some sort of confirmation. To assure me that my memories were trustworthy.

  She squirmed in her uncomfortable costume and adjusted the seashells on her bikini top as she thought. "It just said that he likes to come to Vegas on his own to play blackjack. And that he knew he wouldn't be able to go as much after the baby arrived, so he was going to make the most of it."

  Ding. Dong. Ding. Dong. Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

  Suddenly the bells were back. And they were ringing louder than ever. In the back of my mind, I heard Darcie Connors's voice again. This time it came through with some kind of echo effect, almost ethereal: I wouldn't be surprised if he stays up all night. Or at least until his money runs out.

  I pulled my cell phone out of my bag and checked the clock. It was two-thirty in the morning. If I was lucky, there was a chance it wasn't too late.

  The scratchy sound of a loud, obnoxious throat clearing filled the hallway just then, and I glanced in the direction from which I'd come. The cheerful security guard was standing there with his arms crossed, indicating that my five minutes was up.

  I turned my head hastily back to Shawna. "I have to go. But I promise I'll be back first thing in the morning." I glanced down at her outfit, then swiftly pulled my sweatshirt over my head and passed it through the bars to her. "In case you get cold tonight."

  I turned toward the door, but her hand reached through the bars and touched my bare shoulder. "Wait!" she cried, her eyes still struggling to read my face for clues. "What are you going to do about Benjamin Connors?"

  I paused for a moment as images of Jamie's face flashed before my eyes, but I did everything in my power to keep them at bay.

  Sometimes in life you have to make exceptions. Sometimes you have to break the rules. Because not everything is clear-cut. Not everything happens the way you plan it. People are unpredictable. Things go awry. Messes are made.

  And sometimes there's no one else to clean them up.

  "I'm going to take care of it."

  12

  like riding a bike

  The minute I stepped into the casino of the Palazzo Hotel, I was struck with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

  It felt like decades since the last time I went undercover. Another lifetime.

  Another me.

  But nonetheless, there I was. Just like old times. Dressed in my sexy little dress and designer shoes and armed with nothing but a fake name and a hidden purpose.

  My dress was slightly wrinkled from the plane ride, and my hair was far from perfect. I had found some mascara and lip gloss in my purse and was able to do a quick makeup touch-up in the cab on the way here, but I was still nowhere near the level of glamour that usually accompanied a night like this.

  I attempted to smooth my hair as I approached the row of blackjack tables and discreetly surveyed the crowd.

  It was surprisingly busy for three in the morning. Or maybe not so surprising given the nature of this town. Eight blackjack tables were currently in use, all of them full. The only time I had ever seen what Benjamin Connors looked like was when Darcie Connors first handed me his photograph and I placed it in the case file I assembled for Shawna. I knew that at this very moment, that file was sitting in a suite thirty-five floors above my head. And the little cardboard key that unlocked the door was being held captive with the rest of Shawna's personal effects at the Clark County Detention Center, and I didn't have the time or the resources to figure out alternate ways to gain access to her room.

  I would have to rely on memory and instincts alone.

  I circled the eight tables slowly, pretending to be engrossed in each of the games as my eyes subtly scanned the faces of the players. Not one of them looked even remotely familiar. I completed two more laps around the cluster of tables before starting to resign myself to the fact that Benjamin Connors might have run out of steam or money or both and could have gone to sleep hours ago.

  "Are these the only blackjack tables in the casino?" I asked one of the pit bosses as I completed my third rotation.

  He nodded, his jawline firm, as if smiling on the job were grounds for termination. "But there are more in the Venetian."

  My eyebrows rose. What if he had gotten bored with the tables here and moved to a different casino? But if that was the case, he could be anywhere by now. The Strip was huge, and it would take me six hours to search every casino. Not only did I not have the energy, I didn't have the time. It was coming on 3:15 in the morning already. I had to bail Shawna out of jail in five and a half hours.

  A sentence I never thought I'd ever hear myself say.

  "Is the Venetian close by?" I asked.

  He nodded again and pointed toward the large interior courtyard in the distance. "It's connected to the Palazzo."

  I thanked the man and started in the direction his finger had pointed. Darcie Connors was fairly certain her husband preferred the Palazzo, but then again, she was also fairly certain he would never cheat on her, and look how that ended. I figured the possibility that Benjamin Connors had decided to try his luck next door at the adjoining Venetian was high enough to warrant a thorough investigation of their blackjack tables as well. If I couldn't find him in half an hour, then I supposed I would have to admit defeat.

  I was almost to the clearing that led in
to the courtyard and could see the signs above my head leading the way to the Palazzo's sister hotel when a roar of loud cheering ripped through the space around me. I turned my head to see where it had originated, and my eyes landed on a craps table at the end of the row. In all the times I had been to Vegas in my career, I had never fully understood that game. It always seemed to elicit the most enthusiastic responses of any table in the house. Every time I passed by a lively craps game, I felt as if I were stepping into the final fifteen seconds of overtime in a tied Super Bowl game.

  The entire table was up in arms, high-fiving one another and making childish whooping sounds. I stopped walking for a moment, watching the group of people as they all held their breath and someone standing near the far end blew on a pair of dice and tossed them across the table.

  Another eruption of cheers ricocheted off the walls, and I almost laughed at the spectacle of it all. That is, until my eyes landed on the man in the blue polo shirt and khaki pants standing three spaces from the center of the table. And all traces of amusement were wiped clean off my face.

  I thought that it might be difficult to recognize him. I thought the fading photograph in my mind might leave me with doubt. But every bone in my body was telling me that this was Benjamin Connors.

  Apparently, I was right: He did get bored with the blackjack tables here. But instead of changing casinos, he simply changed games.

  My body stiffened as I watched him, unseen, from a few feet away. He was far too absorbed in what was going on at the table to notice me standing there.

  As soon as I laid eyes on him, I could feel all my old instincts start to kick into gear again. My internal men-reading device seemed to know exactly what was happening and switched into active mode.

  Darcie Connors had told me that Benjamin had just turned thirty in July and that they had been married for five years. She had told me about their struggle to conceive a child and their decision to adopt. She had even told me that they were once college sweethearts.