Page 100 of Happily Never After

Claire fought for breath as her vision darkened. Her heart beat so fast it was almost painful. “You’re arresting me? For what?” Was it illegal to dress as a hotdog in Los Angeles? Was this a vegan police force?

“Ma’am, you were trespassing and carrying a dangerous weapon.”

God damn it, Sleepwalking Claire. She had skipped her cardio and meditation exercise before bed, and now she was paying the consequence.

Her limbs shook. The short, sharp breaths she was able to steal burned her lungs. “I-I have a sleepwalking disorder. Let me call my therapist, she can explain it to you.”

The cop scoffed. “Yeah, yeah. We’ve heard it all before.” He slapped a pair of handcuffs on her. “Let’s go.”

They tugged her to her feet. She tripped over an unseen rock, and they all but dragged her down the short bridge.

It was really happening. She was being arrested. Just when she thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse. She never should have come to this stupid city.

Rage and panic clashed inside her like two seas meeting. When the cop finally successfully stuffed her into the back of his cruiser, the grate between her and the front seat almost broke her. Here she was, in the back of a cop car, while hundreds of members of ESA roamed the streets looking for innocent women to kill. It wasn’t fair.

The panic attack was winning. Hot tears streamed down her face while her body trembled like a leaf in a hurricane. She couldn’t take it anymore. Stabbed. Fired. Arrested. Even if Brad hadn’t fired her, her reputation would never survive this. How much lower could she sink?

The ride to the police station passed in a blur. She couldn’t do alternate nostril breathing due to the handcuffs, but she forced herself to take deep breaths. By the time they screeched to a haltunder the fluorescent lights of the parking lot, the attack had subsided, but things still looked equally as bleak.

Latex gloves snapped in the din as a female officer prepared to search her. A custody sergeant inside the building took the only things she was carrying—her GPS watch and a pair of leftover breadsticks she had duct taped to her biceps. The machete had already been bagged as evidence.

It was like she was watching all of this taking place from outside her body. The sensation of her ink-covered thumb rolling across the ledger. The flash of a camera illuminating every flaw on her face. Luke’s address tumbled out of her mouth as they badgered her—where did she live? What was her birth date? Why wasn’t she carrying her driver’s license?

The bars of the holding cell pressed into her back when the door slammed shut behind her. So this was what rock bottom looked like. A half dozen other women sat on benches inside, twirling their hair around their fingers. They all turned to watch her enter. One of the women leaned forward and stared at her with dead eyes. Pockmarks littered her skin.

“Don’t I get a phone call?” Claire called after the cop.

“Soon,” he said.

She cast a glance around the room and backed into the corner. This wasn’t good. It was too hard to sit in her hotdog costume, but she didn’t want to turn her back to these women either. Who knew what they were capable of? Maybe she should act more menacing. This hotdog costume wasn’t thick enough to stop a shiv someone had whittled out of Jolly Ranchers.

There was no need to be intimidated by these women. She had escaped serial killers more than once. A holding cell in LA county jail was nothing. She squared her shoulders and slowly looked at each of the women. She made eye contact with the pockmarked girl until she averted her gaze. Ha. Now that shehad established dominance, she needed to figure out how the hell she was going to get out of this mess.

The clock on the wall ticked incessantly. It was one in the morning. Who would she call even when she had the chance? It was too late to call Luke, and Kyle was probably in bed. Maybe they’d let her leave a voicemail? But what happened then? She would just stay in jail?

Somewhere, a faucet dripped. The sound was louder than it should have been, magnified by the steel and concrete. Her heart galloped again. Was trespassing a misdemeanor? Or worse, a felony? There was no way she could run a proposal planning business with a criminal record. Her stomach twisted. Every time she thought things couldn’t possibly get worse, the universe dropped another shitstorm on her.

Luke was going to be so pissed. Unconscious Claire had clearly figured out a way to bypass all the anti-sleepwalking safeguards he had added to the house. Had he already noticed that she was missing?

By the time a cop led her to a phone, two more women had joined them in the holding cell. It smelled like urine and stale cigarette smoke. She really had to pee, but she was not about to do it on a metal toilet bowl while half a dozen women watched her struggle out of a hotdog costume.

The dial tone droned. The phone was heavy in her hand. Who could she call? Who would be the least ashamed of her? There was only one choice, and the very thought was enough to make her stomach churn.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

To Do:

- Pray

- Ask Tanya about herbs for luck

A copwith permanent frown lines approached the holding cell. All the women looked up expectantly. With any luck, they’d take the woman in a denim jumpsuit who had started chewing her toenails.

“Hartley,” the cop said flatly. His voice was like sandpaper. “You’re free to go.”

Claire jumped up. She had only just figured out how to sit in the hotdog costume. “I’m—I’m not being charged?” The top of her costume scraped against the cell door.

The cop’s brown eyes hardened. He slammed the door behind her. “Your father’s here to pick you up.” He handed her two evidence bags. The breadsticks were squashed and unappetizing. A length of rainbow duct tape was coiled next to them. How kind they were to return them.

---