Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 102903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“Because we’re in the middle of an active investigation, Hannah,” he explains, and his mouth turns down at the corners. “I’m sorry we didn’t divulge that, but that’s how it goes. We have to keep the public out of the details as much as we can while we’re working.”
“The public?” I snap. “I’m pretty sure since I’m now some kind of phone sex informant, that means I’m well past the point of just being part of the public. I’m all up in this active-investigation bullshit, Dom. Honestly, at this point, MNPD should probably be paying me!”
“I get it, Hannah. I do.” Dom sighs and runs a hand through his light-brown hair. “I’m sorry.”
I stare at him for a long moment, my mind racing with a million different thoughts as I try to understand how not one but two CMA girls have been killed.
“So . . . who is . . . was . . . Gwen?” I question, my voice barely above a whisper. “How is her death connected to Heather’s death?”
He purses his lips.
“Dom?”
“She worked on the Ruby line too.”
My eyebrows shoot up so far, I swear they go above my hairline. “Tell me this is some sort of sick joke.”
He shakes his head.
“T-two women have died while working on this line?” I ask, my voice rising an octave and a half and my heart thrumming. “Two?”
Dom grimaces, but he also nods.
“Two women! Two women before me and now I’m doing it! I . . . I . . . my God.” I drop my hands to my sides with a slap. “I mean, I already changed my freaking number, but what if they know who I am? What if they find out where I live, and now my mom is in danger? Or Lovie?” My whole body vibrates with nervous energy and fear. “Oh my God, Dom.”
“Hey, look at me. Look at me, Hannah.” Dom steps forward and grabs me by the shoulders, standing me still and forcing my eyes to meet his. His hands are tender and calming. For a moment, I have the urge to tuck my body into his side. “CMA headquarters is secured,” he reassures. “Their location is completely unlisted to the public. And I would not, absolutely would not, let you keep taking calls if I thought for even a second that someone knew who you are, do you hear me?”
I shake my head and swallow hard, but he keeps talking. “In both of these cases, the women were at a neutral location. The killer didn’t come to CMA headquarters or their homes—they lured them to a fancy hotel here in downtown Nashville, okay?”
I blow out a breath, trying to calm my nerves, but they’re running away at full speed, and I can’t find the brake pedal to stop them.
“As long as you don’t go wandering into any hotels without telling me or Shane, we’ll be good, all right?” he tries to reassure me. “And remember, you’re already sharing your location with me on your phone. We’re covering all of our bases, Hannah.”
A few days ago, I decided to actively share my location with Dom on my phone, just to make myself feel a little safer. Just in case something happened.
“Okay.” My face feels shaky as I jerk my chin up and down. “No hotels.”
“No hotels. No houses. No anything that anyone invites you to on this phone line, or by any other unexpected message or call at any time,” he clarifies, talking slowly to ensure I’ll understand.
I’m not dense, but I am panicked, and boy does that make it hard to listen.
I nod again, agreeing. “No meeting up with strangers anywhere.”
“Yep. You got it.” He leans forward to search my eyes. “You good now?”
“Oh yeah.” A laugh barks from my lungs. “I’m fantastic.”
Dom smiles, but it’s a little sad.
“I am . . . okay.” I take another deep breath. “Really. I’m okay. But I also think I’m done for the day. I know that’s not helpful, and I know you guys were supposed to be here for several more hours, but I think I need to go home and take a hot shower and see my mom and Lovie with my own eyes.”
“I completely understand,” Dom replies easily. “Trust me. We have plenty of other shit we can do.”
I shut my eyes for a brief moment and inhale a cleansing breath. “Okay.”
“Are you okay to drive home?”
“Yeah. I’m . . . good.” He frowns at me, and I correct my words. “I’ll be better tomorrow. But yesterday was a rough day, and today is feeling . . . well . . . worse, and I just need the night.”
“I understand,” he says, but concern sits within the depths of his ocean-colored eyes as he closely searches my face. “You have my number and you can—”