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)
He’s held steady employment for the last twenty years and turns forty-five in a month. It’s not exactly the normal criminal MO, but knowing these crimes haven’t been violent, it might be that he’s just started to dip his toes into the bloody waters. Oftentimes, people with predatory behavior, or a drive to harm, spend a long time battling their urges before they give in. It starts as a dabble and escalates from there.
Waylon could just be a bit of a sadist who likes rough sex, or he could very well be hitting his stride as a killer.
Either way, I can’t let this fucker fly under the radar. If he’s escalating, he’s going to hurt someone again. And if that someone ends up being Hannah . . . I shove the thought aside, refusing to let it take root.
I jot some notes into our ongoing Call Me Anytime file, my head swirling the entire time with the stark reality that Shane is currently listening to yet another caller—that Hannah is talking to—who could very well be the sick fuck who killed Gwen and Heather.
The thought of her sitting there, taking those calls, listening to men like Waylon describe their twisted fantasies, makes me restless. She’s tough, I know that much, but I can see how this job is wearing her down.
None of this shit sits well with me. If I’m being honest, it makes my blood pump a little harder through my veins.
Come hell or high water, I’m going to solve this fucking case, and soon.
19
Hannah
4:30 p.m.
“Ruby, darling, I’ve got a busy weekend ahead of me, but I’ll give you a call next week, okay?” Felix, one of my most frequent callers, says into my ear.
“Okay, Felix,” I answer without hesitation. “Have a good weekend, honey.”
Felix is a bit of an odd man, who doesn’t always act like the typical caller. Sometimes he goes for orgasm gold, but more often than not, he just wants to talk to someone who will listen. I have a few other callers like him, and honestly it’s kind of refreshing, considering most calls involve me hearing them jerk off.
The call ends shortly after that, and it only takes one glance at my phone to see it’s my favorite time of the day—quitting time. Quickly, before another horny dude can call my line, I switch my CMA phone to “off duty” and stand up from my desk to stretch from side to side. My hips and back crack audibly with each movement. You wouldn’t think spending eight hours sitting in a chair taking sex calls would make you feel stiff, but I’m telling you, my twenty-five-year-old body feels like it ages five years every time I have to work a shift.
I start to grab my purse and keys but pause when I realize I didn’t drive here. Dom drove me here. Shit. He spent most of the day out in the van, only coming in to check on me a few times, and truthfully, I don’t even know if he’s still here. Regardless, I’m thankful for everything he did for me last night and this morning, as it made me feel cared for in a way I haven’t in a long, long time—even if he was just doing his job.
Phone in hand, I send him a quick text.
Me: So . . . can you still give me a ride home? Or did you leave already?
I hit send, but then I can’t stop myself from adding another message.
Me: It’s no biggie if you can’t. I can call an Uber or something.
Dom: Hannah, of course I can. I’m waiting downstairs for you.
At his words, my heart trips a little inside my chest, but I swiftly counter that by taking a long, cleansing inhalation into my lungs before letting it out slowly through my mouth. Relax, Hannah. It’s just a ride. No big deal.
I send Dom another text, letting him know I’ll be down in a minute, and finish up the process of closing down my sex cubicle. Red lights off and computer shut down, Ruby is officially done for the day.
Hallelujah.
Purse, keys, and phone in hand, I wave to Monica on my way out. She smiles and waves back, her cute face always a bright light in the otherwise dark room that is working at Call Me Anytime. I offer a friendly smile to the other girls as I walk by them too.
Lana, a woman in her early thirties who takes the Emerald calls, winks in my direction as I pass her booth. The other day in the break room, we had a really nice conversation where I learned she’s a single mom to a little boy named Cullen. She’s incredibly sweet, and her reason for working at CMA hit close to home—it’s not about choice; it’s about survival.