Chapter 5 Hannah
Hannah
With scattered thoughts and shaking hands, I riffle through one of the drawers in my walk-in closet, grabbing a pair of underwear, and then whip my towel off to toss it in the hamper.
I look quickly out my closet door to make sure my mom is still where I left her, tucked into my bed with NCIS playing at full blast.
She is, thank goodness, so I take a deep breath and close my eyes just long enough to slow my heart from a gallop to a trot.
To say I’m freaking out would be putting it mildly.
Today has been an absolute disaster, and the current state of my life feels like a shit show. The job, the things I said to Detective Dunn thinking he was role-playing—oh my God—my mom, the ticking time bomb of the reverse mortgage I had to take out to pay for Lovie. It’s all too much.
I could maybe handle diving into sex work on its own, or wade through the sad reality that my mom is getting closer and closer to needing more care than what she’s already getting. I could even handle having the police show up at my door asking questions about an active investigation on its own.
But the three of them together? I am barely holding on.
And as much as I’d like to go outside and scream for an hour or so, there are still two detectives waiting in the kitchen to talk to me.
My God. I never even got detention in school, and now I’m somehow part of police business. If I had time to scream, I’d probably follow it up with a good crying jag.
Instead, I grab a sports bra from the drawer, toss it over my head, and then take a T-shirt and shorts from the shelf in the back of my closet.
I pull them on haphazardly, not even bothering to straighten the folded-over waistband, before hustling out into my bedroom to give my mom a pep talk, manhandling my wet, unbrushed hair into a sloppy ponytail as I do.
At this point, I really, really need her to stay put.
This week, though, I’m going to have to see about adding one of those smart doorbell cameras to the front and a security camera outside, just so I can be sure she isn’t wandering when I have to turn my eye.
“Hey, Sherry,” I say, my voice as gentle as I can manage, given the circumstances.
“Hey, Ziva,” she greets me, her enthusiasm palpable as she watches the same woman she thinks I am on TV.
“I have to go out and talk to . . .” I pause before I say their actual names. “Tony and Gibbs . . . okay? You hang in here for now, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“You guys get a big break on the case?” she asks, and I ignore the irony in her words. Clearly, I’m not getting any fucking breaks these days.
“Yep. So we just need to really focus, you know? No interruptions.”
“Of course.” My mom nods. “It’s a very important case. I understand.”
“Thanks,” I say, ignoring the ever-present niggle of longing I feel for the woman I used to know and focusing on the problem at hand. Two detectives from MNPD are here to talk to me about an active investigation.
Me. Hannah Marie May, the twenty-five-year-old virgin with no social life, no parking tickets, and no points of any interest I can think of.
You sure about that, Miss Sex Hotline Worker?
Gah. I can’t even fathom how I could be connected to something . . . criminal. I just started this job today, for Pete’s sake. You’d think there’d be more than one freaking shift before I got dragged down some shady path.
Quietly and carefully, I exit the bedroom and pull the door shut behind me, trying not to disturb my mom’s concentration on the TV again.
As long as she’s engaged in the episode, I shouldn’t have to worry that she’ll leave again, but at least if she does, there’s only one way out of the house from my bedroom, and it’s through the kitchen.
Detective Dunn sits on a stool at my kitchen island, and his partner, Shane Maddox, stands not far behind him, scrolling on his phone.
The two of them are dressed in collared shirts, sleek suit jackets, and matching dress slacks that hug their muscles in ways I’m sure make most of the female population’s brains short-circuit.
Not my brain—I’m too frazzled with other issues—but with the combination of Detective Dunn’s soft smile and ocean-blue eyes and Detective Maddox’s dark hair and dark eyes staring me in the face, their usual effect is obvious.
Honestly, if they hadn’t shown me their badges in the middle of my shocking, towel-clad encounter a few minutes ago, I’d think they were just some handsome Hollywood actors pretending to be detectives to, like, get in character for a movie or something.
“Sorry about that,” I say after clearing my throat.
Detective Dunn shakes his head, his expression placating. “No problem at all. We won’t take up too much of your time, okay? We just have a few questions.”
“Of course. Anything I can do to help.” I come to a stop on the other side of the counter, finally straightening the band of my shorts so it’ll stop digging into my skin as I consider how silky Detective Dunn’s light-brown hair looks beneath my ceiling lights and the way his eyes manage to look blue and green at the same time.
“We appreciate that, Ms. May,” Detective Maddox interjects, a kind smile lifting the corners of his mouth around a small wooden toothpick.
His smile comes so fast and easily I can tell he probably does it more than he should.
Don’t get me wrong, Detective Dunn’s expression is compassionate and kind, too, but it’s measured.
He’s taking this as seriously as he can, despite the absolute clown show I’ve dragged him through so far.
“First, let me apologize for surprising you at home like this,” Detective Dunn says. “After we spoke this morning, though, you gave me your personal number.”
“I did?”
Holy shit, that’s not good.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh my God. That’s . . .” I sink my head into my hands.
“I can’t believe I did that.” I stand up straight again, running my hands over my head and then settling them on the back of my neck, distressed.
Do I need to get a new number? I scour my memory, trying to recall the rest of my phone sex conversations enough to make sure I didn’t do it again, but my thoughts are unbelievably scattered.
On a sigh, I shake my head, and my fingers fidget with my waistband again. “I guess . . . I think . . . you just caught me off guard.”
Detective Dunn tips his head in understanding. “Don’t worry about it, Hannah, honestly. No one expects a call from the police. The thing is, your line there at CMA is an active number in a police investigation. Do you know a woman by the name of Heather Turnwat?”
“No.” I shake my head, searching for an inkling of recognition and coming up empty. “I’ve never heard that name before.”
Detective Dunn shares a look with his partner before turning back to me. “Are you sure? The number for your line at CMA was in her phone as an incoming call several times. Is it possible she was an employee there? Or someone that called into your line?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head, a wave of panic rushing over me. I cannot freaking believe any of this is happening. “It was my first day at Call Me Anytime, so—”
“Today was your first day?” Detective Dunn asks, his eyes widening ever so slightly.
Technically, he was my first call in the phone sex biz, but I dig my teeth into my bottom lip and avoid sharing that little nugget of fun.
“Yes,” I answer instead. “I interviewed with Margo Mavis, the, uh . . . head of the company . . . at about . . . ten? This morning. She offered me the job, and I took it and started right then.” I hold up both hands in the air and shrug.
“I . . . I have no clue about any calls on the Ruby line before that, incoming or outgoing, or anything about someone named Heather.”
“And you’ve never had any association with Call Me Anytime before today?” Detective Maddox asks.
“No.” Truth be told, Detective, the newspaper ad said it was a phone hotline, and I thought it was a job selling toner or printer paper. Maybe a political survey. Tele-pussy wasn’t even a whisper of a thought.
“Okay, then. We appreciate you talking with us.” Detective Dunn stands from his seat at the island with a nod, pulling a card from his back pocket and setting it on the counter between us. “If you think of anything else, feel free to call me anytime.”
A short, sardonic burst of air leaves my lips, and he smiles, the irony of what he’s just said hitting him simultaneously.
Detective Dunn is gorgeous—fist-biting hot, in fact—but his phone number is one I hope I never have to use. I’ve got more than enough on my plate as it is.