Chapter 15 Hannah
Hannah
Vivid imaginings of a meetup with Waylon, live and in person, dance in my mind and crank my nerves into overdrive. I try to breathe through the panic, pacing the sidewalk to burn off some of the energy, but so far, I’m only getting more and more amped up.
Dom looks on from his spot, leaned against the van, and I work to gather my thoughts. There’s something about the way he watches me—calmly and steadily, like nothing could shake him—that makes me want to walk over and throw my arms around him. Just for a second. Just to feel that calmness up close.
And even though he doesn’t push, I still feel the pressure. The pressure to be strong, the pressure to woman up, the pressure to do everything I can to help them bring whoever this is to justice. Not to mention, all the other pressure I’m already carrying—to take care of my mom and her needs too.
The weight is crippling.
“You okay?” he asks when I stop pacing and turn to face him. His voice is gentle and his manner matches, but I’m a brittle shell of a human, and even the soft push is enough to make me break.
“No.” I shake my head. “I cannot believe people are like this. That they want to hurt women. That they’re actively hurting women.
” A sigh leaves my lungs with a tremble, and I stare up toward the sky to contain the emotion that wants to escape my eyes.
“I didn’t know Heather, but I’m sure she had her reasons for doing this, just like I do, just like Monica does, just like we all do.
I . . . she was just trying to live her life, and because of someone—maybe Waylon, I don’t know—she can’t anymore. It’s sick. It’s twisted. It’s—”
“Hey, hey. I know, Hannah.” Dom’s voice is compassionate, and other things that make it harder for me to hold back a sob.
I dig my nails into my palms, fighting the urge to close the space between us and let him wrap me up in his arms. God, why does that idea sound so tempting?
“This is all tough. Really tough, actually. But you’re doing the best you can, and we’re going to figure out who’s behind Heather and Gwen’s deaths. ”
“Gwen?” I ask, my head snapping back down and my eyes locking with his. “Who the hell is Gwen?”
Dom inhales a sharp breath through his nose and clasps his hands in front of his face before sighing. “I . . . I’m sorry. Technically, there’s another case with another girl who worked at Call Me Anytime who . . . died in the same manner as Heather.”
“There’s another Call Me Anytime girl who got killed?” I whisper-yell. “Why am I just finding this out now?”
“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—”
I laugh, cutting in, my eyes rolling before I can stop them. “Call you anytime.”
A soft burst of sarcasm leaves his lungs, but then his eyes turn serious again. “I mean it, though. Day or night, Hannah.”
For some reason, I feel a rush of unexpected comfort. I can’t wait for this whole thing to be over, and yet . . . I know I’m going to miss the way Dom makes me feel—safe, cared for. Like someone else is in the fight with me.
I’ve known Dom for only a short time, but with how much direct contact I’ve had with him lately, I feel like I’ve known him for years.
If I’m being honest, he’s become a bit of a security blanket when I come in to work my CMA shifts. I don’t know how I’ll be able to handle it on my own again when they’re done with this case, and he’s gone.
Sheesh. As if I needed for things to be more complicated than they already are.
2:30 p.m.
Lovie is pulling a tray of chicken breasts and mixed vegetables out of the oven as I make it to the top of the stairs, weary and weathered and probably looking a million years old.
My hair is disheveled, my shirt is wrinkled, and my shoes squeak from the rain that hit just as I was walking to my car from the CMA warehouse.
The TV blares like normal, NCIS the unsurprising focus, and my mom doesn’t even look back as Ziva and Tony roll around under the covers of a hotel room bed, pretending to have sex.
I remember the season 3 episode well. The two of them are impersonating married assassins for an undercover assignment.
And every time my mom sees this episode, it reignites her obsession with seeing Tony and Ziva get together for real.
“Oh, honey. You’re a mess,” Lovie says the instant she spots me, removing her oven mitts after tossing the tray on top of the stove and rushing toward me. “What are you doing home so early? Is everything okay?”
“I’m . . .” I struggle to find the words to craft my lie, wanting to protect Lovie from the truth just as much as I want to protect my mom.
Dom’s voice echoes in my mind, calm and reassuring as it always is, and I wish, for just a moment, that I could borrow some of his steadiness to get through this conversation.
The reality of how I’m feeling is almost too much to bear, and my brain locks up like it’s frozen in time.
I’m unable to finish the thought, much less even begin to offer her an explanation.
“Come here,” Lovie urges, ushering me to a stool behind the kitchen island. “Sit down for a minute and take a breath.”
I don’t even try to stop her, going willingly into the seat and tossing my purse onto the counter. I avoid her concerned gaze as I try to decide whether I can tell her the current state of my life.
Trust me, I want to get it off my chest. Need to, to be honest. But can I?
Should I even? I don’t know. For one, she thinks my new job revolves around telemarketing.
And two, I was explicitly told by both Dom and Shane that I’m not supposed to talk about the case.
Well, cases, I should say, because there’s not just one murder that’s led them to investigating my Ruby phone line.
There are two.
Clearly, there’s a whole list of pros and cons, but right now, the freedom of sharing with someone who isn’t a detective, someone close to me, someone whom I love dearly, is almost too tempting to deny. No matter the consequences.
“I . . .” I lift my eyes to meet hers. She’s standing at the counter, her elbows resting on top of it, and her gaze fixated on my face as she waits for some kind of reassurance from me.
She’s worried, that much is clear by the tightness of her face.
“Lovie, the job I took is with a . . .” I pause and then I just blurt out the truth. “A phone sex call service.”
Lovie’s eyes widen, but to her credit, she doesn’t say anything, instead allowing me the space to get it all out without interruption.
“The money was too good to pass up. And yes, it’s about as crazy as you would imagine,” I continue, grimacing as I prepare myself to say the rest. “But to make things even crazier, on the day I started, the line I’m working on became a part of a murder investigation.
I’m not supposed to talk about it with anyone, but I just .
. . I can’t hold it in any longer. I need to tell someone, and besides my mom, you’re the closest person I have in my life.
” I sigh, looking down at my lap, where my fingers fidget with the material of my still-damp shirt.
“Basically, every day now, I go in to take phone sex calls while the police listen, hoping they’ll find something out that leads them to the person responsible. ”
“Oh, Hannah,” Lovie responds. She inhales a sharp breath through her nose and lets it back out in the form of a sympathetic sigh.
I nod. I know. It’s a lot. “Today was a particularly rough day,” I admit. “And you don’t even know, but last week, when you left to meet Norm for dinner, the detectives showed up here and Mom let them in while I was in the shower.”
“Oh my gosh, honey. That’s why you added the smart doorbell and new security camera outside, huh?”
“Yeah.” I purse my lips. “That’s definitely part of it.
She thought they were detectives from the show.
Invited them up for coffee and everything, while I was oblivious in the shower.
I came out in my towel and bam. There they were, carrying on a conversation with my mom while she called them Tony and Gibbs.
” I eye her with a knowing look. “Wasn’t exactly a fun experience for me. ”
“Well . . .” Lovie lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she does. “That definitely makes sense with the way she’s been talking lately. Everything is about Tony and Gibbs, and some case Ziva is trying to help them solve.”
A long moment of silence passes between us, and I waver back and forth on my next words, but eventually I ask her what I really want to. I ask her the one question that I know, deep down, compelled me to tell her all this in the first place.
“Lovie, do you . . . do you think I’m doing the right things?” I lift my eyes to meet hers. “I just . . . I can’t help but feel like I’m failing at every turn.”
“You’re not failing, Hannah. You’re not failing at all.” Immediately, she rounds the corner to pull me into a hug, but my mom surprises me instead, her hand landing on my shoulder.
“You’re doing all the right things, Ziva. You’re helping people. And together, you and Gibbs and Tony are going to solve this case.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. “Thanks, Sherry.”
My thoughts are scattered, but a conclusion still finds its way to the surface, however sardonic.
If my mom only knew the truth. She’d think all this was the freaking greatest.
I just wish I could figure out how to feel the same.