Chapter 6 Hannah
Hannah
Hannah had walked through the doors of the Crystal Lake Police Station countless times before.
She'd brought coffee and pastries to Officer Mercer during his night shifts.
Had chatted with Linda at the front desk about her daughter's wedding.
Had dropped off Christmas cookies every year since she'd taken over the bakery.
But now the familiar brick building felt alien.
FBI agents had transformed the community room into a command center, their equipment foreign against the cheerful posters about neighborhood watch meetings.
The fluorescent lights seemed colder, the corridors narrower.
Even the air felt different—sterile and sharp, without the usual lingering scent of Linda's potpourri.
The agents guided her through security without speaking. No reassurances. No explanations. Just hands steering her forward, the cuffs biting into her wrists with every step.
Questions burned in her throat, but she swallowed them back. If she opened her mouth now, she'd start crying. And she couldn't cry. Not here. Not in front of these strangers who'd invaded her town, who'd dragged her from her bakery like she was dangerous.
She rubbed at her wrists when the tight cuffs were finally released.
"Remove your jewelry." The processing officer's voice was flat, professional. Like this was just another Tuesday morning.
Hannah's fingers trembled as she reached for her earrings—the delicate gold ones Jake had given her for Christmas. The officer held out an evidence bag, waiting with mechanical patience as Hannah fumbled with the clasps.
Next came her necklace. Jake had fastened it for her countless mornings, his rough hands so gentle against her skin. She'd loved the contrast—his carpenter's calluses catching on the delicate chain as he'd whispered "morning, sweetheart" against her lips.
The metal links caught the fluorescent light as they dropped into the evidence bag.
"Stand here." Another command, another step in a process that felt like a nightmare. "Look straight ahead."
The camera flash blinded her. Once. Twice. Three times.
Turn left.
Turn right.
Hold the placard higher.
Her muscles moved automatically, obeying commands while her mind screamed that this wasn't real. That any moment she'd wake up in Jake's arms, safe and warm and normal.
The fingerprinting came next.
The ink was cold and sticky against her skin. Foreign. Wrong. These were her baker's hands—meant for kneading dough, for piping delicate frosting flowers, for threading through Jake's hair when he kissed her. Not for this. Never for this.
"Remove your apron."
Hannah's fingers clenched in the flour-dusted fabric. Her grandmother's apron. The one she'd worn every morning since taking over Sugar & Spice. The last piece of her real life.
"Ms. Everett." The officer's voice sharpened. "The apron."
She untied it with numb fingers. The fabric still smelled like home, like safety, like everything that had been ripped away from her in the space of a morning.
The officer took it without ceremony, adding it to the growing pile of evidence bags. Evidence. Like her life was something to be cataloged and filed away.
Hannah wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold in just her T-shirt and jeans. The flour dust on her clothes felt like a ghost of who she'd been just hours ago. Hannah Everett, the baker. The girl who danced to oldies music while making cinnamon rolls. The woman Jake Cooper loved.
Now she was just Hannah Everett, suspect.
The interrogation room was exactly like the ones Hannah had seen on TV—a metal table bolted to the floor, uncomfortable chairs, and a mirror that was probably a window. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, making her head throb.
She folded her hands in her lap to hide their trembling.
Two agents entered. The woman was sharp-featured and elegant, with dark eyes that seemed to cut right through Hannah's defenses. The nameplate on her jacket read "Martinez." The man was older, gruffer, with the kind of face that had forgotten how to smile.
"State your name and date of birth for the record." Martinez's voice was cool, professional.
"Hannah Elizabeth Everett." Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard. "March fifteenth."
Martinez opened a file, spreading photos across the table like playing cards. Hannah recognized her father's office. The theater he was renovating. Sugar & Spice.
"How long have you been laundering money through your bakery, Ms. Everett?"
The question hit like a slap. "What? I'm not—I would never—"
"When did your father bring you into the operation?" The male agent cut in. "Was it when you took over the bakery, or before?"
"No, you don't understand." Hannah's chest tightened. "My father isn't—he wouldn't—"
Martinez's eyebrow arched. "We have financial records tying you directly to fraudulent transactions. Would you like to explain those?"
"I don't know anything about fraudulent transactions." The words felt small, useless. "I just run a bakery. I make bread. I frost cakes. That's all."
"That's all?" The male agent's laugh was harsh. "Your father's been using small businesses all over Crystal Lake to launder millions of dollars. Are you telling me you never noticed?"
Hannah's head spun. "No, that's not—he helps people. He saves old buildings. He invests in the community."
"With money that isn't his." Martinez's voice was silk over steel. "Money that passes through various accounts, including yours, before being cleaned and redistributed. You really expect us to believe you never questioned where it all came from?"
"I—" Hannah's voice faltered. "The bakery's accounts are clean. I keep every receipt, every invoice—"
"Like these?" Martinez slid more photos across the table. Bank statements. Deposit slips. Papers Hannah had signed without thinking twice because her father had asked her to.
"Did you think it was normal?" The male agent pressed. "The way he was always investing in struggling businesses? The constant flow of cash through your accounts? Did you really never wonder, or did you just not want to know?"
Hannah stared at the papers, at her own signature on documents she couldn't quite remember signing. Her father's voice echoed in her head: Just some routine paperwork, sweetheart. Nothing to worry about.
"I don't—" Her voice rose, panic clawing at her throat. "I don't know anything!"
The agents exchanged a look that made her feel small. Pathetic. Like she was just another liar they'd seen break down in this room.
"Your father isn't the only one we've been watching, Hannah." Martinez's words carried a weight that made Hannah's blood run cold. "You might want to start being honest with yourself."
The implication hung in the air like smoke.
They'd been watching her?
Martinez gathered the photos with precise movements. "Think carefully about how you want to proceed, Ms. Everett. Cooperation now could make things easier for you later."
They stood in unison, leaving Hannah alone with her racing thoughts and the thundering of her heart.
Your father isn't the only one we've been watching.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, suddenly deafening in the silence.
She needed Jake.
She needed him to tell her this wasn't real.
The holding room was barely bigger than Sugar & Spice's walk-in freezer. No windows. Just a metal chair, a small table, and the weight of too many questions Hannah couldn't answer.
Her phone felt foreign in her trembling hands—like it belonged to a different Hannah, one who'd woken up this morning believing her life made sense.
Jake's contact photo smiled up at her. She'd taken it at the bakery, catching him mid-laugh as he'd tried to steal a bite of raw cookie dough. His dark eyes crinkled at the corners, his face relaxed and happy. Real.
Her thumb hovered over his name.
She'd never needed him more than she did right now. Never needed his steady voice, his warm hands, his absolute certainty that he could fix anything.
She pressed call.
Ring.
Her heart thundered against her ribs.
Ring.
He always answered by the second ring.
Ring.
Always.
The voicemail clicked on. Jake's voice, casual and warm: "Hey, you've reached Jake Cooper. Leave a message."
Hannah's chest tightened. It was fine. He was probably working. Maybe in the middle of a repair job, hands full of tools.
She pressed call again.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
"Hey, you've reached Jake Cooper—"
Her fingers shook as she ended the call.
He was busy. That was all. Maybe his phone was off. Maybe he was already on his way to the station to get her out. He had to be. Because Jake would never let her sit here alone, terrified and confused, without doing everything in his power to help her.
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as she pressed call one more time.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
"Hey, you've reached—"
"Jake..." Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard, pressing her free hand against her stomach like she could hold herself together through sheer force of will. "Please call me. I don't—"
The words stuck in her throat. How could she explain this? How could she tell him that her entire world had imploded in the space of a morning?
"I don't know what's happening." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I need you."
The silence stretched, heavy with all the things she couldn't say.
I'm scared.
I don't understand.
Please make this make sense.
"Please, Jake." The words felt like they were being torn from somewhere deep in her chest. "I need you."
She ended the call, her hands shaking so badly she nearly dropped the phone.
He would call back.
He would come for her.
He had to.
But something cold and sharp had taken root in her chest—a splinter of doubt she couldn't quite ignore.
Jake should have answered.
Jake should be here.
Jake...
The holding room's walls seemed to press closer, the fluorescent lights suddenly too bright, too harsh.
Your father isn't the only one we've been watching.
Agent Martinez's words echoed in her head, carrying a weight Hannah wasn't ready to understand.
She stared at Jake's contact photo, at his laughing eyes and easy smile. At the man who'd fixed her leaky sink and stolen her heart and made her feel safer than she'd ever felt in her life.
The man who wasn't answering his phone.
Something was wrong.
The realization settled like ice in her veins, but she pushed it away. She couldn't think about that. Not now. Not yet.
Instead, she pressed call again.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
"Hey, you've reached Jake Cooper..."
The cell wasn't meant for someone like her.
Hannah wrapped the thin blanket tighter around her shoulders, trying to find warmth in the scratchy fabric. The metal bench was cold through her jeans—the same jeans she'd put on this morning, when her biggest worry had been whether to ask Jake to move in.
God, had that really been just this morning?
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, a constant drone that made her head throb. They never turned them off. Just like they never completely quieted—there was always something. Footsteps in the corridor. Distant voices. The occasional slam of a door that made her flinch.
She pressed the blanket against her chest, squeezing her eyes shut. If she concentrated hard enough, she could almost pretend it was Jake's arms around her. Jake's warmth. Jake's steady heartbeat under her ear, the way it always was when she couldn't sleep.
But Jake wasn't here.
Jake hadn't answered his phone.
Jake hadn't come.
The thought rose like bile in her throat, but she swallowed it back. There had to be an explanation. Maybe they weren't letting him see her. Maybe he was working with a lawyer right now, figuring out how to get her out of here. Maybe—
A door slammed somewhere down the hall. Hannah jerked, her heart racing.
She wasn't supposed to be here. She was supposed to be home, in her apartment above Sugar & Spice.
The same apartment where Jake had first kissed her, pressing her against the kitchen counter after fixing her garbage disposal.
Where she'd fallen asleep in his arms countless times, feeling safe and cherished and whole.
Your father isn't the only one we've been watching.
Martinez's words slithered through her mind again, poisonous and sharp.
Hannah pressed her forehead to her knees, trying to block out the implications.
Trying not to think about how long Jake had been in Crystal Lake.
How perfectly he'd fit into her life. How he'd known exactly how to make her fall in love with him.
No.
She couldn't think about that. Couldn't let that doubt take root. Because if she started questioning Jake, she'd have to question everything. Every kiss. Every touch. Every time he'd looked at her like she was precious.
Exhaustion pulled at her edges, but sleep felt impossible. Not here. Not alone. Not with her mind spinning in circles of betrayal and doubt.
But eventually, her body gave in.
She dreamed of Sugar & Spice. Of flour dusting her hands and sunlight streaming through the windows. Of Jake's arms sliding around her waist as she pulled trays from the oven, his lips brushing her neck, his voice warm against her skin: "Morning, sweetheart."
She jerked awake with his name on her lips, her heart aching.
The cell was still bright. Still cold. Still wrong.
Hannah pulled the blanket tighter, watching shadows move past the small window in the door. Any one of them could be Jake. Any moment, he could appear with that crooked smile and gentle hands and reasonable explanation for why he hadn't come sooner.
She just had to wait.
Just had to trust.
Just had to believe that the man who'd made her feel safest in the world hadn't been the one to destroy it.
The lights buzzed.
The shadows moved.
Jake didn't come.