I shake my head, snorting. “I’m more of a mover and a doer. I don’t spend a lot of time at my place when I’m not sleeping.”
I watch my mirrors as I execute a K-turn in the driveway, carefully avoiding the white Civic parked in front of the garage.
“You don’t even watch TV while you’re falling asleep? Lull yourself with the sound of gunfights and crime jargon?” he asks, hyped on the ecstasy of what is very obviouslyhisroutine.
“No.” I laugh. “But how about you put in a call with the prosecutor? Get your mind off your celebrity guy crush?” I flash a dry smile at him.
“At least I know things other than corpses and coffee,” he retorts. “All work and no play makes Dom a dull boy.”
I roll my eyes and hit the gas hard on purpose, squealing the tires a little as I pull onto the empty bypass.
Shane chuckles. “You’re such a fucker.”
When I don’t say anything, he restarts. “Okay, Detective. Give it to me. What exactly do you propose I say when I make this call? What are you thinking?”
“Well, if Hannah just started today”—I dive in without hesitation—“I think we need to make a trip to CMA headquarters and do some digging around there. Talk to this Margo Mavis she mentioned. And getting that kind of access is going to take paper permission from our upper management.”
“Warrant? Wiretap? What are you thinking?”
“Probably both.” I shrug. “We need access to their employee files, and we need to know who’s calling that line. I’m not sure how it’s alllinked yet, but I know we’ve got two dead women connected to this company at this point, and that’s enough for me.”
“But is it enough for a judge?” he asks.
I give him my handsomest smile. “Well, sweetheart, I think that’s where you come in, yeah?”
He sighs. “All right, I’ll put the call in.”
I take a right onto the road that leads to the highway that gets us back downtown. Born and raised in Nashville, just like Shane, I know this route like the back of my hand. Hell, I know just about every road, bypass, and highway in this city.
While I take the entrance ramp onto the highway, the light from Shane’s phone shines in the dark of the interior. I wait for him to put it to his ear or for the call to connect, but when nothing happens, I lose patience. “Shane. Put the call in.”
“What,now?” he asks, and I sigh.
“Yes, now.”
“It’s after nine, Dom.”
“Yeah, well, murder investigations don’t normally follow a set shift.”
“He’s going to be pissed,” Shane mutters.
“I don’t give a shit!” I snap, making Shane laugh.
“Okay, okay, I’m calling now. But I’m putting it on speaker so we both suffer.”
“Hello?” the husky, already-annoyed male voice answers, making Shane flip me the finger.
“Hey, Uncle Benny. It’s Shane.”
“Why in the hell are you calling me this late, Shane?” the grumpy voice on the other end asks without any fucks given.
Shane’s uncle is tough as nails, but when you’re the lead prosecutor for the city, you have to be. Benedict “Benny” Maddox is Shane’s late father’s brother, and a man who has been a father figure in Shane’s life for well over twenty years. Even though Shane’s worked with the department for nearly a decade, Benny still treats him like a newborn-baby recruit.
Shane hates it, but it’s part of my weekly entertainment.
“Need a couple of court orders,” Shane answers, already cringing in anticipation. “A search warrant and a wiretap order for a business by the name of Call Me Anytime.”
“On what grounds?” Benny huffs.
