“Is she quotingLittle Red Riding Hood?” I whisper, my jaw gaping.
“Kill me now,” Shane mutters, and I yank off my headphones and tap him on the shoulder, shoving out of my chair.
Shane pulls his headphones behind his ears and looks up at me expectantly. “What?”
“I’m going in there for a minute. We can’t go on like this.”
“What are you going to do, man?” he asks through a laugh as I climb out of the van.
I lean back inside the door and shrug. “I don’t know. But I have to do something.”
“Good luck, Cowboy,” Shane says mockingly, and my only answer is to promptly slide the door closed.
I look both ways, noting a completely empty sidewalk in front of the nondescript warehouse that hosts Call Me Anytime’s headquarters, and then walk inside. I take the stairs two at a time as I climb to the second floor and open the main door, cruising straight down the hall to the locked door that leads to the women currently working the lines. I punch in the security code Margo shared with us at the end of last week, ensuring I shut the door with a click behind me.
Slowly and as quietly as I can, I make my way to the very last booth, bathed in red, the sounds of moans and fake orgasms filling my ears with each step.
Hannah is finishing up the call but notices me right away, her eyes going wide with panic as she tries to find a way to get Hank off the line. I gesture toward the ground in a signal tocalm downbefore stepping inside her small red-lit booth, where I squat down beside her as she bumbles her way through the end of the call.
The close proximity brings an unexpected envelopment of her soft cinnamon-vanilla scent. She smells good—really good, frankly—but I’m not here to admire her perfume.
She brushes some of her long brown hair over her shoulder and adjusts her pretty white dress away from her brown, knee-high boots. For all intents and purposes, Hannah May doesn’t look the part of a phone sex operator. If I saw her out in public, I’d guess she worked in the fashion industry or had one of those social media jobs where women show off their outfit of the day and shit.
“Herk and jerk that thing, Hank,” she orders, leaning forward to look at an open notebook on her desk and running her finger down ahandwritten list. “If your schlong is long, double up your hands and send it to the moon!”
I have to actively work to keep from laughing aloud.
“Bingo bango, Hanky Panky. Tell me how you’re feeling.”
I can’t hear what he says now that I don’t have my headphones on, so I’m left with only her response afterward.
“Ohyesss. Go deeper then.” She raps her fingernails on her desk, and I don’t miss the pretty display of gold and shiny rings she has on her fingers. “Deeper and deeper, right to the end of my meeper.”
Meeper?What in the hell?
“Meep-meep. Meep-meep.” She chirps like a fucking car horn until I snap my fingers in front of her face to stop her. Her eyes become focused again and she leans back in her chair, reciting into the line in a speedy voice, “Thanks for calling Ruby’s line and letting me make your dreams come true. Call me anytime!”
With a quick click and a groan, she hangs up the call before turning her chair to face me, her expression dejected. “Please tell me you’re here because that was him.”
I shake my head, and she lets out an exasperated groan that blows pieces of her silky hair away from her face.
“What is it then?” she asks with a grimace. “And don’t say I’m being aggressive, because I’m not!” She points one determined index finger in my direction. “I haven’t yelled at one guy all day today!”
“Easy there. I know you haven’t. But, uh ... something is still off.” I assess her face closely. “Are you feeling uncomfortable about us listening? Because I promise, we’re just here to do our jobs.”
“I’m fine!” she answers in a huff, dropping her hands onto her desk with a thud. “I’m just doing my job too.”
I eye her knowingly, more than ready for her to tell me she’s been screwing with me and Shane with these weird-as-fuck calls, but she looks at me with nothing but puzzlement in the depths of her pretty brown eyes.
“Hannah,” I say softly, my voice edging toward disbelief. “Come on.”
She lifts her shoulders. “Come on what?”
“Hannah. Listening to these calls ... genuinely, you’re saying some of the craziest shit I’ve ever heard in my life, and I’m a murder detective.”
“I’m just saying all the sex things like I’m supposed to, Mr. Detective,” she snaps. “Maybe you haven’t been paying attention.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. I’ve been listening so closely to her calls that I fear my ears might start bleeding soon. “Hannah, I’ve been paying so much attention, I’m starting to doubt you’re even human anymore. These calls are ...” I pause, trying to find the best words to convey the reality of our situation. “A little weird. I mean, some of the callers—quite a few, actually—have even chosen to end the conversationbeforethey come.”
