“So? Maybe they’re, like, busy? Maybe they’re getting a call from their doctor?” She holds out two hands in front of her. “I don’t know what these men are doing on the other end of the line. I just tell them all the sex things. Newsflash, Dom, that’s my job.”
She tells them “all the sex things”?What?In the form of nursery rhymes?
“Hannah.” I blink and she narrows her eyes at me.
“What?”
“Come on. You know this isn’t how these calls are supposed to go. I mean, have you even been around sex before?”
“No!” She slams her hands down on the desk, and my chin jerks back as she leans forward with wild eyes, shock piercing my chest like the tip of a knife. “I haven’t, actually. I’m a virgin doing phone sex and involved in a murder investigation, Detective! I’ve never done phone sex before and I’ve never actually had sex before, so I think we can agree that when you add in the wholecatch-a-murdererthing, we’ve got a messed-up situation!”
Did she just say she’s never done phone sex beforeandshe’s a virgin?My mind scrambles, but Hannah is on a roll and her voice is rising with each word as her mouth moves a mile a minute.
“I took this job because of a reverse mortgage that’s riding my ass, and now I’m involved in an actual murder investigation. I’m stuck in this sex cubicle, trying to catch amurderer, and I am grabbing every word out of my ass!” She throws her head back with a laugh that borders on frenzied, and I glance over her shoulder to see that some of the other women are standing up from their desks now, looking in our direction.
“Hey, it’s okay.” I lick my lips and stand from my squat, pulling Hannah up by the elbow and directing her away from her desk. Before we go, I hit the “off duty” button on her phone line and remove her headset, talking directly into the microphone. “Shane, we’re taking a break.”
I place the headset on her desk and walk calmly down the aisle between cubicles, Hannah’s elbow still gently in my clasp as her breathing escalates, higher and higher with every step. I lead her out the door and then to the stairwell. “Relax. It’s okay,” I try to cajole her, but she yanks her elbow out of my grasp and lets out several shaky breaths before jogging down the stairs on quick feet.
I speed up and get in front of her to push the exit door open, then follow her out onto the sidewalk, where she bends over and puts her hands on her knees. Her breathing has taken on a keening wail, and I rub at her upper back as Shane peeks out the open door of the van. He glances up and down the street before waving us inside.
It’s a good idea, getting in there rather than being exposed out here, so I usher Hannah into the van without saying anything and then get her settled on the bench behind the caged wall that blocks the driver and passenger seats from view. Once I shut the door behind us, I squat down in front of her. Shane takes his seat in the back, near our laptops and wiretap equipment, his hands steepled in front of him and his eyes toward his lap.
I know with certainty he heard every bit of Hannah’s outburst and that he’s absolutely combusting from the energy it’s taking him not to say anything right now. Sex hotlines, murders, and virgins all together in one pretty package. This is more complicated than either of usthought, and I never would have been so harsh about her performance had I known all the circumstances.
My God.A virgin.Doing phone sex. I’m impressed she’s made it this long without a breakdown.
“Are you okay, Hannah?” I ask, trying to keep my voice gentle enough that it doesn’t set her off again.
“No.” She shakes her head, laughing sardonically. “I am not okay. What in the hell was I thinking? Phone sex as a virgin?” She cackles. “I’m so, so out of my depth here, it isn’t even funny.” Her eyes move to my face and then Shane’s for the briefest of moments. “And now, not only am I trying to do phone sex with absolutely zero sexual knowledge, but I get to do it while the two of you listen to every freaking call because you’re trying to catch a deranged psycho killer!” Her laugh is frantic. “A lunatic who killed the girl who was on the very same line as me!”
I don’t even know what to say at this point, no matter how driven I am to comfort her. She’s right. The whole thing is a monstrosity.
A phone sex virgin, and two guys in a van.
I swear, I can’t make this shit up.
11
Hannah
3:00 p.m.
My brain feels like cold, mushy scrambled eggs.
When I started to hyperventilate in the van, Dom encouraged me to lean forward and put my head between my knees. I did that until I was able to sit back up without feeling like my breaths were going to catapult me to outer space, but I’m still a shell of the girl I once was.
There are some things that, once done, can’t be reversed, and I’m afraid verbally stroking a cock and balls nineteen times a day is one of them.
“Do you want a cigarette?” Dominic asks, his deep voice cutting through the haze as he squats in front of me, those intense blue-green eyes locking on mine.
I shake my head. “No. I don’t smoke.” As much as I’d love to take comfort in something right now, the only thing smoking would do is turn me green. Then I’d be agreenvirgin phone sex operator, and really, I don’t think that makes anything better.
“That’s good,” he says. “Because I don’t smoke, either, so I don’t have any cigarettes.”
Shane snorts behind him, but Dom keeps his eyes on me as I break down again, dropping my head into my hands. “What am I even doing with my life? I’m twenty-five years old, for shit’s sake, and I’m a virgin? I mean, how sad is that?” I swallow hard against the emotion clogging my throat and sit up straight again, pushing my back into the bench cushion. “I don’t date. I don’t go out. I don’t drink or do drugs. Up until two months ago, I went to work at Alliance Medical doing data entry, and I went home to take care of my mom. Her caretaker, Lovie, is the only person I talk to on a regular basis, and my mom is getting worse and worse by the day. I know I could sell the house, but she’s genuinely comfortable there, and it’s the last thing I even have of my dad’s. I ... I don’t know if I can keep doing this, but I don’t know if I can stop either. I need the money, desperately, because every time I take out more money on the reverse mortgage, we just get deeper in the hole,” I ramble, venting damn near fifteen years of trauma on the poor guys.
Shane looks on silently from the back of the van, but Dom lifts a hand, settling it on my dress-covered knee and squeezing. Warmth radiates through the thin fabric, spreading to my skin and making me acutely, unexpectedly aware of him. It feels unsettlingly intimate—a stark contrast to my hermitic / home care–providing / almost-homeless identity crisis—and the urge to cry wells up in swollen balloons behind my eyes. But I force a deep breath to hold it back.
