Every damn day she’s at risk of talking to vile human beings who could be capable of murdering two women.
A healthy dose of adrenaline dumps into my veins, and my body is primed to have a conversation with this guy.
I push through the door, making a point to let it fly open hard enough that it bangs against the wall and startles the man sitting at the metal table in the corner of the room. He’s a lanky guy with a scraggly beard, and the fear in his eyes only amps me up more.
Good, you sick fuck. You should be scared.
“Waylon Hades?” I question just as Shane walks into the room behind me, shutting the door much more calmly than I opened it.
“Y-yeah.” Waylon nods, his hands shaking so hard now he has to put them in his lap and clench them together. “I don’t k-know w-why I’m in here.”
“You don’t know why you’re in here?” I repeat with a sarcastic laugh and pull up one of the chairs to sit directly across from him at the table.
Shane hangs back, standing in the corner of the room.
“Well, you picked up a prostitute.” I flip open the manila folder that contains his file. I scan through the papers. “An eighteen-year-old girl,” I comment. “You like them young, huh?”
“I-I didn’t know she was that young. I-I t-thought she was older.”
I stare at him. “So, if you would’ve known she was only eighteen, then you wouldn’t have tried to pay her for sex?”
“No way.” He shakes his head several times. “No way—I would’ve never.”
“How often do you cruise downtown looking for prostitutes?”
“I’ve only done it once. I swear. Only this time.”
“You’ve only done it once and you just so happened to get caught?” I ask, my brow furrowing. “You either have the worst luck, Waylon, or you’re lying through your fucking teeth.”
“I-I’m not lying.”
I laugh. But I also stand and lean across the table, my hands resting on the cool metal surface. Waylon shudders when I’m nearly nose to nose with his greasy face. “So, you’ve only tried to pick up a prostitute this one time?”
He nods and averts his eyes like a coward.
I reach forward to grip his shirt with my fist and force his gaze back to mine. “And what about Call Me Anytime?”
He tries to look away from me, but I just grip his shirt tighter.
“What about Call Me Anytime, Waylon?” I question, and my voice is growing louder with each word. “How often are you calling into that hotline?”
“S-sometimes. Not a l-lot.”
“Are you sure, Waylon?” I retort through a stiff jaw. “Are you sure you don’t like calling into theRubyline?”
Waylon just sits there. His eyes bounce around me, around the room, like a rogue basketball after it’s been tossed down the court.
“You like Ruby, huh?” I question and drop my voice a few octaves. “And you likeallthe Rubys that have come before her. Maybe a little too much.”
He shakes his head.
“What did you do to the other Rubys, Waylon?” I spit out and lean even closer to his face. I also lift him out of his chair by his shirt. “Whathappened to the other Rubys, Waylon? What did you do, Waylon?” I repeat the question over and over again. “What did you do, Waylon?What did you do, Waylon?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he shouts, and tears are starting to stream down his cheeks. “I didn’t do anything! I don’t even know what you mean!”
The urge to slam him against the wall is so strong, it’s a miracle I keep myself in check. All I can think about is what this sick bastard has already said to Hannah and whether he’s responsible for Gwen and Heather or—worse—if he’s thinking of making Hannah his next target. That thought alone is like fuel on a fire I can hardly control, but Shane steps in between us, promptly prying my fists from Waylon’s shirt.
“Let’s take five, brother,” he says quietly and proceeds to ease Waylon back into his seat.
