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Once he got back home he sent Mariah a private message on her social media page, asking her to go with him to the gala. Within seconds, she replied with her phone number. Exhaling a deep breath, he called her.
“Well, I have to say I’m not surprised to hear from you. Even after all this time,” Mariah said in her conceited, high-pitched voice.
Grimacing, he held the phone away from his face. Was this going to work—and be worth it?
“I just received the invitation in the mail today, but it didn’t say who it was from.”
“I figured I’d let you mull it over first.” But he knew who’d sent it. Hannah must have thought she would confront Mariah at the gala too. Which was good. She wouldn’t be furious when Mariah showed up with him.
“So what did you have in mind? I’ll stay with you, we’ll attend the event, then pick up where we left off?”
His breath caught in his throat. Was she about to confess now?
“Something like that. Can you get to town in time? I’ll get a room at the hotel near where the event is being held. That’ll be the easiest. I’m sure the gala will run late.”
“That sounds perfect, but I can arrive early so we have a day to spend more time together. Get reacquainted without an audience.” She dropped the volume of her voice to a hush. It was her attempt at being sexy, but he just found it revolting.
“Oh man, that sounds great, but I have to work Friday. I’m leading a big task force, and it’s keeping me busy.”
“I thought you were some finance guru these days. Everyone was always saying how successful you were going to be back in school.”
“I still dabble in finance, but my heart’s in law enforcement,” he said, ignoring the huff of disappointment on the other end. “Should I send a car to pick you up?”
“That sounds fine. And you’ll meet me at the hotel Friday before the event?”
“Yes, don’t worry. I’ll handle all the logistics.”
“I hope there won’t be any drama when we’re seen together,” she said.
It was clear in her tone all she wanted was drama. He just hoped he could pull off getting her to admit what she’d done before Parker tried to fight him again.
Chapter Twenty-One
Hannah was sick,and it wasn’t because she ate half a chocolate cake or ended things with Conner. She was legit unwell: a fever, the sweats, her head was pounding, and her body ached. After calling in sick for her shift, she took some medicine and crawled back into her bed. Sleep must have taken over because the next time she woke up, the light outside was dim. Her pillow was damp but hot at the same time, and she was freezing when she shifted in her sheets. Unable to see her phone, she knew she must have left it downstairs.
After crawling out of bed, she made her way down the steps, each one causing her head to pound. Shivering, she found some cold and flu medicine, then grabbed a throw blanket from the couch and a bottle of water before making her way back upstairs to burrow under her covers. She wished she could call Conner, but she doubted he would want to hear from her anytime soon.
She must have dozed off again because when she woke up, her face felt like it was on fire, and her mouth was dry. Her cold meds had worn off—and her fever was spiking again. When she attempted to sit up on the side of the bed, her vision blurred, and goose bumps pushed up all over her skin. A thumping noise from down stairs gave her a moment of clarity: someone was in her house. There was no way she could fend off a home invasion. She was too sick to even be freaked out.
“Hannah, my heart, are you upstairs?” her dad’s voice called.
Tears pricked her hot eyes at the sound of her childhood nickname. Relief washed over her as she sank back onto her damp pillowcase with fresh beads of sweat on her brow.
“In here,” she croaked.
Her door pushed open slowly, and the faint smell of her father’s aftershave wafted into the room. It was a subtle scent that comforted her in an instant.
“Dad,” she said as a few fat drops spilled down her cheeks.
“Oh, darling. Don’t fret. I brought you soup, popsicles, and rented us a few movies from that box contraption at the grocery store.”
Even smiling hurt, and the tears seemed to evaporate as they ran down her cheeks.
Her father’s usually warm hand brushed her cheek.
“You’re blazing hot. I think we better cool you off with a wet washcloth and get some more meds in you,” he said in a soft, unpanicked voice.
The next thing she knew, her father was offering her a disgusting syrup to swallow, several cold washcloths, and a red popsicle. He placed a fresh pillow and towel under her head.
