Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 102903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“You fucking love my tits, Harvey?” I ask, and he responds without hesitation, his voice getting rougher and deeper with each word he speaks.
“Love them, Ruby.”
My hackles rise and my nerves feel frayed at the edges as I home in on Harvey. This piece of shit is sitting here talking to me like he didn’t kill an innocent girl, even though he could be the guy. The murderer. The one who killed Heather.
Anger starts to seep into my veins.
“Like, how much do you like my tits, Harvey?” I ask, my voice grating a little. “Would you cut them off and wear them?”
“Excuse me?”
Oh, sure. Act clueless, you sicko.
“My tits, Harvey,” I snap, refusing to give him any slack. “You love them so fucking much, right? Well, I’m wondering if maybe that love is a little extreme. Like, maybe, just maybe, you don’t need them warm and attached, but you’d like them just as much unattached? How about that?”
“Uh . . . I don’t think—”
“You don’t think what, Harvey?” I question, cutting him off and continuing my own interrogation. From where I’m seeing things, Harvey might as well be cuffed and behind bars. “It’s a yes-or-no question. Do you want to cut off my tits and wear them or not?”
“What is going on?” Harvey questions, panic in his voice. “Are you some kind of Fed or some shit? I thought this was a phone sex hotline.”
“Why would you be worried that I’m a Fed, Harvey? Did you do something wrong? Have you actually cut off some girl’s tits before? Or worse, have you mur—”
The line goes dead before I can finish my sentence, and I yank my headset off with a huff. I was so close to getting somewhere, and he’s just going to hang up? Coward.
Obviously, something is off with Harvey. He has suspect written all over him.
I set my phone to “off duty” and shove back from my desk. Monica glances up at me from her bright-white booth as I walk by, and some of the other girls lift their heads as I charge past them, too, but I don’t stop until I’m through the door of our office, down the hall, down the stairwell, and out on the street, where a black Sprinter van sits on the curb.
I knock three times with a hard fist on the sliding side door and then step back, crossing my arms over my chest.
The door swoops open with a whoosh, and Detective Dunn climbs out, leaving it cracked behind him as he comes to stand in front of me.
“What’s up?” he asks, his eyebrows drawn together, and the corner of his mouth upturned by just a tick.
“What’s up?” I repeat, gobsmacked that he’s not already talking to me about arresting that sicko Harvey. “I can’t be the only one who heard that conversation, right? You’re listening to my calls, so you clearly heard what just went down.”
“And what exactly do you think went down?” Detective Dunn asks, and I scrunch up my face in annoyance.
“Um . . . I think Harvey might be the guy,” I say, gesturing up and out with my hands. “Don’t you think? He was suspicious as hell and refused to answer my questions.”
He shakes his head slowly, the other corner of his mouth joining the first in its upward movement. “You want the truth?”
I nod several times.
“I think you scared the piss out of him.”
“What?” I step back in shock. “Scared him? What are you talking about?”
“Hannah, you asked him if he wanted to cut off your breasts and wear them.”
“So?” I retort, gesticulating dramatically with my hands. “He was getting all possessive and giving off murdery vibes! I was just trying to get a feel for his psyche! I was trying to help you solve this freaking murder!”
“We’re listening, Hannah. Me and Shane.” Detective Dunn puts a hand to his chest. “We’re sitting here and listening to all of the calls.” His handsome face softens like he’s talking to a child. “You don’t need to get aggressive with these callers.”
“I wasn’t getting aggressive!” I shout, and his face creases with a knowing smile.
“The last caller hung up because he was terrified. He actually questioned if you were a federal agent.”
“Wouldn’t that be exactly what someone who killed a woman would do?” I challenge him, but his demeanor is cool, calm, and collected.
“No. Not exactly.”
I stare at him, my mind reeling over how relaxed he seems about a guy I was convinced was the killer.
“Hannah, why don’t you leave the investigating—our job—up to us,” Detective Dunn says. “And you just focus on doing the calls, which is your job?”
Embarrassment reddens my face as I turn away and let out a huge sigh.
Okay, so maybe I have been a little aggressive with these callers, but I’m scared! Freaking terrified, if I’m being honest with myself. Now that I know one of these guys might be responsible for killing the girl before me, it’s hard not to be completely on edge.