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)
“But we still have time on our warrant.”
“He doesn’t give a shit, Dom,” Shane argues. “The captain wants a meeting with us first thing Monday morning. So how about you get your head out of your ass and try to focus on the important shit? We don’t have time for you to lose it, man.”
The weight of his words hits me hard, but what really sticks is the realization that I am losing it. Not just because of the case, but because of Hannah. She’s not just a witness or someone we’re trying to protect. She’s . . . someone who’s working her way into every corner of my life, whether I want to face that reality or not.
“I can’t fucking believe this,” I mutter, running a frustrated hand through my hair, but Shane just stares at me for a long moment. His eyes scrutinize my face, and his mouth is set in a firm line.
“That makes two of us,” he eventually adds before spinning on his heels and heading for the interrogation room again.
But I know he’s not talking about the possibility of our CMA wiretap getting pulled.
He’s talking about me. And the fact that I completely lost it back there with Waylon.
Son of a bitch.
I know he’s right. And I know I’m wrong.
I never let shit go to my head. Never.
Until now, apparently.
Until Hannah.
Two hours later, Shane comes out of the interrogation room, and I stand up from my desk. I’ve just been sitting here, watching the door like a hawk.
“He’s not our guy,” he says, closing the distance between us and coming to a stop right in front of my desk. “He works night shift at the ol’ Philips plant. He alibied out. Was even able to confirm with his boss that he was clocked in and actively working the nights Gwen and Heather were murdered.”
“Shit.” I don’t know what else to say.
“Yeah,” Shane comments. “Shit is exactly what you did tonight.”
I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry, man. I don’t know what got into me.”
“You don’t know?” he questions, but he isn’t looking at me in a clueless kind of way. “You can’t put the pieces of the puzzle together?”
“Oh, let me guess,” I retort through a sarcastic laugh. “You think this has something to do with Hannah.”
“I think?” It’s his turn to laugh. “Oh no, Dom. I know.”
When I don’t say anything to that, he keeps going. “What’s going on? Bringing Hannah to a family party? Dropping her off at home? What are you doing?”
“It’s not like that. I’m just being friendly,” I refute, even though I know I’m lying through my teeth.
“And I take it you volunteering to be the free patrol car outside Hannah’s house at night is you just being friendly, right?” He keeps going. “Same with you bringing her coffee every morning? Taking her out to dinner and bringing her to the bar the one night? Or how about you taking her to your parents’ house today, even though the last time you introduced a woman to them was over five years ago and you were in a serious relationship with Carla? That’s your definition of just being friendly?”
When I don’t say anything, he adds, “Dom, you’re being friendly with someone who is technically an informant on this case. You’re being friendly with someone you shouldn’t be getting close to at all, because it’s creating a serious conflict of interest. For the both of us.”
“What are you trying to say, Shane?”
“I’m saying you’re in too deep, brother. You’re in too fucking deep with someone you shouldn’t be in deep with at all.” He pats me on the shoulder. “Just . . . think about it, man. Just try to take a step back and really think about it. Because from where I stand, if you’re involved with Hannah, you shouldn’t be involved in this case.”
My head spins as he drops a file on his desk and heads back toward the interrogation rooms.
“Where are you going?”
“To help Kutch get Waylon ready to go to County, and then I’m getting the fuck out of here,” he calls over his shoulder and doesn’t look back.
He’s pissed at me. That much is obvious.
Is Shane right? Am I no longer standing in the shallow end of the friendly fucking pool, but treading in the deep end with Hannah?
Yeah, I probably am.
But the truth is, I don’t think I could go back to the shallow end even if I tried.
25
Hannah
10:45 p.m.
I stand in front of the security camera that’s now on the inside of my house, pointing directly toward the hallway that leads to my mom’s bedroom. With a little wave of my hand in the air, I look down at the screen of my phone, which shows my movements on a slight delay, and silently congratulate myself on setting up yet another security camera correctly.