Page 54 of Call Me Anytime
Shit.
Quickly, I wipe my hands on my jeans and run toward her, cutting in front of her and forcing her to a stop as gently as possible. The excitement is gone, replaced swiftly by concern.
“Hey, Sherry,” I greet her, leaning down a little to meet her unsteady gaze. “Where you headed?”
“Oh, Tony!” she exclaims after a few blinks. “I was just coming to find you.”
“Here I am,” I answer with a smile, hoping it’s sufficient to disarm her enough that I can get her back in the house. This isn’t my first time encountering this kind of situation, but with Sherry, it feels different. It feels ...personal.
I know Hannah added a doorbell and an outdoor security camera to her already pretty thorough setup, but if she’s still asleep or in the shower, I don’t imagine that’s going to help very much right now. “Did you need something?”
“I wanted to talk to you about some case notes I’ve been mulling over.”
“Of course.” I nod. “Why don’t we go inside and take a look at them? We can discuss over breakfast.”
She rubs her hands together, excited. “That’s a good idea.”
She lets me take her arm, thankfully, so I can guide her back to the front door, which I make sure to lock behind us. She leads the way up the stairs, and I follow, glancing around for Hannah as we walk into the kitchen. Sherry heads for the coffeepot, and I redirect her, settling her on a stool instead and offering to make the coffee myself.
“That’d be great, Tony. Thanks.”
“So, what did you have in your case notes you wanted to go over?” I make quick work of putting a fresh pot on. “We’d better have something to tell Gibbs later, huh?”
Since I now understand that Sherry’s misnaming stems from her comfort TV show,NCIS, I’ve been slowly adding the show to my routine at night before falling asleep, trying to acquaint myself with the characters.Not that you sleep much these days. Hannah occupies more of your thoughts than you’d like to admit.
“Honestly, Tony, I think we’re missing something when it comes to the killer.” Sherry sighs and shakes her head. “I’m just not seeing whyhe’d leave behind the murder weapon knowing that Abby’s going to have the tools to trace it.”
She reminds me so much of my grandma Harriet when her dementia had progressed significantly. Her comfort was her birdhouses. She must’ve had thirty of them scattered throughout the yard, and my grandpa Louie made it part of their daily routine to check on the birdhouses and ensure they were stocked with seed in the morning, in the afternoon, and right before dinnertime.
Grandma Harriet had birdhouses. Sherry hasNCIS. The thought tugs at something inside me, and before I know it, I’m wondering what it would be like for Sherry to meet my grandpa Louie—what it would be like for Hannah and her mother to meet my family.
Ironically enough, I’m due to go to my parents’ house later today to celebrate my grandfather’s birthday, and my imagination paints a picture of Hannah sitting at their long dining table with me—my mom doting on her, my grandpa giving her his normal sarcastic banter.
It’s ridiculous, of course. I’ve spent the last decade keeping women at arm’s length when it comes to my family. Too many times, I’ve seen the shift in someone’s eyes when they realize the kind of money that’s equated with my family. Equated with me. It’s never ended well.
Money does strange things to people. Hell, the only reason anyone at MNPD knows about the connection is because of Shane’s big mouth. Otherwise, I keep that part of my life locked away. I don’t want to be Dominic Dunn, heir to the Dunn Coffee throne. I want to be Dominic Dunn, period.
But Hannah ... she doesn’t feel like someone who’d care about any of that. She’s real. Genuine. She’s someone who belongs at that ta—
“Earth to Tony,” Sherry comments, her voice filled with impatience and the power to pull my attention back. “Don’t you think we’re missing something with the killer? I mean, surely he knows how skilled Abby is.”
“Maybe he wasn’t planning on dealing with someone as good as Abby,” I answer, and surprisingly I actually know whichNCIScharacter she’s talking about. Clearly, my binge-watching is paying off. “I mean,if he filed off the serial number, it’d take some real digging to figure out who the weapon belonged to.”
Sherry sighs again, her mind very busy with solving whatever case she’s thinking about. I take out a pan from the cabinet next to the stove before rooting around in the fridge until I find some eggs and butter.
“Abby has the bullets to match for ballistics, and he didn’t police his brass,” Sherry states. “It just feels sloppy, and I’m wondering if it’s intentional.”
I shrug, clicking on the burner and scraping some butter in to heat up. “Maybe he’s just not that good.”
“No, Tony,” Sherry says with a tsk. “This is the fifth murder tied to this MO, and you guys would have caught him by now if he was just sloppy. This is calculated. I mean, maybe it’s a frame job like the one they tried to pull on you.”
“Yeah—”
“Sherry, who are you talking to?” Hannah asks, stepping out of her bedroom and pulling a sweatshirt over her head.
Her hair is messy from sleep, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves, and the sight of her stirs something deep in my chest. I clear my throat to call her attention, and her eyes broaden as they settle on me at the stove.
“Sorry,” I apologize softly with a shrug, and when her brow furrows in confusion, I find a gentle way to explain the morning’s events. “So ... Sherry found me in the driveway this morning, wanting to discuss some case details.”
