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)
I watch with unsteady breaths as she leans back into the door, but I don’t miss the flush of her cheeks. “Thank you. Again. I’ll remember this for a long time, Dom.”
I nod, just one herky-jerk of my chin. It’s all I can manage.
She shuts the door behind herself and hustles toward the house, and I sink into the seat, my head falling back and my eyes closing.
Fuck.
Sitting silently, I turn my gaze to the house and watch as lights pop on one by one, imagining her moving into the space and settling back into her routine. Settling back into business. Settling back into a world I don’t particularly fit into.
I take a deep breath and run my hand over the steering wheel, willing myself to start my car and drive away.
But a minute passes.
Then five more minutes.
And once I realize I simply don’t want to leave—knowing what my presence outside does for her state of mind—I kick my seat back a notch and close my eyes, getting comfortable.
If it means Hannah feels safe, I’ll be here every night.
7:00 a.m.
I wake to the sound of a car starting up, and Lovie waves as she pulls out of the driveway, the gentle glow of morning just lighting the sky.
I offer a wave and a smile back and adjust my seat from lying to sitting, yawning into my hand and stretching out the kinks in my neck. My sleep wasn’t deep. Hell, it wasn’t even restful. But knowing my loss was Hannah’s gain makes the sacrifice feel worth it tenfold.
The house is quiet, but since I still have Hannah’s battery in the back seat, I decide to fulfill my promise before heading home. Even though exhaustion tugs at my limbs, the thought of doing something for her is enough to push me into motion. I snag a flannel button-down from the back, put it on, and climb out of my door. With the driver’s seat folded forward, I grab the battery and then some tools from my supply bag in the trunk. I walk slowly up the driveway to Hannah’s white Civic in front of the garage.
Luckily the driver’s side door is unlocked from Hannah’s efforts to start the car yesterday morning—an oversight I’m sure she doesn’t make often—so I pull it open and pop the hood. I unscrew the panel above the battery and snap the plastic off, remove the leads from the terminals, and then pull the existing battery out and set it down on the concrete. I pick up the other battery to switch it out, and just have it settled in its holder when the sound of the front door opening fills my ears.
Instantly, I push back from under the hood, expecting to see Hannah, a trill of unextinguishable excitement running the length of my spine.
Instead, Sherry steps out in her robe, nightgown, and slippers. After closing the door behind herself, she power walks straight toward my Camaro at the end of the long driveway, not even noticing me near Hannah’s car.
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.