I closed my eyes.
This was not happening.
I opened my eyes again and Hank was watching me. He took the phone from his ear and flipped it shut. “No answer,” Hank informed me. He opened it and started pressing buttons.
I knew what he was doing, looking at the received cal s.
Normal y, I would have been angry at his nerve but I was too busy freaking out at what he might find.
“Give me my phone, Hank.”
He got to what he was looking for. “It says unknown cal er.”
Shit.
Bil y was on the road and likely his cel had run out of juice.
“Give me the phone,” I repeated.
It rang again.
Without delay, he flipped it open and put it to his ear.
“Hank!” I yel ed, making a play for it but he caught me, snatching me around the waist with his arm and he pul ed me up against his body.
“This is Detective Hank Nightingale. Who’s cal ing?” he said in a voice that rang with so much authority, if it was me on the other side, I would have answered in a flash.
Bil y was going to have a shit hemorrhage: a man answering my phone, a man with a deep, sexy, authoritative, no-nonsense voice and a police title.
authoritative, no-nonsense voice and a police title.
“Identify yourself,” Hank demanded.
He waited. I waited.
Hank was looking pissed off. I was holding my breath.
He pul ed the phone from his ear, flipped it shut one-handed and looked at me.
“No answer?” I asked.
He nodded.
I closed my eyes.
His arm tightened.
I opened them.
“Your trouble catching up with you?” he asked.
I bit my lip. Then I let it go.
“Maybe.”
“You ready to tel me about it?”
I answered immediately. “No.”