Page 44 of Hannah and the Hitman

“What?” I asked, transfixed.

“Dax,” she prompted, then stuffed the piece in her mouth. She moaned and chewed. “God, so good.”

Fuck. I had a hard on from watching her eat bread and listening to her practically have an orgasm over dairy. I grabbed a piece for myself. I didn’t skimp on the butter either and shoved half of it in my mouth. Over her shoulder, Turkleman was talking, gesticulating with his arms in a way that indicated he was talking about baseball or killing someone with a club.

“We met in elementary school,” I said, after swallowing. The bread was fucking good. “His dad had a fighting gym and since my mom worked all the time, I hung out there. When we weren’t off getting into trouble. We’re still best friends.”

“I can see you as a kid.”

“Oh yeah?” I wondered.

She nodded. “I bet you were adorable in the child-sized suits.”

I gave her a look that told her I wasn’t amused, but I really was.

“Your mom raised you on her own?” she asked.

As I answered, she buttered another piece of bread. “My father walked out when I was eight. She didn’t have much choice but to work two, sometimes three jobs. Because of that, I didn’t see her much. Then she died. I lived with Dax and his dad, so I didn’t go into the system.”

The smile was gone from her face, but I didn’t see pity in her eyes. She passed me the buttered bread slice. I took it from her, our fingers brushing. The static electricity was back with a little zap.

“So the suits are a new thing?”

I shrugged, took a bite. “Dress for the job you want, isn’t that the saying?”

“You really are a mortician then.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Nothing that exciting. Dax and I run a company that helps high end clients problem solve.” That was my standard line. Most people nodded and didn’t ask more. Not Hannah.

“What kinds of problems?” she asked.

Turkleman stood. He wore a white dress shirt and sports coat, no tie. From across the room, I could see the patch of dark chest hair peeking out of the open collar. He cut across the restaurant toward the bathrooms.

Now was my chance.

I looked to Hannah, offered her a small smile. “I have to use the restroom. Be right back.”

She nodded. I stood, then headed off to kill a man, a slice of Hannah-buttered bread in my hand.

27

JACK

Fuck. Turkleman wasn’t in the can. He was by the emergency exit at the end of the hallway on his cell. He gave me a casual glance, but his focus was on his call. He had no idea I was going to kill him. I was only another diner.

Except, I couldn’t do the job in the hallway, not when anyone–man or woman–could appear. There was no choice but to enter one of the unisex bathrooms and wait the expected few minutes before I exited.

When I did, the hall was empty and the other unisex bathroom’s door was slightly open, which meant he was gone.

“Fuck,” I muttered, running a hand over the back of my neck. Time was running out.

I went back to the table where Hannah was talking with the waiter.

“There he is,” she said, giving me her gorgeous, innocent smile. “Do you know what you want?”

Yeah, Turkleman dead and you in my bed.

As I slid into my seat, I asked her, “Did you order yet?”