Page 7 of Hannah and the Hitman

“I’m down.”

This was what two killers did for fun. No beer and a ball game. No recreational softball team. We shot watermelons with hollow tip bullets. And we could write off on our taxes the cost of ammo and the mileage to Wyoming where we had free rein to shoot targets.

“Can’t believe you had to fly commercial yesterday,” he said, keeping the conversation moving. He shook his head in either commiseration or sorrow. “Must’ve been hell.”

“Definitely not hell.”

I thought of the woman who’d been in the seat beside me. I didn’t even know her name. But I knew her ass was a fucking work of art, she had a dimple in her right cheek and underneath that prim, good girl exterior lived a naughty vixen who was down for some sweaty, dirty fun. Her taste in reading had been the first obvious sign, but what she told me as we made our final descent into Denver was another.

Every guy thinks a woman wants flowers and moonlight when in fact every woman actually wants to get railed by a dirty talker. You’ve heard of a lady on the streets but a whore in the sheets? Well, we want a gentleman on the streets who’s down for a pound. I have a list and I want to do all of it.

My dick had been hard the entire time–really fucking uncomfortable in economy but thankful that the tray table could hide it–and I almost choked on a sip of my four-dollar ginger ale when she shared.

“What was wrong with Reggiano’s jet again?” he asked, pulling me out of my thoughts of Pound Town with Miss Librarian.

“O Ring or something. Eyebrows and Joey Brains were like hangry toddlers.”

Leaning down, I peeked through the rifle scope once more into the target’s apartment in the other building. The lights throughout the penthouse were on. Someone had good taste in interior design.

“Sal Reggiano must’ve liked my work because he messaged. He’s got another job for me. Next week. Someone’s coming in for the Rockies game. Wants him taken out while he’s here.”

“Who wants to watch the Rockies?” Dax asked, stunned.

He had me there. The major league baseball team was mediocre, at best, these days and wasn’t making any news headlines. Why someone would come to Denver to see them stumped both of us.

“Some guy named Turkleman. He’s from Texas. Guess he’s got a thing to make it to every major league park or something.”

“You’re not going to make the hit at the stadium, are you?”

I looked up from my scope, glanced his way. As if I’d be that stupid. I didn’t need ten thousand witnesses.

“That’s what I thought. Lemme know if you need any help.”

“Will do,” I replied.

Three jobs this week and another one next had me craving boredom. I wanted to sleep late, read the paper. Go to the corner coffee shop and meet friends. Run. Play racquetball. Whatever normal people did. Not spend a Monday night on a skyscraper rooftop waiting for a sex trafficker to finish taking a shit so I could blow the back of his head out.

Normal, like the woman on the plane. What would it be like to be normal, to not see everyone and everything as good and bad.

“Ever read a romance book?” I asked, then movement out of the corner of my eye had me turning, peered into the scope again. “He’s out.”

The bedroom door opened and out came the target in a white robe with the sash about his waist loose enough thata large swath of his broad chest and heavy paunch stuck out. He was talking to someone on his cell. Had he talked on the phone while having a shit?

Dax turned, folded his knife and tucked it into his pants pocket, then crossed his arms over his chest. He wore a suit minus the jacket, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up.

Roger Thorndyke, the target, was as douchy as his name. Insider trading. Corporate greed. That meant he was an asshole, but not enough for me to kill the guy. But when my client wanted him dead for also being the head of a trafficking ring that kidnapped his niece and took her over the border to a brothel in Tijuana, I took the contract.

Say goodbye, fucker.

“Did you just ask me if I readromance?” Dax asked.

I continued to stare through the scope as I answered. “Yeah. It’s actually pretty good. Way better than any porn I’ve seen.”

Dax was quiet long enough that I lifted my eye from the target and glanced up at him.

“What?” I asked.

“When did you start readingromance?”

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