Hannah and the Hitman

Chapter 9

9

JACK

She looked better than I remembered, even with the blatant panic on her face.

It wasn’t the look I wanted to see, especially directed at me, but what had I expected? For her to fling her clothes off and climb up on the circulation desk for me to fuck her like I’ve imagined since I got off the plane?

Shit, that thought got me hard, which was bad since a mother with two small children walked by, heading for the exit with bags full of books. Yeah, no fucking on the counter.

The interior was brightly lit with multiple book display islands. To the left was the hold section and DVDs. To the right was a separate room, the kids’ section, based on the size of the tables and chairs and a large dinosaur painted on the wall. In the back and up a flight of stairs, were rows of books .

When she kept right on staring, her mouth open, her cell to her ear and her eyes as wide as saucers, I raised my hand and offered her a little finger wave.

Coming out of her stupor–that was a good sign, right?–she disconnected her call, set her phone down and came out of the back room.

Tentatively, she approached the desk as if I was delivering bad news or was a stalker from a plane flight we shared the week before and was nervous about getting too close.

I didn’t like the idea of her being afraid of me, even though she probably should be. If it wasn’t me but some other guy she sat beside on the plane who showed up at her work, I’d be the first to tell her to run the other way.

But this was me. Hitman? Yes. Stalker? Yes. Yet, completely safe.

“Hello,” I said.

She blushed a hot pink and had a hard time meeting my eyes. Nerves or fear, I wasn’t sure which. “Um… hi.”

Her body was lush and curvy, and I wanted to grab and squeeze and cup and caress every soft inch of her. In a pretty black skirt and white V-neck tee–which only accentuated her more-than-a-handful tits–she looked business casual and cool enough for the summer heat. She looked sweet and innocent.

I knew that wasn’t completely true. It was that contradiction that made me so intrigued.

I stared.

She stared.

I stared some more. Took in how her dark hair was half pulled back, tendrils falling loose to frame her round face. Her brown eyes. The way her eyebrows had a pretty arch to them. Her pert nose. Full lips that would look amazing wrapped around my dick.

“Um… what are you doing here?” she asked, finally finding her voice.

“Isn’t it obvious?” I asked.

She blinked, bit her lip. Obviously, it was not. “A… book?”

Squeaky wheels announced the arrival of a cart pushed by the older woman who I’d seen leaving the day before. She stopped right beside the counter. “I finished the self-help section, Hannah. I–” She stopped talking when she noticed me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had a patron.”

Hannah.

Her name was Hannah.

It suited her.

A cell rang from the back room.

“Do you need to get that?” the older woman asked.

Hannah shook her head. “No, Mrs. Metcalf. I’m sure it’s my mother. I hung up on her a minute ago.”

“I can help this young man if you need to call back.” Dressed in khaki pants that stopped at her ankles, a pale pink blouse and white sneakers–which were as bright as her short hair, Mrs. Metcalf looked like a catalog model for an octogenarian clothing store. The way she was eyeing me had me wonder how she planned to help me.

Why wasn’t Hannah eyeing me like I was a piece of meat, and she was a tiger who hadn’t had a meal in a while? I’d gladly let her objectify me. Use me. Hannah, not Mrs. Metcalf.

Hannah shook her head, her gaze still on mine as if looking away might make me disappear. “I definitely don’t want to call her back.”

I stared.

Hannah stared.

Mrs. Metcalf stared. “Aren’t you going to ask what he wants?” she prodded.

Hannah shook her head, as if coming out of a trance and cleared her throat. “How may I help you?”

“Go out with me.”

Hannah sputtered. Mrs. Metcalf grinned and clapped.

“I don’t know you,” Hannah said.

“I didn’t know Mr. Metcalf when he asked me on a date and we’re going on forty-eight years.”

Hannah looked to the woman as if she were crazy. Maybe she was, although she seemed to be on my side. “You want me to go off with a stranger? This is how women get murdered.”

Mrs. Metcalf waved her hand through the air. “That only happens in the Mystery section.”

Hannah couldn’t seem to help herself and laughed. “No, it doesn’t!” She thumbed my way. “He could be a murderer.”

Not could.

Mrs. Metcalf eyed me shrewdly. “Are you a murderer?” she asked, point blank. I imagined she could shoot a weapon with wicked precision. She probably had a gun in her purse like the one tucked into the back of my pants, hidden beneath my suit jacket. Although, hers was probably pink or had a pearl handle.

I set my hand on my chest. “I would never hurt Hannah in any way. If someone so much as looked at her funny, I’d ensure they never did so again.”

Both women blinked. Then both women fanned themselves.

“Oh my,” Mrs. Metcalf murmured, then looked at Hannah. “If you don’t go out with him, I will.”

I’d have to tell Dax that Mrs. Metcalf was taking his spot as my wingman. Although if Hannah turned me down, I may have to take Mrs. Metcalf to dinner.

Hannah set her hands on her hips and looked feisty as fuck. “He might be all growly and look hot in a suit and say protective and sexy things, but I don’t know the man.”

I wasn’t sure about the growly part, but her saying I looked hot and said sexy things boded well. The fact that she didn’t know me was something I planned to change. That was why I was here.

“He seems to know you,” Mrs. Metcalf countered, then looked my way. Her gray eyes held mine. I had a feeling if she was the gatekeeper to Hannah. If she didn’t like me, this wasn’t happening. “How do you know Hannah?”

“We met on an airplane.”

Hannah studied me, finally getting over her surprise of having me appear at her work. “How did you find me? I didn’t even tell you my name.” She looked to Mrs. Metcalf, tilted her head down and gave her a serious librarian stare. “That says stalker and not from any book in the Mystery section.”

“Stalker? Not in that suit,” Mrs. Metcalf said, giving me another onceover.

“I didn’t know your name until Mrs. Metcalf said it a few minutes ago. I knew you worked here because you said you were a librarian in Colorado and the sticker on the book you were reading was from this location.”

Her eyes widened again, probably realizing she may have drawn a dangerous person right to her with a simple library book.

“You live here in Coal Springs?” Mrs. Metcalf asked. “I would have certainly remembered you.”

I shook my head. “No, ma’am. Denver.”

“He came all this way for you,” Mrs. Metcalf said. Clearly, she was on my team.

“I don’t even know his name!”

Mrs. Metcalf turned her beady gaze on me. “She does have a point, young man.”

“Jack Hollister.” I took a step closer to the circulation desk and rested my hands on it. Only a few feet away, the air shimmered with potency between us. It was like on the plane, the draw I felt toward her. It was almost… electrifying. “I do not wish to harm you, Hannah. I came here to take you to dinner. Tonight.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. I have plans.”

“What plans?” I asked at the same time Mrs. Metcalf did.

“Dinner at my parents.”

I wasn’t sure if she was making that up, but it didn’t matter. Being with her mother and father weren’t what I had in mind, but murderers couldn’t be choosers.

“Then I shall go with you.”