Hannah and the Hitman

Epilogue #1

EPILOGUE #1

JACK

“Afternoon. Can I help you find something?”

Based on Nitro’s report, this was Kevin, Hannah’s used car salesman ex. I walked across the lot in his direction. Tucked between a few hotels and chain restaurants by the highway, it had been easy to find. The twenty-foot-tall blue, inflatable dancing cartoon character that bobbed and weaved also helped.

Hannah and Brittany were at the bookstore making plans and lists. I offered to pick up deli sandwiches for lunch, but decided to make a detour and finally– fucking finally– deal with her ex.

Don’t kill him. Don’t kill him. You can maim. Maim is good.

I sized Kevin up pretty quick. Latino. Black hair he got trimmed at the barber chain store at the mall right down from the place he picked up his no-press khakis and polo shirt. Above his lip was a mustache, although it was pretty patchy, even for a guy who I guessed to be around thirty .

As he eyed my SUV, his brain was probably churning as to why I’d want to buy a ten-year old station wagon or pickup truck.

“Kevin Cortez?”

He offered me a smile, as if we were new friends. “You found me. Looking for another vehicle?”

I walked over to a minivan that had seen better days. “Looking for something with a little extra space.”

“Growing family?”

“Bodies.”

He laughed, but it was totally fake. His gaze roved over me, suddenly warily.

“A friend of mine shared your name,” I told him.

His chest puffed up, pleased as punch to have a friend. “Oh? Who should I thank?”

“Hannah Highcliff.”

His smile slipped. “Nice girl.”

Nice girl?

“Got your phone on you?” I asked, eyeing the car, not the man.

He nodded.

I waited, then when he didn’t catch on that I wanted him to pull it out, I curled my fingers in a come here gesture.

He blinked, then pulled it from the back pocket of his pants.

“Pull up a map app,” I told him.

He looked up from the screen. “You lost?”

“I’m not lost, but I think you are.”

He frowned. “I know this area pretty well.”

“Do a search for clitoris. ”

He huffed out a laugh, the kind that misogynistic pricks at bars made when they got together. “What?”

“You heard me.”

He shook his head like I was crazy and typed it in. “Can’t find it.”

“Yeah, I figured. You still can’t find a clit even with a fucking map.”

He finally caught on and was pissed. “What the fuck, dude?”

I stepped close. Real close so I could smell his cheap cologne and desperation. “Leave town. You have twenty-four hours.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “What?”

“Get out of Colorado. As far from Hannah Highcliff as possible.”

He shook his head. “No fucking way. If she didn’t have a brain tumor, she’d still be a bad lay. Not like her sister.”

Wrong fucking words. Before he could blink, my right fist shot out and jabbed him in the face. The crack of bone came right before Kevin spouted obscenities and covered his nose. Blood seeped between his fingers.

Ah, that felt good.

I stepped closer. He took a step back, realized he might have some balls after all, and held his ground. Reaching behind my back, I pulled out my gun and pivoted my wrist side to side to ensure I had his attention. “Twenty-four hours. If you haven’t disappeared by then, kneecaps will be first. Want to know what’ll be after that?”

His eyes widened and it was possible he pissed himself. I didn’t look down to confirm. He shook his head, finally catching on that I was really fucking serious. I could shoot him, shove him in the minivan and get it over a nearby ravine. That was what I wanted to do, but I wasn’t a hitman. I was a boyfriend.

Boyfriends didn’t murder a girlfriend’s ex.

He broke his nose.

And drove him out of town.

Fuck, yes.