Chapter Eight #3
muttered irritably.
“She’s not being brought into it,” Mo shot back. “It’s all
about her and has always been all about her. If I had my say, any victim would
be able to choose what punishment their offender would get. That would be
random and chaotic, but I don’t give a fuck. It’d be fair, and it’d give
closure and power to the people who were stripped of it. I don’t get to decide
the way our criminal justice system works. But from the second those journals
were found, I was unofficially off the job, and the path was cleared I could
officially claim Lottie as mine. So now I do get to decide how she’s
protected in all ways. And I’m not gonna ask
her to live with the fact that she knows some guy had his tongue cut out, even
if I, personally, would like the opportunity to pull it through a gaping hole
in his throat.”
“I think I like you,” Smithie announced.
“I don’t care,” Mo replied and looked again at his boss.
“Are we done?”
“You might have to give false testimony, Mo,” Hawk reminded
him.
“I don’t care about that either,” Mo replied. “Are we done?”
“You were on her, so no one has to know you were in the
house,” Hawk muttered. Then said, “We’re done.”
Mo turned on his boot and walked toward the door.
“You got two days leave, Mo,” Hawk called to his back.
“Starting today.”
Mo said nothing as he walked out of that house.
Though he did that thinking, not for the first time, his
boss was the shit.
The sun was coming up in the sky.
The dawn of a new day.
Mo was looking forward to it.
He just hoped like fuck he didn’t run anybody over getting
his ass back to Lottie.
Hawk
Hawk stood looking out the window at Mo’s truck
taking off.
He felt Smithie come up beside him.
“You’re gonna let me call Mitch
and Slim?” Hawk asked.
“Yup,” Smithie answered.
“And you’re gonna let justice take
its course?”
“Yup.”
“Then, after it does, if it doesn’t swing Lottie’s way,
you’re gonna bring someone in to neutralize this whackjob,” Hawk guessed.
“Yup.”
Hawk stared at the empty street.
“My girls gotta be safe, Hawk,”
Smithie explained.
“I didn’t say a word.”
“All girls should be safe.”
He turned to the man at his side. “I got a daughter,
Smithie, and I got a wife. Even if I didn’t, you’re still preaching to the
choir.”
“You won’t know,” Smithie assured him.
“I’d give you some names, you asked. But if you want to
compartmentalize, this is your thing, she’s yours to protect, it isn’t my
call.”
Smithie studied him before he noted, “Your man, he had no
say, you just wanted him to think he did.”
“He was here speaking for her. The only thing I feel bad
about is that Mo was right, she should have a voice in this. And in the end,
she didn’t.”
“That’s what men like us are for, Delgado,” Smithie pointed
out. “Someone’s gotta make the tough decisions. This
guy,” he tossed up a hand to indicate the house they were in, “he’s touched. Somethin’ wrong with him. But that’s not my problem. What’s
in that basement is anyone’s worst nightmare. That’s my problem. And
that cannot stand.”
Hawk nodded.
He could maybe argue, but he wouldn’t know why, since he
agreed.
“I’ll lock the door when you go,” he said.
Smithie didn’t hang around.
Hawk locked the door when he left.
He dealt with the situation first through Jorge, then he
called Slim.
Mitch was a straight arrow.
Slim had been DEA. He got shades of gray. He’d take care of
it.
Then Hawk went home and was met with the sounds of
pandemonium coming from the kitchen. This pandemonium being his wife getting
breakfast for their three kids.
It wasn’t just the kids, though both his boys were a
handful.
Gwen was an even bigger handful, thankfully, and she got off
on the chaos of family.
His youngest, Vivi, hit him in the legs before he even made
the kitchen.
Hawk looked down and put a hand to her head.
His black hair, Gwen’s blue eyes.
Pure beauty.
A letter was ever written about her, a room prepared…
No, he had no argument for Smithie.
“Hey, Daddy,” she greeted.
“Hey, beautiful,” he replied.
“Mommy’s making us chocolate chip cookie dough pancakes.”
Of course she was, and he had no idea such a thing existed.
To Hawk, it sounded repulsive.
But cookie dough was considered by his wife as a food group,
maybe the most important one, and she had no qualms sharing this thinking with
their children in a variety of creative ways.
Hawk smiled at his girl, but his thoughts were on his wife.
“Vivi, honey, get in the kitchen and control your brothers
before I shoot them. Book bags, you know the drill,” Gwen ordered, striding in
wearing little gray shorts with lace at the bottoms and a loose gray tank, more
lace at the bottom.
“Okay, Mommy,” Vivi agreed, gave Hawk’s thighs a squeeze
then skipped out of the utility room and into the open-plan kitchen.
He lost the arms of one of his girls only to be in the arms
of the other as his wife pressed into him.
Hawk returned the favor, but considering his children were
in the next room, he didn’t put either of his hands to her ass like he wanted
to do.
Her eyes moved over his face. “Okay?”
“Yeah, Sweet Pea,” he murmured.
“Tough night?”
“Job done.”
She pressed closer and smiled up at him.
The minute she did, he started the clock.
It ran down to zero when he pulled back into his garage
after taking the kids to school.
Kids at school.
Job done.
It was time to fuck his wife.