Chapter 18
i’m not a hitman
Rowan
I close Hannah’s office door on my way out. She wanted privacy to collect herself since I dropped the bomb on her about Pops’ death. But she dropped her own bomb, too. One of world-axis-tilting proportions.
The woman I spent one night with five years ago kept in touch with my grandfather.
Became his friend. A rapid torrent of relief flooded my nervous system at her confession.
I hate seeing her cry, but Hannah shedding tears over my Pops sparked something inside me—a black-and-white television unexpectedly flickering with color.
There wasn’t time to press her for details. Her emotions were too high and work responsibilities had her whole office buzzing. I promised to contact her later so we could talk.
But my patience wears thin. I need to see her again. I’m already reaching for my phone to text her before I make it to the reception area. Head down, I reposition my hat, attempting to ignore the stares that follow me as I weave toward the exit.
I’m about to hit send, when I’m yanked by the elbow into the empty waiting area by the main doors.
“We need to talk,” the arm-wielding stranger says in a hushed whisper. She darts a quick glance over her shoulder like a secret service agent.
This woman is five-five at best on a good day…with heels on. Black curly hair frames the hard lines of her face pulled grimly at the edges. So this won’t be a friendly chat.
“What are we gonna do?” she asks.
I scrutinize her features some more before it clicks. She was with Hannah yesterday outside the hardware store. But I don’t know her name.
“I’m sorry, and you are?”
She rolls her eyes. “Kristen. Hannah’s best friend.”
Another click. She set up the blind date. Her husband works with Daniel. I’m hopeful, based on her murderous expression, that Hannah already told her what happened. But I need to be certain before I overstep.
“Wow. What a wordsmith,” she deadpans when I don’t respond.
“I need to know what you know.”
“She told me this morning. Well, the gist of it. She glossed over the details.”
I nod through another wave of relief. Even if Hannah never tells another soul, she told one person she trusts, and I can’t help but be a little proud of her for that.
She’s already repeating herself before I can get a word in. “What are we gonna do? I can’t force her to report it.”
“Does your husband know?”
A laugh laced with contempt escapes her lips. “Oh yeah. And he’s pissed. Said Daniel’s been holed up in his office all day. Goddamn coward.” My molars grind together. “Heard you rearranged his face last night.” My eyes jerk to hers and it’s all the confirmation she needs. “I knew I liked you.”
I step closer, lower my voice. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna give me the address of your husband’s office, and I’ll take it from there.”
Kristen purses her lips. Arms pinned across my chest, I meet her stare and raise her a challenging tip of the head.
She hums thoughtfully. “And by ‘take it’ you mean…”
“Address.”
A tap to her temple. “Plausible deniability. I hear ya.” Phone comes out. “I heard nothing. Saw nothing.” Her thumbs fly over her screen. “I know nothing. Rowan who? That’s what I always say.”
A chuckle thrums the back of my throat as heat pricks my skin. She knows my name. Hannah told her about me. “I’m not a hitman, Kristen.”
She slaps her palms over her ears and closes her eyes, shaking her head vigorously. “La la la la la la la, I didn’t hear anything.” With that she winks, smirks, and turns her phone around.
I jot down the name and address of the wealth management company into my notes app while Kristen casts suspicious looks over her shoulder. This woman clearly watches too much spy television.
“Got it.” I slide my phone in my pocket.
“Well then, stranger whom I’ve never met, it was nice not knowing you.”
I huff a laugh and she does the same. The ruse fades a beat later, her expression sobering.
She extends a hand and I take it. “Thank you, Rowan.”
This has always come with my job description—strangers thanking me for my sacrifice. But Hannah isn’t some mission. Last night wasn’t an order or a target I’d studied for weeks. It was instinct.
My reply fumbles in my chest for a beat. “I did what any decent guy would’ve done.”
Kristen’s hand still clings to mine in a motionless hover.
“No, decent guys intervene with a few punches before asking if the woman’s okay and then they move on.
” She juts her head. “But you stayed. You gave her space. Held back her hair. Drove her home and tucked her into bed. You cleaned her kitchen and met her mom.” Eyes narrowed, she drops my hand.
“You’re not just the decent guy. You’re an… invested guy.”
She has no idea how invested I am.
“I just want her to be okay.” The response lands quieter than I intended, but my throat is too tight.
A single nod. “Me too.”
I waltz into the reception area of Daniel’s office twenty minutes later, my text to Hannah still unsent.
As promised, Kristen’s husband, John, meets me in the lobby. We exchange greetings but don’t linger for small talk. Judging by the look on his face, I don’t need to explain why I’m here.
He leads me down a long hall flanked by private offices on both sides. “You talk to him at all?” I ask.
“No, he hasn’t left his office. Kristen told me what happened and then texted saying you were on your way.”
We round a corner and he stops before starting down a new hall. “He’s the last one on the left,” he says with a pointed dip of his chin. “So, what’s the play here?”
“You don’t need to be involved if you don’t want to.”
“No, I have to be. I feel like shit for vouching for him.” His lips thin, jaw tense. “He’s new here but he seemed like a good guy.”
“Sounds like you couldn’t have known.”
John removes his black-rimmed glasses and rubs the space between his brows before sliding them back on. He stares down the corridor, expression tight. “I’m involved so tell me the plan.”
“You sound like your wife.”
A low laugh tumbles out of him. “Yeah, she’s pretty ride or die.”
“Good. I’m glad Hannah has her.”
The weak facade of humor fades as he looks me over. We only met a few moments ago. Hell, he’s probably never heard of me before today, but he sees it. Man to man, he sees it—I’m in her corner too.
“Listen, all I’m planning to do is go in there and strike a little fear. Let him know he’s got people watching. Guys like him don’t generally need more than that to be put in their place.”
I saw it in Daniel’s eyes last night, the way he cowered from me as I laid into him. How he was nothing more than a scared kid making his escape the second the opportunity presented itself. Even now, as he hides away in his office thinking he’s safe there.
“Why are you doing this?” John asks.
“Pardon?”
“Don’t misunderstand me, I’m glad you were there last night. But this?” He gestures loosely toward Daniel’s office. “You got some angle I should be concerned about?”
John’s skepticism isn’t a threat. He’s working off limited information and that’s not his fault. And there may be a lot I don’t know about Hannah, but I know enough. Ultimately, I appreciate his protectiveness over her.
“No angle, man. I just care, that’s all.”
“Would you care as much if it was a different woman or is this about Hannah in particular?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I’d care if it was someone different, and, yes, because it’s Hannah.”
It’s then that he clocks the Army insignia on my hat, the dog tags around my neck.
Would I have gone this far if it hadn’t been Hannah I stumbled across last night?
The truth is, yes, I would. It’s what I’ve been trained to do.
The way Mom raised me and what Pops and the military have drilled into me over the past two decades.
But with Hannah at the center of the storm, my training is merely an asset.
A tool I can harness to enforce the urges of the heart pounding against my rib cage that propel me to protect her.
An urge that means all the more now that I know how much she’s done for me over the past five years.
John doesn’t ask more questions. Just a nod of acceptance before we exchange phone numbers and I promise to be in touch after I talk with his coworker. He heads in the opposite direction as I make my way to Daniel’s office.
I decide he doesn’t deserve a knock. Swinging the door open, I barge inside and swiftly shut it behind me. When his head snaps up, one eye black and blue from my fist, his body stiffens.
“What the hell are y—”
“Hi, Daniel,” I interrupt, tone pure poison. “You ran off last night before I could properly threaten you.” He braces his hands on his chair as I cross the room. “Kind of a coward move, wouldn’t you say?”
His gulp reaches me from all the way over here. “What do you want?”
“I want to ensure Hannah’s safety.”
Eyes pinched, he takes a breath. “Of course. Last night was—I was out of line. I know that. I’m sorry, okay? I’d like to apologize to Han—”
“You won’t fucking talk to her.” His mouth snaps shut.
“Ever. You won’t text her. You won’t call her.
You won’t so much as look at her.” My palms land flat on his desk.
“If you run into her by chance, you will turn around and run the other way like you’ve got a goddamn fire up your ass.
” I lean forward, voice low and menacing.
“Because if you don’t, I will end you. And I can end you, Danny boy. ”
He winces, lips level, but he holds my stare.
I point to the six inch scar on my forearm, masked only slightly by the tattoos there. “See this? Knife fight clearing a terrorist outpost. He got me pretty good, right? Guess where he is now.”
Silence thickens under the ominous weight of my words.
“He’s dead, Daniel. Six feet under. Killed him with my bare hands.”
“And this?” I lift the sleeve on my opposite arm to reveal the round scar below the top of my shoulder.
Marked by jagged edges and raised skin, this entry wound is far less gruesome than the exit wound on my back.
“Hostage rescue mission. Captor landed one bullet. But I landed one too. Right between his eyes.”
Daniel leers up at me.
“Am I clear?” I spit.
Teeth clenched, he mumbles, “Yes.”
“You don’t go out with friends and you sure as shit don’t go out with other women. You come to work. You go home. That’s it. I know where you live, Daniel. And if I ever find out you’re not following my rules, I will make a house call. I will show up at your office again.”
I don’t actually know where he lives, but I trust John can get me those details.
Pushing off the desk, I stand back to my full height and adjust my hat. “You should really get some ice on that eye. You look like shit.”
The door slams shut behind me. When I step on the elevator I pull out my phone and finally send off my text to Hannah.
Me
Can I see you tonight?