Page 640 of One More Kiss

Johnny “Hawk” Mann

As soon asI hear Jo turn the water on in the shower, I swipe a hand over my face and mutter a curse. A million fucking thoughts crowd my head, making it impossible for me to think straight. It’s like I’m back in the fucking sand with blood on my hands, only this time it’s Andrew’s blood that stains them and taking his sister in for the night won’t fucking ease my conscience.

I pull my hands away from my face and my eyes land on Chestnut who lays next to the closed door. Moving away from the bathroom, I make my way toward him. He doesn’t lift his head or anything as I crouch down beside him.

“It’s okay, buddy,” I whisper hoarsely. He lifts his head, his dark eyes finding mine. The thing about animals, especially service dogs, they’re perceptive as fuck. They have the uncanny ability to see through a person’s bullshit and right now, Chestnut looks at me like I’m full of shit.

He ain’t wrong.

I rub behind his ears, glancing over my shoulder, at the bed where I laid out a clean t-shirt and a pair of sweats for Jo to wear once she’s finished with her shower. Since I took her number out of Andrew’s phone, there have been many times where I’ve wanted to pick up the phone to call her. Times when I thought about straddling my bike and taking a quick ride to her shop just to say hello. But our relationship—if you could even call it—wasn’t like that. All we had were letters and care packages that stopped once my boots touched America’s soil.

I had one shot at keeping the lines of communication open between us, but I botched it when I left her aunt’s house without so much as a goodbye. Now, she’s here in my room and I haven’t a clue what to do with her.

How do you console someone else when you’ve suffered the same loss and have barely processed it yourself?

I shake my head and bring my focus back to the dog.

“Come, let’s get you some water,” I say, urging him away from the door. Obediently, Chestnut pulls himself up on all fours and rounds my legs. A sense of pride stabs me, but it quickly fades. It’s hard to be proud of successfully training a service dog when the man you trained it for has taken his own life.

Fucking Andrew.

Why?

Dragging in a breath, I open the door and force myself out of the room. Chestnut follows as I lead him into the common area and head straight for the bar, ignoring a dozen or so pairs of eyes that silently assess me.

Are you okay?

What happened?

What can we do?

I fill a short glass with water and set it down on the floor in front of Chestnut, silently encouraging him to drink with another pat on the head. When he finally decides to lap at the water, I straighten up and turn my attention to the bar, pulling a full bottle of Hennessey from the shelf.

“Brother,” Maverick calls as I pull the pourer off the top and take a swig. All the booze in all the land can’t help me now, but I’m willing to give it a shot. I take another gulp before lowering the bottle and meeting his gaze.

I didn’t get a chance to tell him what happened, by the time I got off the phone with the detective, he was already interrogating Capone on his daughter. I briefed Leftie, though, and he ordered Ink to ride with me.

“Who’s the girl?” Maverick questions, clipping the end of one of his cigars. I stare at him quietly for a moment, my mind immediately recalling the moment I spotted Jo in the police station. She didn’t have to be facing me for me to know it was her. I’d know those long brown locks anywhere. I spent many a night imagining how it would feel to thread my fingers through them and when I let myself get carried away, I pictured how all that luscious hair would look wrapped around my fist.

Yeah, I wanted Jo.

From the first picture she attached to one of her letters, to the moment she opened the front door of her Aunt Barbara’s house. Even now, in the middle of a fucking tragedy, I want her.

Shaking the thought from my head, I force myself to focus.

“Andrew’s sister,” I answer, taking another swig.

Maverick knew Andrew and I served together and that I had approached him to be a partner in Booker and Mann. Seeing as how our business is named after the guy, I think it’s fair to assume Maverick knows how close Andrew and I were. However, I never divulged anything about Jo.

Not the letters.

And certainly not my unwavering attraction toward her.

“She found him?” Leftie questions.

I shake my head.

Thank God.

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