Page 11 of The Hitman’s Final Job

“I’ll try,” I say. “I have to go.”

“You always have to go.” But it’s fond, not wounded. “Call my dad. Seriously.”

“I’ll try.” I hang up.

Zuza’s eyes are on me. Vaughn is thirty feet away, studying a menu, one hand resting on the white tablecloth. He glances at his watch like he’s waiting for someone.

The room has been still this whole time. I just hadn’t noticed until now that I was the only thing in it that had stopped.

“So,” Zuza says, “the question is, how do we approach this? Which one of us has a better shot at keeping him occupied long enough for the other to search his room and find a way to get him alone there?”

I don’t need to read each expression as she forms a plan. My gaze stays locked on Vaughn, refusing to waver, because I can’t believe I’m here to kill him.

The panic in my chest hasn’t subsided. If anyone else had been given the job, Vaughn would be dead by now. My best friend would have lost his father. I would have lost …

Fuck.

“Damsel in distress? Or younger guy looking for some fun? It worked in Budapest, after all.”

I don’t answer. Ten years as a professional hit man, and my worst nightmare is happening in real time. I can’t move. I can’t think.

Zuza waits, but unlike Draven, she doesn’t use silence as a weapon. After about ten seconds, her hand lands on my leg with a firm press just above my knee. It’s grounding, but it doesn’t take away the fear, the what-if questions swimming in my head.

“Silas.” Her voice drops. “What’s wrong?”

I don’t take my eyes off Vaughn.

“We can’t kill him,” I say, the words coming out quiet and flat.

Zuza’s hand stays on my leg, and I can feel her gaze on the side of my face.

“What are you talking about?”

“The mark.” I watch Vaughn lift the glass of red wine the waiter brought him a moment ago. The mark. I want to say his name out loud, but I can’t. Not until I figure out what’s happening. “We can’t kill him.”

Zuza shifts on her stool, angling her body toward me.

“The organization doesn’t go after innocent people, Silas,” she says, her voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. It’s the kind of voice you reserve for when you think someone might be having a breakdown on the job. “You know that. If this man was targeted, there’s a reason for it. Draven always does his due diligence.” She pauses to let that land. “A job being requested doesn’t mean he’ll accept it. You know how many contracts he turns down. If we’re sitting in this bar right now, if we’re actually here, then this man has done something to earn it.”

I finally turn to her.

“What is he guilty of?”

She meets my eyes. “We don’t need to know. That’s not part of the job.”

“You agreed to check the guy out and follow our instincts, right? Well, I’m following them.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m staring at him, and I don’t see someone who’s capable of the things that would grant our presence here.”

She laughs. “You don’t even know the guy.”

“I … ” This is the moment of no return. The moment I put all my trust in Zuza. “I know him.”

The words sit between us. Her expression doesn’t change dramatically, but I see the shift. “How well?”

“Well enough,” I say, which is both nothing and everything.