Page 13 of The Hitman’s Final Job

For a moment, I think I’m wrong. It must be a doppelgänger, because what would he be doing in Warsaw, in this hotel, at the same time as me? The odds are absurd.

But it’s him. I’ve never seen him dressed so formally before, and it’s attractive. Dark brown hair, slightly tousled. The short beard that frames his lips perfectly and those deep brown eyes that read you like he can hear your thoughts? Yeah, that’s him.

I’ve lost the thread of Seth’s story. All thoughts of dinner and the promising direction the evening is heading have fled because Silas Cross, my son’s best friend, is walking toward our table.

I’m on my feet before he reaches us.

“Silas.” His name comes out louder than I intended. I step around the table and close the distance between us, pulling him into a hug he returns with both arms. He lets out a puff of air against my ear and says something I can’t understand, but it sounds like relief. “What are you doing in Warsaw?”

“Wrapping up a project,” he says as he steps back. He’s every bit as good-looking as I remember. I don’t know exactly what he does. Rowan has mentioned sales or development, but I’m not sure he knows either. “I’m flying home soon. I had no idea you were here. If I’d known, we could have planned something.”

“Are you heading to Colorado at some point? It would be good to see you. If I get another call from Rowan about how much he misses you, I’m going to have to stage an intervention.”

“No need. I promise to visit, and I’ll stay long enough for you to get sick of me.”

“Unlikely.” The word comes out of my mouth as I remember that thirty seconds ago, I was mentally calculating how quickly I could get Seth to my room upstairs.

The clearing of a throat breaks the spell, and Silas turns to Seth.

“Silas,” he says, extending his hand with an easy smile. “One of Vaughn’s favorite people.”

Seth takes his hand with a friendly smile. “Seth. Good to meet you.”

“Seth.” Silas says the name like he’s just put candy in his mouth and it’s about to turn from sweet to sour. He pulls out the empty chair at our table and sits down without being invited, which is the most uncharacteristic thing I’ve ever seen him do. “How do you two know each other?”

“We met at the conference,” Seth says pleasantly. “Vaughn’s presentation was the highlight of the program. I had to introduce myself.”

“That sounds about right,” Silas says, leaning back in his chair. “Vaughn’s always the smartest person in the room. Have you two been here long?”

The question is casual. The eyes are not.

“Not long,” Seth says. He glances at me with a small, warm smile. “But I was hoping we were getting to the good part of the evening.”

“Were you,” Silas says. Not a question.

“Silas.” My tone is the one I usually reserve for Rowan when he’s being difficult.

Silas ignores me the same way Rowan does. He assesses Seth with an expression of genuine friendliness I might find more convincing if I didn’t know him quite so well. “Vaughn and I go way back. He’s basically family. I don’t get to see him nearly enough.” He pauses. “It’s really important to him, family. He always says there’s nothing more important than the people who’ve been there the longest.”

I stare at him.

I have never said that in my life.

Seth, to his credit, maintains his pleasant expression, though something behind his eyes is changing. His gaze meets mine. I hold it, hoping to convey that I’m just as confused as he is.

“What plans did you have for tonight? I hear the Philharmonic is playing Chopin,” Silas continues, seemingly oblivious to the tension around the table, which again is uncharacteristic. What is he playing at?

Seth’s gaze moves between me and Silas. Then he smiles and reaches for his jacket on the back of his chair.

“I should leave you two to catch up,” he says.

“Seth, you don’t have to⁠—”

“I really do,” he says, and his tone is kind enough to make me wish Silas had never shown up because I can tell Seth would definitely deliver on his promise. Fun. No strings.

He stands, straightens his jacket, and leans down to press a brief kiss to my cheek.

“Next conference, Doctor Reeves,” he says, his voice dropping just slightly on my title, “make sure you leave the diary clear.”