Page 14 of The Hitman’s Final Job

Earlier this evening, that voice saying those words in that particular register would have affected my ability to concentrate. I would have been eager to hear what else that voice might suggest later.

Now the effect is simply gone.

What a shame.

What an absolute, inexplicable shame.

I turn back to Silas.

“So,” I say.

“So,” he says. “Have you eaten?”

“We were about to order,” I say. “Before you—” I gesture vaguely at the empty chair across from me.

The corner of Silas’s mouth moves. “Before I what?”

“Arrived,” I say, which is the diplomatic version.

“Do you actually want to eat here?”

“I was going to.”

“That’s not what I asked.” He leans forward slightly. “Do you want to eat somewhere that doesn’t put the food on the plate with tweezers?”

I laugh before I can stop myself. “Yes,” I say. “Genuinely, yes.”

“Good.” He stands up, drawing my attention to how well his suit fits him. I look away as quickly.

“I need to go up to my room to grab a jacket.”

“What room are you in?”

I raise an eyebrow at him.

“In case you change your mind and I need to come up and drag your old ass outside.”

“I’m forty-eight,” I say.

“I know how old you are, Vaughn.”

Something in the way he says it feels intentional, but once again I don’t want to examine it too closely. Or ask questions, because I’m not sure I’m prepared for the answers.

“Six two zero four,” I say.

He gestures for the exit, and I follow him until he leans against a column while I head toward the elevator.

The car is empty and mercifully quick. I find my jacket on the back of the chair where I left it earlier, and I’m reaching for it when my phone rings.

Rowan.

“Dad. Did you know Silas is in Warsaw?”

“I—”

“He’s in Warsaw. You’re in Warsaw. This is incredible. You should meet up, because you’re both boring old people with no other friends and Warsaw is probably a very small city. How hard could it be to find him?”

“Warsaw has a population of nearly two million people.”