Page 20 of The Hitman’s Final Job

The lab is on the other side of the property, and it’s where I’m headed despite my body demanding I go back to bed.

I built the lab far away from the house deliberately. It has its own entrance off the back road so the team can come and go as they need while I get to keep my privacy. It also stops me from spending every waking hour of the day there.

I get in the truck and drive the long way around, following the track along the edge of the orchard. The apple trees are doing well this year. Everything that grows on the home side of the land is for personal use, so I make a mental note to pick apples later and take some to Tess, Clayton’s wife.

The lights are shining when I arrive at the lab, which means at least two of the team got here before me, which is not unusual. My team has a collective tendency toward early mornings that I find both admirable and slightly exhausting. Mostly because I tend to be in the lab until late and have a later start to the day.

I push open the door.

“He’s alive,” Priya says, without raising her eyes from her work.

“Barely,” I toss back.

“How was the conference?” Dom asks.

“Good. Productive.” I set my travel coffee cup on the nearest clear surface and shrug off my jacket. “The feedback on the presentation was positive. More interest than I expected from the European contingent.”

“We told you they’d be interested,” Priya says, now looking up. “We’ve been telling you that for months.”

“You have, and yes, you were right.”

Her eyebrows rise to the ceiling. “Can you say that again? Dom, are you recording this?”

“I’m busy,” Dom says.

“How are the seedlings?” I move toward the trays Dom is working with.

He steps back to let me see.

The seedlings in the photographs Priya sent while I was away were already promising, but in real life and only forty-eight hours later, they’re exceeding my expectations. The root systems are visible through the transparent walls of the tray, the seedlings are standing straight, and the leaves are a deeper green than the control batch on the adjacent bench.

“They’ve grown since the photos,” I say.

“Yes. They’ve put on another four millimeters of root length since Tuesday.”

“That’s ahead of projection.”

Priya joins us. “By about twelve percent. We’re cautiously excited. There’s only been three group hugs, and we haven’t jumped up and down.”

Dom snorts. “You did so jump up and down.”

“I did not. Okay, maybe a little. Less than a millimeter off the floor.”

I study the seedlings for another moment, feeling that deep, quiet satisfaction of doing something that matters. This is more than professional recognition or academic awards. This is about bringing food to people who live in war-torn countries or where natural disasters have devastated their ecosystems. And the best thing is that it’s happening right now, in real time. All I need is to figure out how to take it out into the world while keeping the vultures away from it.

“Good,” I say. “This is very good.”

“Now, more importantly,” Priya says, crossing her arms. “What did you bring us from Europe?”

I cock my head, playing ignorant.

“You know, gift things? Touristy things? You were in one of the most beautiful cities in Europe for five days, Vaughn.”

“I was at a conference for three of those days.”

“Everyone always brings something back from conferences,” Dom says. “It’s a social contract.”

I laugh, giving up the ruse. “Fine, I picked up some things at the airport. I’ll bring them tomorrow.”